depth of the lovers’ pleasure. A tightness coiled in her belly, wound in her groin, awakened all her senses.
Between Baylor’s upward thrusts into her pussy and his damp oral lashes over her clit Naeme’s entire body spasmed as she came. She drifted on a sea of orgasmic bliss as her men continued to love her until they joined her in her state of nirvana.
Chapter Nine
The next morning found Naeme in the Queen’s audience room stifling a yawn. She’d spent the previous night suspended in bliss, for the most part in the arms of two frisky, tireless lovers. For short periods, one man had departed, leaving her with a single partner, who indulged in his preferences to her surprise and delight. Naeme grinned. She’d reaped the benefits of those predilections. She was deliciously sore, sated to the point where all she could do was lie and bask in the aftermath. It had taken the first streaks of light dispersing the night-darkened sky to pull them apart, with gratifying reluctance.
Drowsy from the lack of sleep, she’d hastily borrowed the pale blush pink from the dawn to infuse in the gown Baylor conjured for her. She joined Titania’s attendants on the last step of the dais seconds before the Queen entered the chamber escorted by her consort.
Garbed in deep pink, the Queen looked like a rose in full bloom as she glided into the room. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth puffy, as if bruised from rough kisses. Any sign of last eve’s ill temper had been banished. In fact Titania looked almost serene.
Oberon settled his mate before he took his seat beside her. He glanced over the room, eyes at half-mast, and studied the inhabitants with a heavy-eyed languor—a sure sign that he was well sated. He flicked a glance at Baylor, standing on the balcony a floor above them, a brief silent exchange ending with a barely perceptible dip of her lover’s head.
Her gaze collided with Baylor’s. Or half of him, she could be sure. As she looked at the grim sentinel, his stance was warrior-like, eyes eagle-sharp, emotions contained. No one seeing him now could imagine him at his most primal, caught in the throes of his release—the way she had seen him, enjoyed him and come to understand him. He gave his all to whatever mien he assumed. She pulled her attention away from him, not wanting to reveal her giddiness.
The King gestured with long elegant fingers, signalling for the first salon to commence. For a fortunate few would catch the royal couple’s eye, and garner an invitation to their bed.
Dressed in their very best, fashioned from petals and hides, satin and the like, with pastel hues to greet the dawn, the Fae strutted like peacocks, primping and preening to catch the attention of desired lovers. With the coming of the dusk the guests would arrive to witness their most envied tradition, the Greening.
Need quickened in Naeme.
As she watched the promenade and the jostling for attention, the young and the green tittered while the experienced sought old lovers to ensure satisfaction or to explore new diversions to rouse jaded appetites. Under all that joviality, a fraught tension put constraints on the proceedings—fear or guilt perhaps. She saw strained smiles and stilted movements that lacked fluidity. A full complement of the guard didn’t help. Replacing the expected footmen, members of both guards manned the doors.
A butterfly, their sovereigns’ favoured messenger, manifested above their heads. Its wings were red and gold, the Queen’s colours. Titania was issuing the first invitation.
It fluttered, flirtatious and playful. As a collective, the courtiers drew in a sharp breath and waited to see who would receive the coveted accolade. It flew in her direction, and unease sent an icy frisson through Naeme.
Titania’s herald settled on her shoulder, a singular honour considering their history, or a sign she wasn’t quite forgiven and still had penalties to pay. She looked to Baylor, seeking
Between Baylor’s upward thrusts into her pussy and his damp oral lashes over her clit Naeme’s entire body spasmed as she came. She drifted on a sea of orgasmic bliss as her men continued to love her until they joined her in her state of nirvana.
Chapter Nine
The next morning found Naeme in the Queen’s audience room stifling a yawn. She’d spent the previous night suspended in bliss, for the most part in the arms of two frisky, tireless lovers. For short periods, one man had departed, leaving her with a single partner, who indulged in his preferences to her surprise and delight. Naeme grinned. She’d reaped the benefits of those predilections. She was deliciously sore, sated to the point where all she could do was lie and bask in the aftermath. It had taken the first streaks of light dispersing the night-darkened sky to pull them apart, with gratifying reluctance.
Drowsy from the lack of sleep, she’d hastily borrowed the pale blush pink from the dawn to infuse in the gown Baylor conjured for her. She joined Titania’s attendants on the last step of the dais seconds before the Queen entered the chamber escorted by her consort.
Garbed in deep pink, the Queen looked like a rose in full bloom as she glided into the room. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth puffy, as if bruised from rough kisses. Any sign of last eve’s ill temper had been banished. In fact Titania looked almost serene.
Oberon settled his mate before he took his seat beside her. He glanced over the room, eyes at half-mast, and studied the inhabitants with a heavy-eyed languor—a sure sign that he was well sated. He flicked a glance at Baylor, standing on the balcony a floor above them, a brief silent exchange ending with a barely perceptible dip of her lover’s head.
Her gaze collided with Baylor’s. Or half of him, she could be sure. As she looked at the grim sentinel, his stance was warrior-like, eyes eagle-sharp, emotions contained. No one seeing him now could imagine him at his most primal, caught in the throes of his release—the way she had seen him, enjoyed him and come to understand him. He gave his all to whatever mien he assumed. She pulled her attention away from him, not wanting to reveal her giddiness.
The King gestured with long elegant fingers, signalling for the first salon to commence. For a fortunate few would catch the royal couple’s eye, and garner an invitation to their bed.
Dressed in their very best, fashioned from petals and hides, satin and the like, with pastel hues to greet the dawn, the Fae strutted like peacocks, primping and preening to catch the attention of desired lovers. With the coming of the dusk the guests would arrive to witness their most envied tradition, the Greening.
Need quickened in Naeme.
As she watched the promenade and the jostling for attention, the young and the green tittered while the experienced sought old lovers to ensure satisfaction or to explore new diversions to rouse jaded appetites. Under all that joviality, a fraught tension put constraints on the proceedings—fear or guilt perhaps. She saw strained smiles and stilted movements that lacked fluidity. A full complement of the guard didn’t help. Replacing the expected footmen, members of both guards manned the doors.
A butterfly, their sovereigns’ favoured messenger, manifested above their heads. Its wings were red and gold, the Queen’s colours. Titania was issuing the first invitation.
It fluttered, flirtatious and playful. As a collective, the courtiers drew in a sharp breath and waited to see who would receive the coveted accolade. It flew in her direction, and unease sent an icy frisson through Naeme.
Titania’s herald settled on her shoulder, a singular honour considering their history, or a sign she wasn’t quite forgiven and still had penalties to pay. She looked to Baylor, seeking
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