Mists of Velvet

step, and then another, letting instinct guide him. He walked all around the bed, studying her still form. Up close, he saw how transparent and gossamer the cloth was, clearly showing her nakedness beneath. Reaching out, Rhys stroked one full breast with his hand. The nipple rose and pressed against the gossamer cloth.
    His own body responded to the sight. She was gorgeous, like a pagan princess from a fairy tale, just waiting there for him to take her.
    Unable to stop touching her, he slipped his palm lower, down her belly, where it lingered over her navel. He thought of her pregnant, rounded, and he wondered if it was too soon for her to be carrying his child.
    Soon, he told himself. Perhaps it would happen tonight.
    His palm left her belly and descended slowly to her thighs, then to the junction of her sex. She had been shaved, her sex now smooth and white. Kneading her with the heel of his palm, he listened for her intake of air, but she lay perfectly still, serene beneath the cloak.
    He guessed he was supposed to pull it off, but he wanted to savor this moment; to do it his way.
    Stepping to the bottom of the bed, he lifted the shroud, just enough so that he could come to her from beneath it. That was when he saw the markings on her body. On her shaved mons was a crescent moon, the symbol of the goddess. Around her navel was an infinity knot, and between her breasts was a painted triscale. In her hand was an athame, with a large moonstone gem on its hilt.
    “ Mo bandia ,” he whispered as he kissed his way up her thigh and over to her slick sex. “I have come to claim what is mine.”
    She stirred, spreading her thighs. Her hand left the athame, only to join her other hand as it skimmed down the curves of her pale body. “I am yours, Rhys MacDonald.”
    With a swipe of his tongue, he parted her folds, tasted her, teased her. Then he eased his way up her body, the gossamer veil covering them both. When he was fully on top of her, his arms on either side of her shoulders and his gaze locked with hers, he lowered his head and kissed her, his tongue slipping effortlessly into her mouth.

    Bronwnn allowed her hands to rove over his shoulders, which felt as unyielding as rock and as contoured as a sculpture. Sliding her hands down, she ran her palms over his chest. Then she fingered his nipples and felt them grow taut and erect.
    Tilting her head back, she looked up into his face and saw that he watched her with unblinking eyes, his body rising up for hers, his back covered in the silver shroud that cocooned them. He was the most beautiful man in the world to her.
    “Tell me what to do. I want to make this perfect for you.”
    “It already is, Rhys.”
    He smiled into her eyes, then lowered his face to her neck, nuzzling the sensitive patch of skin beneath her ear. “No, not yet. Not until I hear you cry out and come so hard around me.”
    Her body shuddered. She knew he felt it, because his cock was pressing into the smooth, hairless skin of her sex.
    The torches that had been lit around them filtered softly beneath the transparent blanket, making it intimate and erotic beneath the shroud. Normally, the covering was to be removed, revealing her body for his inspection and pleasure. But Rhys had made the ancient ritual his, and she felt it was perfect for them.
    “I want you so much, Bronwnn. I want to savor you, to kiss and lick every inch of you.”
    Her womb clenched, and the muscles of her core tightened in yearning. Bronwnn felt his wide palm slide up her calf, then her thigh, nearly engulfing her flesh in his hand. He caressed her to her hip, running his hand appreciatively up and down the rounded contour.
    He reached up, above her head, and she saw the white cloth of the Sidhe fating. He wrapped their hands loosely together and gripped her fingers with his.
    “Bound now, you are to me.”
    “Yes, my love.”
    Sliding his unbound hand beneath her neck, he raised himself slightly above her. He was so beautiful—so strong—looming over her.
    Reaching for his hand, she placed it on top of her breast. But before he could take her nipple between his thumb and finger, she reached for his head, bringing him to her so that she could offer her breast to his mouth. “Suck me,” she whispered into his hair.
    She arched like one of Rhys’ taut bows when he curled his tongue around her peaked nipple. Her fingers gripped his hair, and her head was thrown back by the time his hand was kneading her and his mouth