September 28th, 2005
Storm’s Faeries

Apparently she wasn’t the only one who wanted to eat him up. Storm frowned as a couple of women stopped in front of the booth, blocking her view of the delicious university professor and causing her aggravation meter to go up a notch—the way it did when she was in uniform and had to deal with a particularly obnoxious drunk.

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind and suppress the unexpected feeling of possessiveness. Get a grip here! She had never fought over a man in her life, and she was not going to start with this one—no matter how many erotic images flitted through her thoughts, and there were plenty of them.

She’d spent more time thinking about her brief encounter with Tristan than she’d ever admit to. She’d even gone so far as to pull up the university catalog to see what classes he taught.

She had not signed up for one of them. Her self-respect demanded that she draw the line somewhere.

Besides, she had a feeling that there were no audit spots available. Hell, there was probably a waiting list—a long, long waiting list of female students who wanted to be dazzled by his…knowledge.

He stood then, saying something to the women so that they turned and glowered at Storm before moving away from the booth. Storm’s heart skipped a beat then raced when his smile reached out and stroked her from the inside out, reaching deep and brushing against every erogenous zone she possessed in the process.

“I took the liberty of ordering a glass of wine for you,” he said when she got to the table. His hand enclosed hers, not shaking it as she’d intended, but bringing it to his mouth instead and brushing his lips against her knuckles.

For a shimmering instant Storm was dazzled, unable to look away as the golden haze of lust surrounded them both. And then his mouth quirked upward in the same smile that had caused her heart to race when she’d visited him in his office, only here, now, it eased them from staring into each other’s eyes into taking their seats.

“Thanks again for being willing to help,” Storm said, retreating behind the case before she did something out of character—like suggest they walk on the beach until they found a place where they could make love.

She took a deep breath and corrected herself. Have sex. Let’s not confuse fantasy with reality here. Her cunt clenched, not caring what she called it, as long as the ache was soothed.

A waitress appeared next to the table, barely acknowledging Storm as she set their drinks down. Even after Tristan had placed several bills on her tray and told her to keep the change, she lingered, her presence like a crisp fall breeze that clears the air as it passes.

Storm blinked, grateful for the interruption. Of its own accord, her hand covered the necklace Aislinn had given her where it rested under her shirt.

It burned warm and comforting in her palm, but more importantly, the feel of the smooth male faeries holding the crystal somehow grounded her, somehow made her feel…back in control—even if she was still horny.

Tristan murmured something and the waitress finally moved away. The grin he directed at Storm shot right to her heart, and yet she had the presence of mind to joke, “I guess that happens to you all the time. At least she ignored me. I had to check my clothing for burn holes the day I came by your office. Your coeds didn’t like seeing me there. Just walking down the hallway felt like running the gauntlet.”

His smile and husky laugh made her want to lean across the table and press her lips to his. “Not my coeds. Though I count myself lucky that you were courageous enough to contact me again. I’ve thought about your visit often and followed your success in the media.”

Tristan lifted his glass and swallowed, the simple play of tanned skin over muscle enough to claim Storm’s attention while his casual admission had her nipples going tight and hard as her panties grew wetter. She lifted her wine glass and followed suit, glad to have something to moisten her suddenly dry mouth with.

Was he being honest? Had he really thought about her? Or was he merely engaged in a verbal dance of seduction?

Did it matter? Would she really pass up a chance to be intimate with him?


She tried to live each day to the fullest, to enjoy herself. It was her nature, and an acknowledgement of the danger inherent in her job, the gut-level understanding that the next car she pulled over or the next suspect she tried to bring in could be the one who ended her life.

So no. If spending time with him led to further intimacy, well…

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Tristan reached over and took her free hand in his. “Would you care to dance?”

Other couples were already moving to the dance floor as the band transitioned to a slow, moody melody. Storm set her wine glass down on the table and let him ease her from the booth and into his arms.

They were a perfect fit.

Storm closed her eyes and savored the brush of his chest against her tight nipples, the rub of his erection against her swollen, needy clit as he held her against his body, surrounding her with his masculine scent. Her breath caught when his lips touched her neck, pressing hungry kisses along sensitive skin, moving upward to her earlobe. She almost cried out when he teased it with his teeth before tracing the rim of her ear with his wet, sensuous tongue. And all the while, his hands stroked along her back, her shoulders, her sides, the top of her buttocks.

Her hands moved in tandem with his, discovering the contours of his body as he discovered hers, the firm muscles of his back, his sides, his shoulders. She luxuriated in the warmth radiating off his body, surrounding and caressing her like a perfect spring breeze, the pleasure of being held by him somehow making her heart feel light, her spirit carefree.

Tristan breathed in the scent of her, rejoiced in the feel of her soft skin. She was the one. His forever wife. She had to be for her to take over his thoughts so thoroughly. For her to command his body so easily.

His cock throbbed and yet he savored this closeness, this harmony of movement as the music surrounded them like a heavy fog, encasing them in a world that wasn’t spoken, only felt. It was sweet agony and painful need.

He parted from her only when the music ended and the band moved into an upbeat, catchy tune meant for energetic steps and swirls. But rather than return to their table, he took her hand and led her outside. “Walk on the beach with me,” he coaxed. Dance with me underneath the stars as the fey have always done.