Seducing the Sun Fae: A Fada Novel Page 3

  She arched into him and begged.

  Darkness reared up in Dion, churned in his veins. His cock, already impossibly hard, throbbed against the confining pants.

  He longed to rip the damn things off and thrust himself deep into that hot, lush mouth.

  He drew a harsh breath and forced himself under control. There would be time enough for that when he had Cleia safely back at Rock Run. For now, it was enough to drive the proud, jaded queen wild.

  Taking hold of her hips, he held her still for his mouth. She moaned but allowed it. He rewarded her by taking her needy bud into his mouth and suckling it, swirling his tongue over the sensitive nerves.

  She gripped his head and tried to force him closer, but he lifted his head and took hold of her wrists. He set her hands on the armrests.

  “Keep them there or I’ll stop.”

  Her eyes narrowed but he stared back, refusing to relent. Her throat worked. “All right.” She waited until he brought his mouth back to her sex before adding, “Bastard.”

  He smiled. “You have no idea,” he murmured against her tender flesh.

  She gasped and gripped the armrests.

  He settled in to bring her to climax. She was so hot and wet, it wouldn’t take long. He could almost believe she hadn’t had a man since Tiago had returned two months ago, wrung out from a mere week with her.

  She’d been merciful in that, at least, rather than keeping him for years as she had his other warriors. Tiago believed he’d escaped, but Dion found that hard to credit. More likely Cleia had tired of the youth and planted the idea of escape in his mind. Lord knew he was irritating, constantly questioning and arguing.

  And he was Dion’s youngest brother. The fae queen had finally gone too far. She had to be taken down.

  Cleia stared down at him, brow puckered. He put his brother from his thoughts and settled in to blow her mind.

  The first thing was to get rid of the dress. He came to his knees and pulled the skirt up to her waist.

  “Raise your arms.” When she obeyed, he removed it and tossed it aside.

  She put her hands back on the armrests without being directed to and his lips quirked. She was a quick learner; he’d give her that.

  But she’d had time to come back to herself. A glamour shimmered over her body, giving her a damn-near irresistible radiance.

  He frowned. “Drop the magic crap already. You’re fine as you are.”

  “Am I?” She lifted a brow, her expression world-weary and a little sad.

  His scowl increased. What game was she playing? Surely she knew how sexy she was?

  “Have you never had a man without your glamour?” He raised his hands to her hair, sifting the silky strands through his fingers and running his thumbs over the delicate points of her ears.

  She tilted her head into his hands, catlike, enjoying his touch. “A few times. When I was very young.”

  “And didn’t anyone tell you your hair holds all the colors of the sun’s rays? That your breasts are full and firm as ripe fruit?” He weighed the lush orbs in his hands, lightly pinched the tight copper nipples.

  “No…”

  Her eyes were bright with pleasure, her cheeks flushed. Her body gave off the salty musk of desire.

  He glided his palms over her torso. She was narrower than he’d realized. Fragile.

  A large man like himself could easily break her—and wasn’t that his intention?

  He shook off his uneasiness and moved his hands to her hips, smoothing over her succulent bottom. Indulging himself in the shape and feel of her.

  “And didn’t they tell you that your ass is round and linda…” His voice was gritty as the shifting seabed now. “Muito, muito linda.”

  “No,” she whispered. “No, they didn’t tell me that.”

  “Idiotas.”

  He captured her face in his palms and thrust his tongue into her mouth, taking her in a hard, dominating kiss. She moaned and sucked on his tongue, drawing him deeper inside.

  Heat balled low in his belly.

  He fisted his hand in her hair and drew her head back. A pulse beat in her throat. He brushed his lips over the fluttering skin and nipped her. She jolted and he soothed the bite with his tongue before moving on, giving her another love bite, then another.

  Marking her as his, if only for tonight.

  He brought his mouth back to hers, unable to get enough of her. Her taste was hot, enticing, more addictive than Rock Run’s finest wine.

  When he lifted his head, they were both breathing raggedly, and he was through with teasing. He released her hair to stroke a thumb over her kiss-swollen lips.

  “Bend over the chair.”

  She hesitated, searched his face. He waited, hands at his side. He wouldn’t force her, however hard lust rode him. Despite what he had planned, whether or not he fucked her was her choice.

  Her gaze dropped to his erection. Her lips curved in a slow smile and she turned around.

  He exhaled audibly. Thank all the gods. Despite his good intentions, he wasn’t sure what he’d have done if she’d refused him.

  He guided her into position over the chair, her long legs spread, that lovely round bottom lifted to him. He pressed a palm on her lower back, silently directing her to remain where she was, and shucked his pants.

  “Dion?” She glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression a mix of excitement and apprehension.

  He raised a brow, his flushed, very ready cock in his hand. “Sim?” He glided his fingers up and down the stiff stalk.

  Her eyes darkened. She touched her tongue to her full lower lip and he stifled a groan. His hand tightened on himself.

  Her lips curved in a sultry smile. “I’d like to touch you…taste you. I’m good—you’ll like it.”

  His mind swam with enticing pictures of her on her knees, those coral-colored lips enclosing him, but he shook them off. If he wasn’t careful the woman was going to regain control.

  “Next time. Right now I have something else in mind.”

  She tossed her head, the queen never far from the surface. “But—”

  He’d counted on her objecting. “I see I have to convince you.”

  He crossed the room for the scarf he’d left draped over a chair. When he turned back, she was on her knees watching him, her body half turned so that he had a profile of firm, pointed breasts. He smiled darkly. He was going to enjoy this.

  Crossing back to her, he lifted her by the waist and bent her over the chair again. He looped the silky length of material under her hips and caught hold of the ends. “Now I can ride you,” he informed her.

  “Oh.” A quiver went down her spine, her eagerness for what came next palpable.

  His slow smile would’ve frozen all but his clan’s most dominant members in their tracks. “Sim, minha bonita. Yes, my pretty one.”

  He took the ends of the scarf in one hand, holding her where he wanted her, and with the other grasped his cock so he could rub the tip over her sex.

  She let out a broken moan.

  Good. He wanted her feverish with desire, unable to think…unable to resist.

  He positioned himself at her entrance and pressed inside. Groaned. Lord, she felt good. Tight, slippery and incredibly hot.

  He pumped slowly in and out, reveling in the feel of her fisted around him, all thoughts of revenge temporarily forgotten. She gripped the edge of the seat and pushed back, undulating on him in leisurely circles.

  Heat slammed up his spine. His thighs clenched and his balls tightened.

  “Deus,” he gritted. “That’s—”

  He inhaled deeply and focused on giving her pleasure, bending forward to run his free hand over her, playing with her nipples, rubbing her swollen clit.

  “Having fun?” he taunted, echoing her question as they’d swooped around the ravine’s edge.

  She moaned. “Stars, yes.”

  “Let me see…should I go fast”—he thrust quickly in and out of her several times—“or slow
?” He stroked in at an excruciatingly slow pace and paused.

  “Dion.” She flung back her head and he dropped the scarf to bury his hands in her hair, tugging just enough to give her the added spice of pleasure/pain. Her inner muscles clenched on him. She arched her back. “Oh, Goddess. Take me. Now. Hard, Dion.”

  Still giving orders, he thought with the small corner of his brain still able to form words. But she’d recalled him to his purpose.

  His lips peeled back in a grin that betrayed his animal roots as he reached for the scarf again.

  She ground herself against him. “Please. I need—”

  “Sim, sim,” he crooned. “I’ll give you want you want, minha linda.” He reached a hand under her to swirl his fingers around her needy little nub until she keened out her pleasure and began to convulse around him.

  He slowed his thrusts and as she sobbed out his name, he wrapped the scarf around her eyes. It had been prepared with a binding spell cast by another powerful fae, impossible for anyone but him to break.

  “Dion?” She reared up under him. “What—?”

  He knotted the ends tightly and then gripped her shoulders. His balls exploded and he came, pumping into her in powerful, euphoric bursts. He barely remembered to draw on the power of the storm.

  Lightning flashed, and all over the mansion, fae lights shattered. He opened to it, using his Gift to harness the huge surge of power so as not to harm her more than necessary, then released it, sending the current sizzling through her.

  The pleasure spiked impossibly high.

  Cleia screamed in ecstasy and then slumped forward, unconscious.

  5

  Cleia returned to consciousness in slow stages.

  From somewhere nearby came the sound of running water, but she was warm and dry, tucked into a large, comfortable bed. She smoothed a palm down the cover. A soft, woven cotton, it rested lightly on her naked body.

  Her brow furrowed and she turned her head restlessly side to side. Something was wrong. Her bedroom was airy, light-filled. But everything was dark, the air moist and smelling of earth and stone.

  She forced herself the last few degrees to consciousness. When she opened her eyes, the world was still an unrelenting gray. Horror skittered up her spine and her hands flew to her face. Then she gave a sob of relief.

  She wasn’t blind. Something was covering her eyes, preventing her from seeing.

  She frowned, trying to recall what had happened. The river fada—Dion—had given her a climax that had all but fried her brain, and then…nothing.

  She inhaled sharply. The bastard must’ve knocked her out, and then brought her here—wherever “here” was.

  She tugged at the light silk, tentatively at first and then harder, then hooked her fingernails under it and tried to rip it off, but it stayed put as if made of the strongest iron. And if anything, it was getting tighter the more she tugged on it.

  Even though she knew it was hopeless, she delved deep within for her magic.

  Nothing.

  Her breath sucked in and she scrabbled frantically at the binding. It tightened painfully around her head.

  Footsteps sounded. She froze.

  “Easy now.” His voice, calm but firm. “It’s bespelled. No one but me can remove it. The more you pull at it the tighter it gets. Let it be before you injure yourself.”

  She swallowed. He was almost certainly telling the truth. The fae, even the fada with their diluted blood, found it difficult, not to mention extremely painful, to lie. And now that he’d mentioned it, she detected the faint scent of binding herbs: apple, cedar, ivy.

  She panicked in earnest then. Without her sight, she couldn’t perform even the simplest spell. She was helpless, at the mercy of this man. This fada.

  “No.” She clawed at the scarf. “Take it off, you, you—”

  He remained silent but she sensed him standing there, watching and waiting. Her lungs seized. Everything bad she’d ever heard about the fada raced through her mind: their dark rituals, their animal nature. The way they treated their women.

  She’d never fooled herself that her Rock Run lovers were tamed; they’d only been under her spell. Without her magic to protect her, who knew what this man would do to her?

  She gave a last, despairing tug at the scarf but it only tightened more until she whimpered and let go to curl into a ball. Her chest heaved. Panic was a vise clamped around her rib cage, compressing it so that she couldn’t get enough air.

  She gasped, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly as she desperately sought oxygen.

  A light touch on the binding. She flinched, but the pressure eased.

  “Acalme-te,” Dion murmured. “No one’s going to hurt you.” He placed his palm on her bare upper back where she lay curled onto her side. “Breathe.” He rubbed the skin. “There you go. Now another. That’s it…”

  Her breath whooshed in. For several endless moments she lay there panting, humiliated at her loss of control.

  “Are you all right now?” he asked.

  She jerked her chin. Yes.

  “All right then.” He removed his hand.

  She struggled to sit upright while keeping the blanket around her. Now that she was calmer, she realized the scarf wasn’t opaque. She could discern light and dark, and while she couldn’t see Dion’s face, she could make out his general shape.

  She turned in his direction. “Where am I? What have you done, fada?”

  “Still the haughty bitch, I see.” His tone was amused, but there was an edge to it. “We’re nothing but beasts to you, are we? Good for nothing but to get your gold-plated buceta off.”

  “I—you—bastard. That’s not true—”

  “No?” he scoffed. “But to answer your question, you’re in my own apartment deep underground where your people will never be able to track you. In my territory—which means you, minha senhora, are in my power.”

  Her hands fisted on the blanket. “Who are you? And I want the truth this time.”

  “I didn’t lie—my name is Dion do Rio. But you can call me Lord Dion—or Dionísio, to give you my full name.”

  “Dionísio. Stars, I’m an idiot.”

  Not the original god of wine and ecstasy, but a direct descendant on his father’s side, who’d been a Portuguese river fada with a lineage stretching back to the dark, wild god himself. Which meant this man was indeed a lord—and the Rock Run alpha.

  Goddess, what had she done?

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Dion remarked in condescending tones. “I was using a sort of glamour as well, only I tamped down my power to make myself appear less than I was.”

  She absorbed that in silence. She should’ve sensed his power. She was a sun fae, and more to the point, her people’s Conduit. Power, energy, was her stock in trade.

  Perhaps she had grown arrogant over the years. Certainly, she’d been willfully blind, drawn to the man’s dark sensuality. She was angry and afraid, but even now a small part of her couldn’t help noting that if that was how he appeared with his power tamped down, he must be as beautiful as a god when it wasn’t.

  He touched her shoulder. She tensed, painfully aware she was naked and defenseless beneath the thin blanket.

  He growled. “Calm yourself. I don’t force myself on helpless women.”

  Her hands clenched. Helpless? She itched to unleash her full power, a radiance that could literally blind him.

  But she couldn’t. Her magic was dependent upon her ability to see. With her eyes bound she was as helpless as any mortal.

  It was her Achilles’ heel—and no one but Olivia knew that. And Olivia would die before she told anyone.

  So how in Hades had he found out?

  “Here.” He slid a big arm around her shoulders and brought a cup to her lips. “Drink this.”

  She shook her head and pressed her lips together. The blanket slipped, exposing the tops of her breasts. He stilled and she concealed her triumph.

  The man wanted her even w
ithout her glamour; she could practically smell his lust. Maybe she could use that. She let the cover remain where it was.

  The cup nudged her mouth. She turned her face away. She was so thirsty her tongue felt thick and too big for her mouth, but she was even more afraid of being drugged.

  “It’s only water,” he told her.

  When she still hesitated, he blew out a breath. “For God’s sake, drink. You have to be dehydrated—you’ve been out since last night. I don’t need to drug or poison you. The binding keeps you prisoner.”

  He was right. With her eyes bound, not only was it impossible for her to access her magic, she couldn’t see to escape an underground cavern anyway. She took the cup from him. The water was cool and sweet. She drank thirstily, draining the cup before handing it back.

  “More?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He refilled the cup. When she was finished, he took it from her, saying, “That’s enough for now. You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

  He set the cup somewhere nearby and then came back to stand next to the bed. She felt him considering her.

  A chill slid over her skin. All of a sudden, trying to seduce her way out of this seemed like a bad idea.

  Unbidden, she thought of the only bacchanal she’d ever attended. She’d been barely out of her teens and too curious for her own good. Fortunately, Artan and Grady had tracked her down and brought her home. Her parents had confined her to her room for a week with no visitors save a servant who brought her food and water. When she’d begged to be let out, her dad had said she was lucky he hadn’t turned her over his knee.

  But she’d been punished worse than he knew. The nightmarish scenes had lived in her mind for years: wine and magic and dancing that turned primitive…carnal…frenzied. Women—and men—taken against their will. Harsh whippings for the slightest resistance.

  The baccha brought out all that was wild and dark in the fada, allowing their feral side full rein so that a fada in the grip of the Delírio was more beast than human.

  She’d watched from a dark corner, using her glamour to take on the appearance of an old, sick crone until Artan and Grady found her. By then she was curled up with her hands over her face, praying no one would see through her disguise.