An Embrace of Citrus & Snow (Fallen for a Fae #1)

20. Bo

Chapter twenty

Bo

“Lie down for me. Let me worship you.”

Anyone else, and Bo might have started laughing. Worship , with Ever’s kisses setting Bo to shivering, talking of a summer king. Different, with Ever, the kelpie all but fucking gagging for more with his careful, tentative touches.

Considering this was Ever, all mannered words and hesitations, maybe Bo should think of it as ‘Ever desired him,’ but Bo currently had tendrils of magical vines spiraling up his legs, spreading them , while Ever spun fantasies of old magic: fingers twisted in high grass, cries offered like prayers.

So yeah: Ever all but gagged for it, and Bo, moaning softly and grinding back, had zero intention of discouraging him.

Each light touch seared, plucked a new quiet tune through their bond. A song of oxygen-drunk gasps and knees made steady only from the coil of ivy and flowers. The lightest fucking brush of fingertips possible, paired with a soft-spoken request, and Bo shaking from it.

Tried to move, to give Ever what he wanted, but he was fucking rooted . Ivy to his knees.

“I, fuck, I don’t know if I can .” And if Bo sounded embarrassingly desperate, that was because he fucking happened to be. Half dressed, his jeans turned into some gauzy blue fabric that hid nothing , and Ever’s cock grinding against his ass. Of course, he fucking was.

And the vines really needed to get with the program.

A shift . It wasn’t like the room moved. And Bo would’ve sworn he hadn’t either. Except the pressure of Ever’s cock was gone because he was facing him. Something solid behind Bo’s knees, then the ground rolled beneath him, and he wasn’t so much falling as being pulled back.

A bed of moss and sweet-smelling flowers. Right where Ever had asked for him to be.

A soft, broken sound shivered in the air, wordless. Maybe something like Ever’s name. A sound he’d heard before, at the first stroke of ivy on his ankle. From him. It came from him , and as the vines tugged his knees apart, Bo couldn’t help but make it again.

Fucking weird, and Bo didn’t care. Shit, he didn’t bother pretending to care. Ever stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Bo started to reach for him, only to feel the twist of ivy around his wrists. It twined through his fingers, pulling his arms over his head, while more seeking tendrils curled over his chest like filigree, small flowers and bright leaves and fuck knew what else.

An offering . All but exposed. Held and shaking, hooded eyes on Ever, his kelpie.

Ever, who wanted to worship, and Bo, bound for the taking, magic snaking over his body as surely as the vines themselves.

“Yours,” Bo managed, his voice breaking. “Your Bo. Your Summer King. Fuck, Ever .”

The air fucking crackled. Summer King , and Ever, stepping between vines and shaking thighs. His hands, clawed, skated up Bo’s ankles, his knees, his hips. Bo’s breath caught as Ever explored him, hands fucking everywhere .

Ever’s lips followed suit, a hot line up Bo’s side, along his scar, wrenching another low cry from him. Everywhere . His hands and mouth and eyes taking in every inch of Bo. And Bo laid out for him by Faerie, there to be explored.

Vanilla and crumbling wood. Snowmelt bright and chilled on his tongue. Bo arched toward Ever with a sigh, rewarded with his weight, warm and wonderful. A slender vine snaked around Bo’s hips, pinning him back against the moss.

Teeth to his collarbone. Tongue at the curve of his throat. Hand hot against his sides.

“Your kelpie,” Ever breathed, an unsteady whisper against Bo’s ear. “Your acolyte.”

His to be touched by.

That noise again. Keening. Rough.

His to be had by.

Teeth at his ear.

His his his. Theirs .

“Mine,” Bo whispered, raw. The word too big for his mouth. Shivering, but he’d not stopped since the first brush of ivy around his ankle. “My acolyte. Kiss me? I want to taste you. ”

Tension Bo hadn’t realized was there eased at his words. Swept up in the taste of old shadows and older magic on his tongue, Bo’d forgotten that the relationship between Ever and being forward was tenuous at best.

There and gone with the press of Ever’s eager mouth to Bo’s, his loose shirt evaporating into the summer-thick air. Ever’s lips were warm and soft, the thick fall of his hair hiding them both. Shirtless and freckled, kissing Bo like if he didn’t, he’d never be allowed to again.

“Bo,” Ever whispered, hovering over him, their only contact the brush of lips and Ever’s hand, light, on Bo’s hips. “Sweet Bo.”

Sweet Bo might fucking explode if he didn’t get more.

“Closer, pretty kelpie,” Bo swallowed, the words loosening Ever’s shoulders all the more. “Chest against mine. I want to feel your cock. Fuck, I want to feel you . Everywhere.”

Ever made a soft sound of his own. A whimper, half a moan, as he trembled above Bo. Above, then against, chest to chest, hips between Bo’s spread knees. His weight settled, solid, the pressure of his cock and graze of his fingers over Bo’s thighs blazing bright and fucking perfect.

Bo groaned, the sound swallowed by Ever’s kiss as the kelpie rocked against him, tight and near and almost perfect. As perfect as they could be, when still separated by a whole layer of clothes. Fucking clothes.

“Everywhere?” Ever asking . Begging. “I need to please you.”

“You already please me.” Even now, skin-to-skin and set alight, Bo knew that wasn’t going to cut it. He needed to think . But their bond blazed with white-hot want, and Faerie’s magic sang everywhere the vines grazed.

“Bo, I–”

It took Ever’s hesitant, cut-off words for Bo to claw himself up through the undertow of their bond. He managed a breathless, “I got you, Ever. Just trying to think of something to say past, ‘holy fuck yes, more of that.’ ”

Ever laughed. A huff of breath, warm against Bo’s neck, punctuated fantastically with the firm press of his hips, the teasing bastard, his cock right where Bo wanted it. Almost.

“Shall I give you room to think?” Ever whispered, a mix of hesitant teasing and seriousness.

Bo laughed too, short and a little wild, tapered to an impatient whine at the next gentle push against him.

“Your Summer King commands you to stay between his legs, acolyte of the Winter.” The last handful of words came without warning, strange on Bo’s tongue, and the vines thrummed against his skin. He nipped Ever’s lower lip. “Love your hands. Your mouth. Don’t stop touching me. Need you to keep touching me.”

The words worked, thank fuck. Bo would cobble his brain back together a hundred times over to feel that relief curling through their bond, the affection and warmth and everything else that came with it.

Ever closed the space between their lips again, kissing with gentle intensity. Bo kissed his kelpie back as much as the vines and his addled brain would allow. One of Ever’s hands anchored in the soft moss, the other tracing along that scar again until he reached the vines.

Ivy trembled under his touch the same way Bo did.

Lips on his neck, his collarbone, the tendrils of green shivering aside to give Ever room for each kiss, every caress after that first brush at his scar. A broken, meandering path over Bo’s body, leaves stroking sensitive skin as they withdrew enough for Ever to touch. Each flick of Ever’s tongue and hot brush of his lips pulling more shuddering, low groans from Bo, wordless affirmation and asking.

Snowmelt and swift water, grass frozen and silver kissed. Winter on the Summer King.

Holly King. A thought that thrummed as the vines did, sang like cries of ecstasy in fields of grain. Bo knew what he’d see before he looked and looked anyway. Ever’s dark hair crowned with glossy green leaves and blood-red berries. Winter, with his head bowed and his hand–

“ Fuck , Ever!“ The ragged word ripped from Bo’s throat, half caught on his tongue. His entire body shuddered in an attempt to rock closer. Ever’s hand curled around his cock, burning through the thin fabric. The ivy held fast while Bo struggled against it, the sight of Ever’s mouth trailing downward too fucking good not to try. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Vines that’d shifted away from Ever’s lips and touch moved back into place, anchoring Bo to the soft cushion of moss. All he could do was whimper and shake and breathe in magic with every gasp. Vines toyed over the curve of his panting lips, kept his mouth from closing when Bo might have tried to muffle his sounds. Ever’s tongue was almost too much, over the gossamer-thin fabric and the head of Bo’s cock.

“My hands are yours,” Ever murmured. His words nearly sent Bo off the moss. Would have if not for Faerie holding him down with its eager, trembling ivy. “My mouth made to worship you. ”

“Ever, please, fuck. More. Fuck .”

More, and Faerie was definitely listening because the fucking spider-silk pants turned to summer mist. Ever’s hand still wrapped loosely around Bo’s cock. Skin to skin.

“You’re so much more than I would ever dare dream of.” Ever’s voice shook. His lips parted again, and his head bent.

Thick summer air full of the drowsy drone of bees. Chill water on Bo’s tongue and plush moss under his back. Reverence in gray eyes and gentle fingers and soft lips. Words followed by wet heat.

Green and red on black, tan on pale. Fucking poetry, and Bo no poet. Held, allowed only to take, and the only offering he could give in turn his words.

Shaking. Rough. Hungry.

“–beautiful goddamn mouth, fuck , Ever, my Ever.” Praise and pleading and low, broken sounds, as he shuddered against the vines. Said, “fucking gorgeous” and “fuck, fuck , your greedy fucking throat“ and “please, just like, yes , fuck–”

Lost, like he’d not been lost before. Bo took and keened and breathed, fucking wanted . Ever’s mouth sank down and down and down, swallowing, taking all of Bo’s cock with helpless, begging whimpers of his own. Like this was a gift Bo was giving him.

The drag of the kelpie’s tongue and hollowing of his cheeks was enough to drive anyone out of their fucking mind.

Again.

Again.

Fucking again , and Bo would’ve come, shaken apart then and there, even as the thrumming not voice whispered that it could only happen on Ever’s cock, not down his throat. Mustn’t be wasted. Would’ve come, but a thin vine curled around the base of his cock, tightening.

“ Fuck ,” Bo heard himself gasp.

Ever prayed, worshiped , the drag of his mouth and mutual need as strong as the tide of power that filled Bo with every wet slide.

Crown of oak. Crown of holly. Summer and winter.

A frisson of heat shuddered through Bo with the first press of Ever’s slick finger, in . Bo made a sound between a whine and a whimper, sharp and urgent, unable to get even the barest twitch closer. Magic whispered against hypersensitive skin, a murmur of yes and this , eager as the cant of his hips with a shift of moss and ivy .

“More,” Bo whispered. Begged. Needed. The words fell from his mouth without thought, his voice skating the line between trembling pleading and thrumming power. “My Holly King. My Ever. More of you. Taken and spent. I want to come with you inside me.”

It had to be that way. It had always been that way.

And Ever, Ever moaned around his cock, throat working as he worked a second finger in. Another greedy fucking swallow before pulling off, placing a wet kiss to Bo’s stomach, breathless.

“Soon, sweet Bo,” Ever promised. “Summer King. Bide, just a little more.”

A third finger, slow , while Bo groaned, head back in pleasure, the trees rustling above him, buds swelling to vibrant flowers under his lust-glazed attentions. Heavy fruit, orange and yellow, and Ever promising soon . From anyone else, a fucking tease, would’ve sent Bo laughing or cursing.

Not Ever. Not for him, not from him. That hungry press of fingers, in and in, fucking agonizing with the lack of speed. Bound by ivy, Bo couldn’t reach for more, could only feel . Ever’s fingers deep, then deeper. Their magic, intertwined with Faerie’s, sliding down his parched throat like ice water.

“Soon,” Bo echoed. A slow, insistent pull from the ivy, dragging his knees up until they were held bent and tucked toward his chest. He started to whimper, to say “fuck, Ever, fuck,” but what came out, shaking and ravenous, was, “Your Summer King. Yours to take, to spend, to worship. Yours .”

Faerie fucking breathed with them. Ever glowed , the winding path of his blue-silver scales shimmering like he was underwater. Bo, bound in vines, that crown of oak still on his head, and the bed of moss a fucking altar , glowed with him. The fucking sun in summer. Summer King.

Didn’t think about it. Couldn’t. Could only feel. Feel, as the not enough of Ever’s fingers became the slick slide of his cock. Slow as before, unhurried and unrelenting, taking more and more and more. Bo waited, shaking. So did Faerie. The anticipation in the air thick as honey, sharp as Ever’s teeth in the moment, serrated and sharklike.

And sex–

Sex didn’t feel like this.

Wasn’t shivering vines on an altar of moss and stone. A bright song that twisted through him: snowmelt and river mist, old earth and sunlight. Beneath it all, something tremulous and eager. An ancient, hungry power.

“Bo. My Bo. My Summer King. I do. I worship you,” Ever whispered, his body trembling with tension. Beautiful, above him. Fangs and filigree.

“Your sacrifice.” Bo didn’t recognize his own voice.

And he was going to lose his mind if Ever didn’t start moving. But this, this had to happen. It had always happened this way.

“If willing.” Fingers, clawed again, gentle with it over vine-covered thighs. The plants shuddered, leaves and tendrils yearning toward his touch. “Permit me? My king. Summer yields only if you will it.”

Bo shuddered again, or maybe he’d never stopped. His response was there on his tongue, waiting to be said, tasting like electricity and ripe fruit.

“I yield,” Bo breathed, as flowers blossomed along the lines of his arms, his sides. “Summer yields to his Holly King. My kelpie.” That last came out fierce, the words from Bo alone. Softer, when he spoke again. “My Ever. Take me and keep winter safe. Give me everything.”

Ever whimpered, a low, desperate sound. His eyes, wide, moonlight and dark water. His scales glittering silver as he moved. Finally, finally , fucking into Bo with slow, deep thrusts while the world broke around them.

They were in a sheltered room of moss and ivy. No, they were under the stars, with wheat high and ripe around them. The heat of the noonday sun on Bo’s face and chest, and the cold of a winter night nipping at his fingertips.

And through it all, Ever fucking him. Taking him. Slow . Bo fucking lost to it. Electric heat. Ragged gasps and shuddering whimpers. Ever pressed deep. And his hand, when he reached for Bo’s cock, was gentle torture, smooth and sweet as Ever himself.

His kelpie. His Ever, a crown of holly pushed back in his hair, needing .

“Bo. Bo . Let me? Incredible. You’re incredible.” A helpless tumble of begging words, Ever’s voice his own now, even as Faerie rode them like the river. “Your kelpie. Your soulbond. Yours.”

“My fierce fucking kelpie.” His words, now. He’d already said what must be said, what was always said. Left his tongue free to beg as each slow thrust shuddered down his spine, left him gasping. “Fuck, Ever, fuck, harder? Please, fuck me faster, more, Ever, fuck, please.”

Ever didn’t make him wait. Faster. Harder. Driving in with whimpered restraint.

His soulbond. His kelpie. (His and his and theirs . )

The protective alder trees reached toward them, branches turning gray-brown and curved. Bo caught a glimpse of white blossoms unfurling behind Ever’s gorgeous fucking face, their centers the color of orange segments. Orange blossoms. Tasted them as surely as he did their bond, true as Ever’s voice and dark eyes, tangible as the kiss of Faerie’s magic, filling him and in and in.

Bo lost himself to it, to immediacy and eternity and more. The slow roll of shattering apart, ecstasy and wet heat over Ever’s hand and the ready ivy, Bo bound and unraveling, broken cries of Ever’s name and yours, raw on trembling lips.

Woven through it, through him , Faerie’s own anticipation spiraled, the waiting rush still building, as eager and ravenous as either of them.

Deeper. More. Heat and friction, each new shift of Ever’s body punctuated with a fresh shudder and gasp. No careful slowness, no measured depth to satisfy just Bo but unshackled need. Ever greedy, the way Bo needed him.

Perfect . Bo in pieces, oversensitive and spent. Ever fucking him, pressure on the vines tugging them closer, letting him rock into Ever’s final, ungentle thrusts.

A kelpie on a riverbank. Bo’s kelpie, taking what he’d been offered. Shuddering, whispering, “Bo, sweet Bo,” his hands tight on Bo’s hips as he did. Perfect, Bo in pieces.

Faerie spilled through them, filling Bo even as Ever did. A river of power. More, too much, binding him to Ever, dragging him under with pleasure. And Bo, human flesh, couldn’t finish again this soon. Knew he couldn’t.

But Faerie murmured while Ever held him beneath the rapids. Sunlight and ice. Life and death. Bo and Ever.

Couldn’t. But he did. Faerie taking. Overflowing. Drawing it out of him, his lips parted in a soundless cry. And summer gave himself to winter with a spill of liquid heat.