“A Fine Deceit”
Copyright 2006, Devlin O’Neill and Georgia Lynd
From Chapter 1
Drake breathed deeply of the warm night air as he picked his way slowly into the wood, but the cobwebs of drink clung to his mind. He stopped in a small glade and dropped his sack, opened it, and drew out a heavy cloak and spread it on the ground. A full moon rose to dapple the grass with soft light through the leaves, and he lay down on the cloak and pillowed his head on his twined fingers. Wine and a gentle breeze in the tree branches made the spots of moonlight dance before his eyes, and he chuckled.
“Go along home, pixies. I’ll have none of you tonight.”
He rolled onto his side and tried to sleep, but Vittani’s smooth bottom writhed in agonized pleasure behind his closed lids. His teeth clenched in aggravation and he turned on his other side, only to find her down-veiled maidenhood looking back at him. With a muttered oath, he lay on his back and counted the stars. The moon rose higher and he drifted in a heated stupor between wakefulness and sleep. Something rustled in the undergrowth, and his skin prickled as he opened his eyes wide and reached for the sword that lay next to him on the cloak.
His head turned slowly toward the sound and his arms and legs tensed, ready to roll away at the twang of a bowstring. Then a figure wrapped in a hooded cloak stepped into the circle of moonlight, and he sat upright, sword in hand but still sheathed. The figure moved with feminine grace toward him and halted a few feet away.
“God’s blood! Vittani? Have you lost your mind?” Laughter like birdsong thrilled his ears, and he peered all round as he got to his feet. “You’re not Vittani. Who are you?”
“Do such things matter, my prince?”
“I am no prince. You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
She laughed again and pushed back the hood. “Then we are even. But if you wish to call me by name, Vittani is as good as any.”
He gazed dumbstruck at the pale beauty, her flowing hair golden in the moonlight. She took a pace toward him, and he stepped back, swallowed dryness, and blinked to focus half-drunken eyes on her exquisite features.
“Wh-what do you want?”
“What do I want? Nothing you will be loath to part with, I am certain.” Slender white fingers emerged from the cloak and untied the cord at her throat. “Do you see anything that you want?”
The cloak slipped from her shoulders and fell to the ground, and Drake’s chin dropped nearly to his chest. Her head tilted slightly to the right and a tiny smile curved full, ripe lips as she stood calmly, completely naked except for the slippers on her little feet. Drake squinted and reached out a hand toward her ivory bosom, then jerked it back.
“Are you mad, woman?”
“Perhaps, but only with desire. You can surely understand that.” She closed the distance between them in a quick step and pressed her palms against his ribs as he dropped his sword and took hold of her shoulders. “Have you never been mad with desire?”
“Well I….” His lips continued to move but no sound emerged while he caressed impossibly smooth flesh.
Her hands slid down to unbuckle and toss away his belt, then she slipped them under his tunic and up to run her fingers through the hair on his chest. She smiled and tweaked a masculine nipple.
“You cannot answer me?”
“What … who … where did you come from?”
She laughed and twined her arms round his back when he tried to push her away. “That is not an answer. But perhaps I come from nowhere. Or from out of a bottle of Gypsy wine. Perhaps I am not here at all, except in your mind. Only a fairy, conjured of your lustful dreams. So you had better have me before I change once again to vapor.”
“Bah! Now you speak nonsense.” “Do I?” She stroked and squeezed his belly, his chest, his thighs, wriggling and writhing so he could not maintain a firm grip on her. “But you are the one asking foolish questions.”
One of her hands held his backside while the other pressed his codpiece, and he gasped and shivered as his manhood swelled. She curled a leg behind his knee and leaned into him, and he twisted to the side as he fell onto his cloak.
“Here now! What’s your game?” He pushed her away but she squirmed and feinted from his hands, and slipped between his arms to straddle his belly and lean her elbows on his chest. Long fingers caressed his cheeks and throat, and he held onto her shoulders with trembling hands as strong, supple thighs clamped his middle.
“Once more your foolish questions, hmm?” She slid upward and tantalized his lips with a firm round breast while she reached down to pull his tunic out of the way. “Have you not played this game with tavern wenches and chambermaids a hundred times? Is it so peculiar that your plaything would now play with you?”
His mouth opened round the soft breast with its tight pink bud, and he reached up to squeeze the alabaster globe, but she wriggled from his grasp and bent her neck to tease his nipple with her tongue, pinch it between her teeth. Again he tried to push her away, but drink and confusion sapped his strength, and she easily dodged his shoves as she untied the strings of his codpiece to release his swollen manhood. He gasped and twitched when she curled her fist about it, gripped and stroked, and his hips sprang upward. She laughed and then moaned as she pressed the fat tip of his member against the moist petals between her thighs.
He snarled and trapped her in his arms, bent his knees and thrust himself into her wet, clingy depths. “Toy with me, will you?”
“I will if you insist, Captain.”
Light, mocking laughter burned his ears, and he panted and quivered as her tightness squeezed his cock, and her soft round backside slapped his thighs faster and faster. She reached beneath his tunic, and wicked, delightful fingertips tickled his ribs, and then raked his chest, tormenting his nipples once more and shooting strange, fiery-cold tremors down his belly into his loins. He grunted in aggravated passion and cupped the smooth, bouncy hillocks of her behind, and it jiggled and shuddered in his hands while talented inner muscles rippled along his shaft.
She sat upright and bowed her back, mouth agape as she sprang up and down, a marionette on a taut string. Fingernails dug and scraped his belly, his chest, his flanks, as the wanton heat at her core set him ablaze from head to foot. Wails of rapture lilted from her throat, mixed with his rhythmic, lustful groans, and reverberated into the trees, silencing the crickets and peepers. His passion boiled and his manhood jerked and spasmed, and she screamed her release to the stars as she clutched him even more tightly and milked the fount of life.
He groaned and gasped, and she slumped forward, her breath a fire upon his throat, her bosom pillowy hot embers against his chest. She took long, tremulous gulps of air, lifted her head and gazed into his eyes.
“We make a good match in this sport, do we not?”
“Sport?” He shook his head and wiped his mouth. “Never have I been so drained by mere sport.”
“Sleep, then, and refresh yourself for the next bout.”
Soft fingers pushed down his lids but he took hold of the hand and kissed it. “Perhaps I will, for a bit. And when I awake you will answer my questions, Lady Fairy.”
“Of course I will, Lord Captain. Anything you like, after your rest. Now shut these weary eyes and I will sing to you.”
He smiled as her lips brushed his, then delicate fingers closed his eyelids and he drifted away to the sweet melody she hummed, warm beneath the blanket of her soft flesh.