Luck Of The Irish [Anthology]

Luck Of The Irish Dunne, Douglas, & Tanglen 2 Luck Of The Irish Dunne, Douglas, & Tanglen LUCK OF THE IRISH An Ell...

Author: Dunne Jennifer | Tanglen Chris | Douglas Kate

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Luck Of The Irish

Dunne, Douglas, & Tanglen

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Luck Of The Irish


LUCK OF THE IRISH An Ellora’s Cave publication written by JENNIFER DUNNE KATE DOUGLAS CHRIS TANGLEN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-375-6 Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN # 1-84360-376-4 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), & HTML STICKS AND STONES © Copyright Jennifer Dunne, 2003. A WOLF BY ANY OTHER NAME © Copyright Kate Douglas, 2003. THE PUBLIC EYE © Copyright Chris Tanglen, 2003. All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave. Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. USA Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without author and publisher permission. Edited by Jennifer Martin and Martha Punches Cover Art by Bryan Keller

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Warning: The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. LUCK OF THE IRISH has been rated NC17, erotic, by three individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place where young readers not meant to view this e-book are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy…

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Prologue

Ireland, present day. "This isn't how I envisioned present-day Ireland," said the nerd at the table. Dermot Stone wished he would quit talking. Every moment Dermot had to spend responding was one less moment available for the task of getting shit-faced drunk. "So what were you envisioning?" asked the other guy, Greg something. A lawyer. The nerd shrugged and took another drink of Guinness. "I don't know. More people wearing green, I guess. A few more redheaded wee Irish lasses. Where are the pet leprechauns?" Dermot really needed to switch tables. He was far from sober himself, but at least alcohol didn't turn him into a babbling idiot. He sighed and looked around the wedding reception. A huge number of people, probably hundreds, having themselves a grand old time and here he was sitting at a table with a lawyer and an intoxicated nerd. Wonderful. Greg the Lawyer took a sip from his beer, grimacing a bit. The guy clearly wasn't a drinker. "So, Zev, are you here for the bride or groom?" he asked the nerd. "The bride. Tami's an ex-girlfriend." That caught Dermot's attention. "Really?" "Yeah. We were together for about a month when she was living in the states." "She was my nanny," said Dermot. "I lost my virginity to her." "Your nanny?" asked Greg. "How old are you?" "Never mind," said Dermot, immediately wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. "It's a long story." "Yeah, but you're, what, early thirties? She's gotta be about your age, maybe even younger." Greg started to count on his fingers. "It's not important." It was definitely time to steer the conversation away from himself. "What about you? Are you here for the bride or groom?" "Groom. But I did sleep with the bride." "All three of us slept with Tami?" asked Zev. "That's a pretty big coincidence." "Well, I don't mean to show disrespect for the bride on her wedding day," said Greg, "but it's not all that big of a coincidence, if you know what I mean." The men all nodded. "I want to hear more about the nanny thing," said Zev. "I bet she sure as hell didn't have to fight to get you in bed by nine."

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Greg laughed. "Yeah, I have to say, I really got ripped off in the babysitter allocation. If I was good, all I got was a Popsicle." "Maybe he wasn't so good." "We were talking about leprechauns earlier," said Dermot, desperately trying to change the subject. "Have you ever tried to catch one?" "No, not recently," said Zev. "I know how. Want to try?" "Now?" asked Greg. "Sure. It's not like this reception doesn't suck." "I know I could use an extra pot o' gold," said Zev. "We all could. Let's go."

***** "Heeeeeeeeere leprechaun!" shouted Zev, as they trudged through the woods. "Here, leper, leper, leper!" "Please shut up," Dermot requested. "I think I see one," said Greg. "Hand me the lantern! Oh, no, wait, it was just a couple of ogres and a troll." "Catching a leprechaun is serious business," said Dermot. "If we do see one, don't grab it. He'll just vanish. And he'll do everything he can to trick you, so don't let yourself be fooled. Let me do the talking." "Are we lost?" asked Zev. "I think we're lost." "We've been walking for two minutes. You can still see the lights from the party." "Oh. I've never been a big forest kind of guy. Give me a good meadow any day." Dermot ignored the nerd and continued walking. Even though the leprechaun hunt had been an elaborate method of changing the subject, he had to admit that he was now genuinely excited to be out here. He would never admit it to these idiots, but he truly did believe in leprechauns and other such magic, and if only he could find… "Does anybody know any good Irish songs?" asked Zev. "'When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,'" Greg suggested. "I don't know that one." "Me either." Zev began to sing ”Twist and Shout”. Badly. Dermot rolled his eyes. They were in Ireland, for God's sake. You were supposed to be able to hold your goddamn liquor. They marched through the woods for a few more minutes, Zev singing the entire time. Dermot was just about to bash him over the head with the lantern, bury him in a

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shallow grave, and turn him into another Irish myth when he heard a rustling from the trees. "Shhhh!" he said. Zev and Greg fell silent. The three men stood there, listening. Nothing. "False alarm," Dermot said. Zev resumed his singing…and the rustling started again. Dermot waved his hand for silence. As soon as Zev shut up, the rustling stopped. Greg walked over to the source of the rustling and peeked through the leaves and branches. "I can't see if there's anything in there or not." "Sing some more," Dermot told Zev. Zev resumed his abysmal rendition of “Twist and Shout”. Moments later, something burst out of the shrubs and danced in the path in front of them. A little green man, only three feet tall. Dressed entirely in green, with a red beard, a pipe, and a hat. He danced around in time with Zev's singing. "Keep singing!" Dermot ordered. The leprechaun, if this truly was a leprechaun, continued dancing around. Dermot crept forward, waving for Greg to stay where he was. The lawyer nodded and watched the leprechaun in amazement. If the legends were true, and at this point there was no damn reason to believe that they weren't, he could capture the leprechaun by holding his gaze. He kept moving closer and closer, watching the little green man happily dance around, trying to catch his eye. The leprechaun made eye contact. Dermot didn't look away. The leprechaun stopped dancing and stared at him. "I've got him!" said Dermot, forcing himself to hold the leprechaun's stare. "Everybody stay cool!" He took a few more steps forward and crouched down, putting himself nearly nose-to-nose with the creature. "Are you a leprechaun?" he asked. The little green man laughed at him. "Well, of course I'm a leprechaun! What did ye think I was, a unicorn?" "Then I demand that you take us to your gold." The leprechaun looked pained. "Me gold? Now, what would a fancy lad such as ye be needin' with me gold?" Dermot realized that the other two men were moving closer, but didn't dare break eye contact to tell them to scram. "You must take us to your gold." The leprechaun nodded, sadly. "Aye, lad, I must. Unless ye wish to strike a bargain."

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"No bargains." "Well, aren't ye an impatient one? Perhaps ye should listen to the offer before ye get all huffy about me gold. There are few things finer than gold, save but for a nice pair o' shoes…and, perhaps, wishes?" "Wishes?" asked Zev. "Aye, wishes. I can grant ye three wishes. One for each. I can see into your hearts and grant your greatest desire, I can. Now, isn't that much better than a silly pot o' gold, lad?" Dermot thought about that. He had all the money he wanted, but his greatest desire… The leprechaun smiled. "I see a reasonable lad before me. Let me free, and I will grant ye each one wish. Ye will get what your heart most desires." "Go for the wish!" said Zev. Dermot nodded. "Fine. I release you." He broke eye contact with the leprechaun, hoping he hadn't made a huge mistake. But the leprechaun didn't run away. Instead he looked at each of the men in turn. "Aye, I have seen what it is ye most desire, and so it shall be granted." "When?" asked Dermot. The leprechaun chuckled. "Have patience, lad. Leprechaun magic is a tricky business. It will work differently for all of ye. But it will work, that I promise." Greg held a hand to his forehead, as if suddenly dizzy, and then fell to the ground. Within seconds, Zev had fallen as well. "What did you do to them?" Dermot demanded. "Don't worry, 'tis nothing to be concerned with. Their greatest desire lies elsewhere." The leprechaun pointed into the woods, in the same direction they'd been walking. "Yours lies this way." The leprechaun winked, laughed merrily, and then dove back into the leaves. Dermot stood there, listening as the laughter faded. He suddenly realized that Zev was gone. Vanished completely. Where had his greatest desire taken him? It didn't matter. Dermot's desire lay straight ahead. Leaving the lawyer snoring on the path, he headed deeper into the woods.

Luck Of The Irish


Sticks and Stone Jennifer Dunne

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Chapter One Dermot Stone picked his way carefully through the darkened forest, cursing his stupidity. Wandering through unknown woods with only a single Coleman lantern for illumination, in search of his heart's greatest desire, was a calculated risk. He knew what he desired more than anything—to see members of the faerie realm. Incontrovertible proof that there was more to life than the relentless pursuit of money and power that formed the bedrock of his father's life. Proof that Dermot was right to believe in more, in the magic of unseen possibilities. Already tonight he'd seen, and captured, a leprechaun, although that could have been an elaborately staged prank. The drunken nerd who'd accompanied him had disappeared suspiciously, possibly to set up the second stage of the joke. And it had been the nerd's singing that summoned the leprechaun. Still, it would show more wit than his beer-soaked brain had seemed capable of to mastermind a prank of this magnitude. Dermot couldn't see what he would gain from such a stunt, anyway. No, he was mostly convinced that he'd bargained with a real leprechaun. And the little man had promised that Dermot's greatest desire lay this way. He checked his watch. He'd been walking for twenty minutes. Another twenty should bring him to the edge of the forest. If he didn't find his heart's desire before then, he'd use the GPS feature on his cell phone and call his driver to come pick him up. His trek through the woods might be foolish, but he had a plan, and a contingency plan. His stupidity lay in what he'd done before he and the two other wedding guests had caught the leprechaun. That's when Dermot had revealed that Tamara Fuller had been both his last nanny and his first lay. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The tabloids would have a field day with that news. Dermot could only hope the men didn't know who he was, or wouldn't remember his confession in enough detail to repeat. At least he hadn't been foolish enough to tell them the details of his relationship. His parents had pulled him out of prep school for the summer and hired a nanny for a grand trip of Europe that was supposed to unite them as a family, or some such foolishness. He'd protested that he was nearly in college and far too old for a nanny, especially one who was barely older than he was, but his parents had insisted that he not be allowed on his own in countries where he was over the legal age of consent. His mother had visions of gold-digging foreign women lurking in wait for American heirs they could slap with paternity suits. Given the number of out of court settlements his father had arranged for himself, her fears seemed fully justified. Dermot had suspected at the time that the young woman, tall and lean with a dancer's graceful strength and model's stunning looks, had been hired because his

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father wanted to sleep with her. She matched Dermot for height, but he was awkward and uncomfortable with his newly added inches, and seemed to become even more clumsy and tangle-footed whenever he was around her. He had been appropriately awful to her in the way only a self-involved teenager could be. The poor girl had been at her wit's end when she finally decided the only way to keep him in line would be a good, old-fashioned spanking. She'd pulled off his pants and shorts, shocking him into immobility, and laid him across her lap, her miniskirt riding up so that he was stretched across her bare thighs. What followed had been like no spanking he'd ever known. Thinking of Tamara, his ass cheeks heated. He still remembered how her small, soft hands felt slapping his ass, over and over again, while his hardening cock rocked against her bare thighs with every blow. Then his cock had slipped between her legs. She clamped her thighs around him, and he thought he'd died, the pleasure was so intense. Every slap of her palm against his ass forced his cock down, stroking against her thighs. When she lifted her hand, he pulled back, stroking the other way, so that she could do it again. He'd been terrified that he'd embarrass himself by coming in her lap, the fear keeping him rock hard longer than he'd known was possible. Her slaps grew harder and faster as her breathing turned ragged. Then she gave a strangled gasp, and her thighs relaxed. "Let that be a lesson to you," she'd said. "Now pull up your pants and go." He'd run to the bathroom and jerked off, harder than he'd ever come before, his vision fogging and his body shaking with the force of his release. After that, he'd found a reason to be "punished" every night that his parents were out. Since they went out almost every night, his ass was incredibly tender by the end of the trip. A few soft swats would be sufficient to have him gasping across Tamara's legs, fighting not to come. The last night of their trip, his ass had throbbed even before she'd pulled down his pants. The light scrape of cotton and elastic over the burning skin had made him instantly hard. Tamara had licked her lips, gazing at his straining cock, and wrapped her fingers lightly around it. Dermot whimpered. "You're a bad, bad boy," she whispered, her fingers tightening until they gripped his cock with a delicious pain that made it even harder. "Would you like to be a bad, bad man?" "Please," he begged. She pushed him to the floor. He landed on his ass, the pain making his vision swim and forcing a bead of come from the tip of his cock. "Lie still, and don't come," she'd ordered. Then she'd knelt on the floor, straddling his hips. His rigid cock disappeared beneath the mysteries of her miniskirt. She shifted position, and the head of his cock touched hot, wet flesh. Then his cock was pushing past her slick skin, sinking deep inside her. She rose up and down on him, faster and

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harder, until his tender ass was banging against the floorboards with every stroke. He gasped, fighting for control, struggling not to come, when everything was heat and wet and pain. "Now, Dermot. Come now," she ordered. "I…I can't." She rode him harder, her breath coming in harsh gasps. He grunted and strained beneath her, but the weeks of spankings had trained him to endure her painful pleasures without coming. He couldn't convince his cock that this time, it was okay to come. "I'll just have to make you come," she panted. Leaning forward, she slid her hands beneath his shirt. It was the first time she'd touched him anywhere except his ass or his cock, and he trembled even harder as her nails scratched over his stomach, blazing a trail up to his nipples. She flicked the twin erections with her sharp nails, then rolled the hard pebbles between her fingers. He groaned in agony, waves of heat pouring straight to his groin. He bucked beneath her, slamming his ass against the floor, rocking his cock against the tight walls of her vagina. He felt the cool wetness of tears running down his cheeks as his head thrashed wildly from side to side. He was blubbering like a baby. That's all he was, a baby. He wasn't man enough to come inside her. "Please Tami," he begged. "Make me come." Her fingers tightened on his nipples. With a hard thrust, she took his cock deeper than ever, until even his balls nestled in the wet welcome of her flesh, at the same time she savagely twisted both his nipples. White fire flashed a burning path to his groin, where it sparked an explosion he couldn't contain. His body arched up from the floor and she covered his mouth with her own, swallowing his hoarse cry. Then he was coming, flooding into her, his entire body rigid and shaking as the orgasm tore through him. Her inner muscles clenched around his cock, pulling the last of his come from him. Then he was swallowing her cries as she shuddered and shook above him, at last collapsing limply on top of him like a quivering human blanket. Their fused mouths gentled, becoming a slow, deep kiss. Dermot sighed as their breathing faded to normal, and Tamara lifted her head. She smiled with an almost feline expression of satisfaction. "My poor sweetling, I made you cry." Her tongue swept over his cheek, gathering the dried salt of his tears. He closed his eyes and groaned. "Yes, you did. Please, do it again." Dermot smiled, warmed by the memory. Then he realized he'd stopped walking, and had been absent-mindedly rubbing his cock while he was lost in the past. His rigid

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cock was stretching the lines of his Armani slacks in a way the designer had never intended. He cupped his balls, thrusting against the heel of his hand. What the hell. Maybe he should find a nice, dark tree to lean against, drop his pants, and toast the bride the way she deserved. He lifted the lantern in his other hand, looking for a suitable spot, when a flash of white to his right caught his attention. He dropped his hand to his side. He wasn't letting some paparazzi catch him fondling himself in the woods. Shrugging out of his suit coat, he draped it over his free arm and held it before himself to shield his erection from sight. "Who's there?" he called. A woman's silvery laughter floated through the trees. He turned off the faint path he'd been following and threaded his way between the wych elms, ashes, and sycamores. Their branches swayed suggestively, urging him on, as if someone had run between them a moment before. He burst from the trees into a small clearing, no more than eight feet across. The twined branches of the trees on the far side of the clearing formed an impenetrable wall. The woman he'd followed had disappeared. "Where are you?" he called. Airy laughter tinkled from his right, very close. He lifted the lantern higher, throwing a beam of light to the far end of the clearing, and realized an elm he'd thought was part of the surrounding trees was actually a foot or two inside the clearing. The woman must be hiding behind it. "Who are you?" he asked again. The beam of his lantern revealed her pale face, peering out at him over a fork in the trunk. He stepped closer, and realized she was not standing behind the tree, looking over it. She was standing inside the tree. Now that he knew what to look for, he saw that the forked limbs of the tree looked remarkably like uplifted arms, and the smooth gray bark of the trunk resembled the curves of a woman's body, concealed by a flowing garment of bark. "A dryad," he whispered. His heart hammering in his chest, Dermot slowly set the lantern on the ground, his gaze never leaving the dryad's. Moving as if he was forcing his way through liquid resin, he took one step closer, then two. Then he was standing in front of the dryad's tree, near enough to touch her if he dared. Dermot had been accused of plenty of personality faults by his competitors or the press, but no one had ever called him timid. He lifted a hand and touched the dryad's cheek.

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Her silvery laugh cascaded over him, along with a confetti of leaves and seed pods that fell from the branches above. She stepped forward, passing from tree to human form so smoothly that she seemed to simply appear before him. Her white skin gleamed in the reflected lantern light, like a moving, living statue. A naked statue. She had a slim, slight build, what he'd previously called "willowy." Inanely, he wondered if "elmy" was a word, since she obviously lived in a wych elm, not a willow. The dryad had wild brown hair, reminding him of an out of control chia pet, framing a face that could have been carved by Michelangelo. In a less jaded age, men might have been reduced to tears by the sight of such beauty. Even Dermot, who had known his share of beautiful woman and recipients of the plastic surgeon's art, felt an urge to fall to his knees before her and beg to be allowed to worship her. His gaze traveled from the dangerous perfection of her face, to the safety of her delicate breasts. They swept up in graceful symmetry to her pointed nipples, already tight and hard with arousal. He swallowed, flexing his fingers as he imagined playing with those nipples. His cock surged with anticipation as he pictured his mouth closing over one of the dryad's breasts, while he tugged and fondled the other. He wanted to go to her now, to begin loving her immediately, but knew that a creature of such perfection would never allow the coarse touch of a human lover. It was enough to admire her, and imagine himself loving her. He let his gaze drift lower, admiring her trim, flat abdomen, then lower still. Dermot blinked. Her body was completely hairless. Her legs joined smoothly, like two branches meeting at a fork. A pang of frustrated desire shot from the back of his throat to his groin, as he realized she might not even be capable of making love in the human way. As if she knew what he was thinking, the dryad swept one hand across her smooth abdomen, then beckoned him forward. Dermot swallowed. His cock, already primed by his memories of Tamara and his admiration of the dryad's body, surged to full readiness, jutting forward like a mighty oak. Throwing his jacket aside into the wall of trees surrounding them, he revealed the bulging eagerness of his cock. He pointed to his tented slacks, then to her, and raised one eyebrow. The dryad nodded. Hardly daring to believe his luck, Dermot undid his belt and dropped his pants and drawers, ruthlessly kicking the fine Armani into the fallen leaves and other debris ringing the dryad's tree. Lifting her arms above her head, she wordlessly offered him her body. He stepped forward, the tip of his cock just touching the flat plane of her stomach, and skimmed his hands over her hips. His eyes told him he caressed a woman's body, but his fingers said they glided over the smooth contours of polished wood.

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The dryad stepped closer, trapping his cock between their bodies. Dermot drew in a shaky breath, as his hard cock pulsed against her equally hard flesh. She wound her arms about his neck, and pressed her lips to his. Warm, living lips, as hard and demanding as he might dream. He slid his hands higher, over her smoothly polished skin, and cupped her breasts. They fit perfectly in his hands, the hard, tight nipples nestling in the center of his palms. Her head tilted back as she sighed like leaves in the wind, urging him to further exploration. He rotated his palms over her nipples, wringing a low, rustling moan from her. Dermot was momentarily thrown by the way her breasts remained stationary, with no bounce or jiggle to them. But the dryad seemed to like having him play with them, just like a human woman would, so he continued. Lowering his head, he replaced one hand with his mouth. Her breast was smooth and solid beneath his lips and tongue, more like a carved statue than a living woman. But her shuddering sighs were growing in volume and intensity, now sounding like storm-tossed branches, so he ignored the strange sensation. He circled the hard peak of her nipple twice with his tongue, then started to suck on her breast. His other hand tugged her opposite nipple in time with his mouth. She swayed backward, drawing Dermot after her, until she bumped into the solid trunk of her tree. Pressing his head against her breast with one hand, she arched toward him, urging him to draw her breast deeper into his mouth. He tried to suck harder, but his lips slid off her rigid breast. So instead, he bit down on her nipple, using that as an anchor. She whispered something in Gaelic, and sweetness filled his mouth. He swallowed reflexively, then realized he was drinking the legendary ambrosia of the gods. The fluid, thin and sweet like watered down maple syrup, poured from her breast. He bit down harder on her nipple, sucking her sweetness, eager to swallow every last drop. He could feel the ambrosia coursing through him, heating him and hardening him, making him the proper mate for an immortal faerie. He pumped his hips, stroking the oaken length of his cock along her stomach. She lifted one leg over his hip, urging him to plant his cock in her fertile valley. Dermot slid his free hand down, between her legs, and felt for her opening. It was there, right where it should be, as rigid and unmoving as her breasts. He circled one finger around the smooth curve of her opening, gauging its size. It would be a tight fit for his cock, but pleasantly so. Sliding in and out of her rigid ring would feel similar to a human lover's encircling thumb and forefinger, stroking his cock from the base to the head and back again until the teasing pressure drove him mad and he exploded in her hands. Dermot slipped two fingers inside the dryad, testing her readiness. Her inner space was snug, not much bigger than the opening, and coated with a thick, slightly sticky fluid.

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He swallowed another mouthful of ambrosia from her breast, and hungrily tongued her nipple, wondering if she would allow him to feast on her other nectar after he'd satisfied her with his cock the first time, before he took her with his cock a second time and finally came himself. Removing his fingers, he guided the head of his cock to her opening, then slowly slid inside. The hard ring of her opening caressed the rigid length of his cock, and her wet, sticky walls held him in a deep embrace. She sighed, a soft exhalation of rustling leaves, as he groaned. He'd never felt anything so good. She was the perfect woman. She might even make him come the first time, although he hoped not. He wanted to prolong this pleasure as long as possible. He slid mostly out of her, her rigid ring stroking the length of his cock all the way to the head, then thrust deeply into her waiting wetness, her opening stroking him down to his balls. Dermot lifted his mouth from her breast, throwing his head back and groaning. "Oh, God, that's good." The dryad moaned something in Gaelic, and stroked his shirted back with her sticklike fingers. Her hands roamed downward and cupped his ass. Dermot sucked in a quick breath, hope swelling in his heart. It was too much to ask for, to expect that this beautiful, ethereal creature would— Smack. The dryad slapped his ass, the openhanded blow striking his bare skin as if she was beating him with a whisk broom. Dermot gasped as she hit him on the other side. Then she found her rhythm, her stick-like fingers slapping his ass again and again, a rain of fire on his tender flesh. He began moving with her, each blow on his ass driving his cock through her hardened ring, sheathing his full length in her sticky depths. "Oh, God, yes," he begged. "I've been a bad, bad boy. Hit me again." The dryad complied, her branching fingers caning his ass until the skin burned and he was floating, flying, transported by the pain to a place of such unutterable beauty he knew he must have reached the faerie realm. A different kind of pain, deep in his scrotum, wrenched Dermot back to the forest. He was no longer moving with the dryad's beating. In fact, he was no longer moving at all. Something warm and wet flowed down the back of his legs, each stroke of the dryad's hands adding another trickle. She'd whipped his ass until he bled, and showed no sign of stopping. He started to pull out of her, until the agony in his scrotum stopped him. Blind panic consumed him. He was stuck! He reached between their bodies, feeling where they were joined. Either he'd swollen or she'd shrunk, but there was no way his cock was sliding through her ring.

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"Wait. Stop!" She continued beating him, and Dermot grabbed her arms to make her stop. The dryad growled, at least that's what he thought the noise of clattering, lashing branches translated to. Her face was distorted by fury, and he wondered how he'd ever seen it as beautiful. Terrifying and alien, yes, but it wasn't remotely beautiful now. She fought him, her hands clawing and whipping at his chest and back, tearing the fine cotton of his dress shirt. Finally, in desperation, he let go of one of her arms and punched her, a swift right cross to the jaw. "Ow!" It was like slugging a tree. Dermot cradled his injured hand beneath his other arm, whimpering. It felt like he'd broken all four fingers. The dryad began lashing his ass again, all semblance of erotic play gone. Each blow made his vision swim in a wash of red pain. If he'd been capable of it, he'd have fallen to his knees. He stopped trying to resist, his mind floating in a hellish parody of his earlier ecstasy. Idly, he wondered why his state of abject terror hadn't reduced his cock to the size of his thumb. Then he wondered what the tabloids would make of the manner of his death when his body was found. He'd wanted to accomplish so much with his life. He'd made a good beginning, started a number of new projects and initiatives within the company and accumulated a sizable reservoir of personal favors among the rich and powerful while building his share of the family fortune. But none of that mattered. Instead he'd be remembered as a blight upon the family name, the Stone who died in the bizarre Irish sex scandal. A Gaelic shout pierced the fog of his pain, causing the dryad to redouble her efforts to beat the life out of him. The shout was repeated, followed by an angry confrontation between a cloaked woman and the dryad. The golden-haired woman held up her fist, bright blue light radiating from between her clenched fingers. She shouted again, and the dryad held up one arm to shield her eyes. The ring around Dermot's cock loosened fractionally. Crying with relief, he jerked his cock free. He turned to run from the dryad, but his legs gave out and he collapsed on the ground, sprawling in the wet mud. The abandoned Coleman lantern still burned where he'd left it, casting its dim radiance in a small circle around it. In its light, Dermot could clearly see the sticky black mud for what it was—his blood mixed with the dirt of the forest floor. He looked up, just in time to see the dryad fleeing back into her tree. The woman who had saved him hung the glowing blue crystal from one of the branches, then turned to face him. "Help me," Dermot croaked. Then the last of his strength deserted him, and he sprawled face down in the bloody mud.

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Chapter Two Eileen pushed back the hood of her cloak and surveyed the scene. She'd managed to intervene before the dryad had killed the man, but it had been a close thing. He was sprawled face down in the mud made from his own blood, his shirt slashed to tatters, and his otherwise fine looking ass scored with bloody welts. He'd tried to fight at the end, rather than being completely under the dryad's spell. Eileen hoped he'd continue to be a fighter, because he wasn't out of the woods yet. She gazed at the pool of bloody mud and shook her head. "Fertile ground, indeed. Come springtime, we'll see how many new dryads your foolishness has seeded." She picked up his discarded pants, then bent to pull him to his feet. The man groaned, and staggered upright. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders to help support him, she led him to her cottage. "It's a good thing for you I found you when I did. Dryads plant their seedlings in mud formed from the decayed leaves of their tree and the blood of their human mate. It's the rare man who survives the encounter." "I didn't know," he whispered. "That was never mentioned in the legends." "It wouldn't be, now, would it?" They reached her cottage, a traditional square stone building with a thatched roof. The only obvious concession to the twenty-first century was the satellite dish attached to the chimney. She pushed open the door and led the man through the living room and kitchen, and into the small bathroom. "Into the shower with you," she ordered. "That mud's got to come off so I can clean your cuts." She slid his arm from around her shoulder and stepped back, so he could remove the remains of his shirt. It was the first time she'd gotten a good look at his face. Even with mud caked in his wavy dark hair and smeared across his classically proportioned face, he was handsome. And vaguely familiar. She didn't know any Americans, which his accent clearly proclaimed him to be. Even if he hadn't spoken, who but an American would be wandering around the woods in designer slacks and dress shoes? There'd been some sort of posh wedding held at one of the nearby estates. Helicopters and limousines had been ferrying guests from Gatwick and Shannon for two days. He must be one of the rich and famous wedding guests. That was why he looked familiar. She'd probably seen his picture in the news.

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He winced as his tattered shirt ripped free of the blood congealed on his body, then kicked off his muddy shoes and socks and stepped into the shower. Eileen turned the shower massage to a warm mist, and opened the taps. Dirt and blood washed down his back, pooling around his feet. With the filth rinsed away, she could finally see the extent of his injuries. It wasn't as bad as she'd feared. Vicious welts crisscrossed his back and sides, but it looked as if his shirt had protected him from the worst of the dryad's attack. His ass was red and starting to swell, covered in welts and shallow cuts, but only three or four of them seemed at all deep. Some antiseptic and bandages would take care of those. It would burn like hell, but maybe that would teach him not to go sticking his cock into places where it didn't belong. While the gentle mist of water dissolved the last of the mud and blood sticking to his back, she distracted herself from the sight of his naked body glistening beneath the steaming water by shaking out her cloak and carefully hanging it over one of the pegs on the wall. It was smeared with mud where his arm had rested across her shoulders, and where his side had pressed against her. The sight reminded her of the strength she'd felt in his lean muscles, even though they'd trembled with exhaustion. Strength enough to sire a dozen dryad saplings. "Turn around," she snapped. "You'll be needing to rinse all the blood off before I start fixing you." Bracing himself against the wall with one hand, he slowly pivoted to face the spray. Muddy blood coursed down his chest in thick streams, dividing to flow down either side of his swollen erection, encased in drying amber. Eileen's eyes widened, as she realized what this meant. She'd freed him from the dryad's embrace before he'd come. The good news was, there would be no young dryads sprouting in the spring. The bad news was, if the dryad's sap hardened around him, he'd be dead well before spring. She needed to sit him down and clean off the sap, but where could he sit with his ass torn to ribbons? The hard wooden chairs in the kitchen were out of the question. The ergonomic chair in her study was designed for long hours in front of a keyboard, but would make cleaning his cock extremely awkward. Then she remembered the boudoir chair in her bedroom, the normally useless piece of furniture good only for collecting laundry. The soft round seat, high cushioned back, and lack of arms made it perfect for what she needed to do. She picked up a washcloth and swiped it over him, washing away the last of his grime, then turned off the shower. As he stepped onto the braided rag rug, she handed him a towel. "Follow me." She led him into her bedroom next door, and sat him on the boudoir chair. He collapsed onto the cushioned pouf of rose-patterned chintz and stared dully ahead, the towel grasped limply in one hand.

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Leaving him there, Eileen gathered a fresh washcloth and an enameled basin filled with warm water. He was sitting exactly as she'd left him when she returned. "Spread your legs," she ordered. "I have to clean your cock. The dryad's sap is stuck to it." He looked down with mild interest. "Is that why it didn't shrink?" "Yes." Kneeling between his spread legs, Eileen dipped the washcloth in the warm water then stroked it over his cock. She tried to remain impartial and professional, like a nurse, but soon lost that battle. The man was leaning back, his eyes closed and the back of his head cradled by the top of the chair, in a posture of complete exhaustion. As the washcloth rubbed up and down his cock, he sighed softly. The amber melted away. Eileen's brisk abrasions gradually turned to gentle fondling, stroking him from his balls to the slit head. He had a beautiful cock. Not overly long, and nicely thickened, it was the perfect size and shape for sucking. As the washcloth glided over him, she imagined it was her hot mouth cleaning him, until she ached with frustrated desire. She rubbed her thumb over the wet, velvety head. Was that a trace of sticky sap she detected? There was only one way to be certain she'd removed all of the dangerous substance. Dropping the washcloth into the basin, she ran her fingers up and down the length of him. The man sighed again, and his cock twitched in response. Eileen bent her head and opened her mouth, sliding her lips over the head of his cock. With her tongue, she slowly circled the delicate skin, tasting the faint sweetness of the dryad's sap. She licked him until all she could taste was warm male, then slid her tongue into the slit, probing for any lost droplets of amber. The man gasped and jerked awake. "What are you doing?" he yelped. Eileen reluctantly let his cock slide out of her mouth. The wet head bobbed tantalizingly in front of her, and she licked her lips, eager to take more of him into her mouth. But first, she had to explain. "I washed off as much of the sap as I could. But the only way I can be certain it's completely gone is to use my tongue. Human saliva dissolves the sap better than plain water." He frowned. "That doesn't seem right. What if I didn't have someone to lick me clean?" "Any human fluid will do," she admitted. "If you'd rather do it yourself, just make sure you spread your come evenly over your cock." The man flushed and looked away, then mumbled, "You'd better do it." "Do what? Make you come?" His flush deepened, and he seemed to find the plants on her windowsill utterly engrossing.

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"Well?" she prompted. "Use your saliva. I have…difficulty coming. It takes a very long time." Eileen's eyes widened. She'd heard of men who had trouble getting hard. But she'd never heard of any who stayed hard yet couldn't come. She'd have suspected him of trying to trick her into sucking his cock, except he was obviously extremely embarrassed about admitting to his trouble. She'd see if she could find any references in her books for such a problem, and if there were any spells or herbal remedies that might fix it. Later. First, she had a hard, wet cock to finish licking. Running her tongue over her lips again, an eager wetness blossomed between her legs. She wanted him in her mouth, but if he really did have trouble coming, maybe he'd stay hard long enough to take her up the vagina, too. Her mouth watering at the possibility, she leaned forward, parted her lips, and let his wet cock slide inside. She started where he'd interrupted her, pushing her tongue into the slit in the head of his cock. The man whimpered, and his cock twitched, thumping against the roof of her mouth. Deciding that might be too much stimulation for him, she slid her lips further down his shaft, and licked the soft fold below the head. He sighed in pleasure, his skin warm and pliant beneath her tongue, over an inner core of ironwood. Slowly, a quarter inch at a time, she crept down his length, pulling his cock deeper and deeper into her mouth. Each time, she stroked her tongue over, under, and around the newly devoured skin. He was very vocal, moaning and whimpering with each sweep of her tongue. Her sex trembled in aching sympathy, clenching every time he moaned, dripping hot lubricant every time he whimpered. She'd never been so turned on by sucking a cock, and she redoubled her efforts, seeking her satisfaction in his bursting climax. He didn't come. She reached the base of his cock, then took a deep breath and relaxed her throat to let him slide all the way to the back so that she could lick his balls. She thought she'd go insane from the perfection of holding his entirety in her mouth, tonguing his balls in their nest of rough hair while the tip of his cock slid up and down against the back of her throat. The ache between her legs built to an insatiable demand that only this perfect cock could fill. Opening her eyes, she looked up at him. His fists clenched the chintz cushion and his head rolled restlessly from side to side. "Please," he whispered. "Oh, please. I can't take it. Make me come." Eileen pulled back, letting his cock slide out of her mouth. It glistened, red and wet and impossibly hard, bobbing and swaying gently before her. He flexed his hips, blindly seeking the hot cave of her mouth. "No…" he moaned.

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She stood and unzipped her jeans, then quickly stripped them off. Her damp panties followed, as did her T-shirt and bra, until she was as naked as he was. Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around his cock. He moaned again and thrust forward. "Not here," she cautioned. "Come to my bed." He opened his eyes and stared at her in glazed confusion. "What?" "Make love to me." He blinked. "But…protection?" She smiled and shook her head. "The only thing your seed is good for at the moment is making saplings." Groaning, he staggered to his feet. Eileen kept her hand wrapped around his hard cock as she backed toward her bed. She liked leading him across her room this way. With her panties no longer absorbing her lubrication, she could feel her readiness slicking the skin of her thighs as she moved. She could hardly wait to have him inside her, filling her the way he'd filled her mouth moments ago. Her legs bumped the side of her bed, and she awkwardly clambered up, never releasing her hold on his cock. Lying on her back on top of the rose-patterned duvet cover, she bent her knees and spread her legs, then guided him in. His thick cock slid smoothly through her eager opening, until he was fully sheathed within her. They sighed in unison. Slowly, he began pushing his cock in and out, teasing her the way her tongue had teased him. Eileen moaned and flexed her hips, urging him onward. "Faster," she begged. He complied, increasing the speed and force of his thrusts. "Faster," she insisted. "Harder." His cock pumped in and out of her, wet sounds of suction accompanying his harsh grunts. Her desire rose, pulsing waves of need gripping her until she shook and shuddered beneath him. But something was wrong. She sensed, with the same sense that had led her into the woods that evening, that his pleasure was not building the way hers was. He wasn't going to come. "What…is it?" she gasped. "I can't," he said, his voice tight as if he was fighting back tears. "Not like this. Please. Would you please, slap my ass?" Surprise almost broke her out of her building passion. Almost. But his cock was still pumping in and out, driving deep and hard, each stroke carrying her closer and closer to the release she strained for. "But…you're hurt." "Not enough. Please." Not really sure what he was asking for, Eileen lightly swatted his pumping ass. His cock jumped inside her, and his eyes crossed in pleasure.

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"Harder," he grunted. She slapped him again, hard enough to sting her palm. His cock jumped again, and they both moaned. Soon, she had her legs locked around his hips, holding his cock firmly seated inside her. Slapping his ass with both hands, she rocked his rough pubic hair against her clit and made his cock surge and thrust within her. Her hands moved faster and faster, until they were in constant motion and she and he jiggled and shook, gasping and moaning. She tightened around his cock, squeezing him until he whimpered and begged, and she whimpered and begged him to come now, please, now. With a hoarse cry, he exploded within her. She clung to him, shaking, as her orgasm ripped through her, a second one following immediately afterwards. And still his hot seed spurted into her, filling her completely and spilling out to pool beneath her hips. They were crying, sobbing with the glory of their final release, holding each other as the tearful shudders finally subsided. Still locked in an intimate embrace, they rolled beneath the covers and slid into exhausted sleep.

***** Eileen woke to a confused sense of being trapped. She opened her eyes to see the man she'd rescued during the night sprawled beside her, the tangled bedclothes pulled over her and around him, pinning her to the bed. Cautiously, not wanting to wake the exhausted man, she inched out from under the cocooning covers. As soon as her arms were free, she pulled herself into a seated position. She reached to push the covers off of her legs, then saw the rusty stain flaking off of her palms. Blood. The man's blood. "By the sacred circle," she whispered. "What have I done?" She buried her face in her hands, unable to look at the evidence of her shame. That she, not just a practitioner of the light but a guide to thousands of others through her books and lectures, should have behaved so! She had struck him, again and again, for her own selfish pleasure. She was no better than the dryad, beating him until he bled. She felt him stir beside her, but could not bear to look at him, not after what she had done. "Good morning," he said softly, his American accent strangely sharp to her ears. Was he angry at her for using him so? Taking a deep breath, Eileen lowered her hands and looked at the man. He was smiling. "I don't know how to thank you," he said. "For rescuing me from that hideous tree creature, and for what you did afterward." She shook her head, amazed at his foolishness. "I struck you." Rather than showing justifiable anger, his smile deepened. "Yes."

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He was remarkably dense, even for an American. She held out her hand, still streaked with his blood, and waved it in front of his face. "You were hurt. Bleeding. And I struck you." Now he did frown, but not in anger. His brow furrowed, and he glanced from her hand to her face. The warmth faded from his expression. He could have been carved from stone. "I should not have asked you to. I apologize. Thank you for your assistance, and I won't trouble you again." He turned as if to leave, and she grabbed his shoulder, wrenching him back to face her. "Are all Americans as thick as week old pudding? You apologize, when it is I who have injured you? And I a priestess!" He blinked. "A priestess? Of…what, exactly?" "Of the light, of course. Did you think Ireland just happened to be filled with stones that glowed of their own will and power?" "I don't understand." Eileen took a deep breath. "No, of course you'd not. I'm a priestess of the light, what you would call a witch. One of our most sacred tenets is 'Do what thou wilt, an it harm none.' And I have harmed you. Now, are you seeing my wrong?" He shook his head. "Honestly, no. I don't see anything of the kind. You saved my life. And I asked you to give me an ass-slapping. Begged you, if I recall correctly." Heat blazed in her cheeks and she looked away. She recalled begging him for a few things, too. But in her case, they'd brought only pleasure, not pain. She smoothed her hand over the coverlet, flattening the wrinkles, wishing she could restore order to everything so easily. "It's filled with the dryad's magic, you were." Hearing herself falling back into the lilting brogue of her youth, Eileen shook her head. "You were not to have known. But I knew. The wrong is mine." The man blew out his breath in a sharp huff. "Fine. If your religion says you were wrong, you were wrong. I assume there's a penalty?" She nodded, and gathered her tattered composure. When she spoke again, she had once again mastered her tongue. "The law of three. All that we do, for good or ill, returns to us threefold." "So you're saying if I slap your ass three times as many times as you hit mine, we'll be even and everything will be all right again?" Eileen groaned. Americans. "Then you would have caused harm to me, and that harm would be visited threefold upon you."

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His arm snaked its way beneath the covers to find and caress her hip. Startled, she finally looked at him. He was smiling. "I can live with that."

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Chapter Three Dermot grinned at the woman's wide-eyed expression. He shouldn't tease her, not when she was so obviously distressed over what she perceived as a fatal flaw in her character. But he seemed unable to convince her that, far from hurting him, she'd helped him. Maybe his words couldn't convince her. But he could show her. Gliding his fingertips in soft circles over her hip, he coaxed, "If you're so convinced you've done something wrong, I know how you could apologize." "But I have—" "No. We have a saying, actions speak louder than words." Slowly, she nodded. "Ní bheathaíonn na briathra na braíthre. Words do not feed the friars." He pulled her back beneath the rumpled covers, until she was stretched out beside him. His fingers danced over her ribcage to stroke and fondle her breast. Dermot scraped a light circle around her aureole with his fingernail, smiling at her sudden intake of breath. Palming her soft mound of flesh, he rotated his hand slowly, then faster, then slowly again. Her nipple hardened against his palm. Lifting his hand, he flicked the tight bud with his fingertip. She moaned, and he smelled the sudden musky scent of her desire. This was going to be even easier than he thought. Slowly, carefully, he lifted himself up and moved over her, kneeling between her legs. All the while, his fingers continued to flick and stroke her breast. Leaning down, he replaced his hand with his mouth. She sighed as he swallowed half her breast, his tongue alternately swirling around it and rasping across the sensitive tip. Her fingers crept up, as if moving without her conscious volition, and buried themselves in his hair, pressing his head tight to her breast. She wanted him to suckle her, but that wasn't what he had in mind. No longer needing his hand to play with her breast, Dermot reached down between her legs to find a new playground. His fingers slipped easily through the wet folds, already spread in welcome, and found the swollen bud of her desire. His tongue swirled around her nipple, as his thumb circled her bud. Then he flicked his tongue across her nipple, at the same time flicking her heated bud.

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She gasped, her hips rising, and warm liquid flowed across his fingers. His hardened cock jumped, eager to enter her willing warmth. A low growl of frustration escaped him. He'd been trying to ignore his cock, focusing on the woman beneath him and her reactions. Now was not the time to search for his own satisfaction. He was trying to show her something. Again, he flicked both nipple and bud. Again, she gasped and opened more for him. He wasn't going to be able to resist her body's mute entreaty much longer. His cock hummed like a high tension wire, heavy and hot and aching to slide into her wet depths. And he would, he promised himself. Later. First, he had a lesson to teach her. Lifting his head, he stroked her breast with his lips, until only her pebbled nipple remained in his mouth. She moaned, and whispered an incomprehensible Gaelic entreaty. Her hips lifted and fell, seeking fulfillment, trying to drive her swollen flesh against his fingers. But his hand moved with her, riding her, so that her only relief was the teasing flick of his fingers timed with the flick of his tongue. That only enflamed her more. Her head whipped restlessly from side to side, and her fingers convulsed in his hair. She began to whimper softly, her cries growing steadily in volume. His fingers slipped, unable to keep his grip on the pulsing bud in the flood of eager liquid flowing from her. She lifted her hips, seeking to follow up on her brief advantage. It was the perfect moment. Finding the swollen bud again, Dermot pinched it lightly, just as his teeth closed around her nipple in a love bite. She screamed, lifting her hips nearly a foot off of the bed, and the hot flood of her satisfaction bathed his hand. She held the pose, her body bent into a quivering arch, for ten long seconds. Then she collapsed. Tremors continued to ripple through her limp body. She blinked slowly, gradually opening her eyes and focusing on his face. He tried not to look smug, but suspected his masculine pride still showed upon his face. "What did you do to me?" she whispered. "Did you like it?" "Aye. It's pudding I am. Hot, happy pudding." Dermot schooled his features to show concern. "But I bit you. And pinched you." "Did you now?" She was still too far gone in the aftereffects of her orgasm to understand what he was trying to show her. He'd have to speak more directly. "I broke your law. I harmed you." "Oh and truth, there's no harm done. Quite the opposite."

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"Even though I bit you? And pinched you? Both of those are painful, aren't they?" She blinked again, marshaling her scattered wits. Then her eyes widened. "I thank you for your teaching. There was no harm done last night, was there?" He smiled, and stroked her sweat dampened cheek. "Quite the opposite." Dermot trailed his fingers around her ear, pushing her honey gold hair away from her eyes. He hadn't noticed last night, but it looked like it would frame her alabaster face in soft curls—once it was brushed, that is. Right now, it was flattened from where she'd slept on it and streaked with sweat. The sight made him want to bury his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her, and teasing his cheek with a thousand soft caresses. Instead, he ran his fingers through it, while he studied her face and eyes. Wide and clear, her eyes were a peculiar shade midway between blue and green. He wasn't certain if they were really blue, and only colored with a reflection of the emerald green pillow-case she lay on, or if they were truly so unique. Her nose was small and gently rounded, above dark red lips swollen with passion. He remembered those lips, feathering his cock with tender kisses as she slowly swallowed him. His cock jumped, aching at the thought of entering the warm cave of her mouth again. Despite the exhausting events of last night, just looking at this woman was enough to make him hard again. He trailed a fingertip across her lips, parting their seam. Slipping his finger inside, he stroked the wet fullness of her lower lip, and pictured the head of his cock teasing her this way. His cock pulsed with swollen desire, a painful pleasure Dermot wanted to extend forever. As if she knew what he was thinking, the woman's tongue wrapped around his finger, drawing it deeper into her mouth. He groaned. Then she began sucking on it. His groin was on fire. The leaping flames were swelling his cock like a cooked sausage. He was going to burst unless he cooled himself in her flowing waters. The agony was unendurable. He hoped it never stopped. He realized he was grunting softly, in time with the seductive pull of her mouth. Pulling his finger free, he silenced himself by closing his mouth over hers. Their kiss was hard, savage, an openmouthed duel of teeth and tongues. He tasted blood, but neither of them could stop now. She pulled his tongue deeply into her mouth, sucking hard, and Dermot's eyes crossed as the pleasure tore through him. He covered her body with his, her tender breasts crushed beneath his chest, her stomach quivering against his hard, hot cock. Driving one hand deeply into her hair, he held her head and thrust his tongue as far into her throat as he could. With his other hand, he reached between their bodies, searching for the swollen bud he'd so recently teased. As soon as he touched it, she bucked beneath him. He swallowed her sharp cry, their mouths still fused together, and rubbed her—hard. Writhing, moaning, and

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pumping her hips, she sought relief. Dermot's fingers kept slipping, she was so wet, unintentionally teasing her to the point of near madness. Twice she shuddered, tremors rippling through her body, only to continue rubbing against his hand after a brief pause. She clutched his back, and when that was not enough, his ass. She ground her hips against his, churning against his rigid cock. Dermot's eyes were closed, but the flares of pleasure were so strong, bursting behind his closed eyelids in neon reds and greens, he was sure he'd gone blind. They broke the vacuum seal of their kiss, both of them gasping for air. She shoved at his hips, lifting him from her body, and his trapped cock sprang free to hang between her legs. She moaned, a ragged groan of pure pleasure that begged for more. Dermot panted, struggling for control, as he stroked the length of his cock up and down her slick cleft. Her pulsing flesh wrapped around him, caressing him, and his control broke. He thrust inside her. She was so open and eager, she barely felt his entrance, sliding smoothly up the wet passage. Another shudder rippled through her. Taking advantage of her momentary stillness, he began slicking his cock in and out. Soon she was moving with him, rising to meet his thrusts as he grunted and pumped against her. The damned tears that he never could master pooled in the corners of his eyes. His head spun, crazy colored lights and snatches of songs echoing in his mind. His cock was so huge, he couldn't imagine how he could fit inside her, and every brush against her hot, wet flesh was like broken glass scraping across his sensitive skin. He whimpered, then begged. "Please." On his next thrust, she surged upward, sheathing him to his balls, then wrapped her legs around his, locking him in place. Another whimper broke from him. "Yes. Oh, yes, please." Her palm smacked his ass, crushing his balls against her swollen bud, and he cried out as lightning flared in his groin. Wildly, he kissed her face—her cheeks, her chin, her nose, her mouth. Anyplace that he could reach. His hands groped for her breasts, squeezing and kneading until her sharp gasps told him he'd found the most sensitive spots. And all the while, she kept slapping him, the frantic tempo building until he was rutting madly, unable to think of anything but appeasing the pain. With a howl torn from deep within him, he came, pouring into her. And still her hands rose and fell against his ass, rocking him against her as her inner muscles clenched and squeezed his cock. Waves of euphoria ripped through him, white-hot and glowing red, carillons of bells and wheeling flights of birds bursting into wing. It was if his entire brain had been rewired, and now he heard with his eyes and tasted with his ears. A moment later, her triumphant scream slashed across his senses, and she collapsed beneath him.

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She stroked his back, with the leisurely caress of the well-pleasured. Dermot snuggled against her, nuzzling her neck and licking the salty skin. Gradually, he became aware of a chill against his naked back. Lifting his head, he saw that their enthusiastic lovemaking had thrown all the covers from the bed. Then he turned to look at the woman beneath him. Eyes closed, she smiled like a sleepy angel. A well-loved and completely sated angel. And he didn't even know her name. Dermot groaned. Rolling off of her, he covered his eyes with his arm. God, what had he done? Last night had been…well, he could be forgiven for not thinking clearly after all he'd been through. But he hadn't been under any enchantments this morning. He could have thanked the woman for her assistance, promised her a check as an expression of his gratitude and to ensure her silence, and been gone. But no. He'd gone out of his way to explain his hidden desire, making sure she fully understood how much he enjoyed getting his ass slapped. And then he'd begged her to do it again. Him. Begging for a spanking. God, the press was going to have a field day with this. They loved tawdry sex scandals. He could see the headlines now. "Most Eligible Bachelor's Secret Bedroom Shame" "Kick-Ass Millionaire Enjoys Getting Ass Kicked" "Spanking Makes Stone Hard" He'd been so careful. For years, he'd camouflaged his inability to come the normal way as solicitousness for his partner's needs, and a preference for hand jobs that couldn't possibly get his partner pregnant. He groaned again, as an even worse thought hit him. Last night, the witch had said his seed was sterile, good only for creating saplings with a dryad. But he had no idea how long that condition lasted. Was he infertile for good? Or might his sperm even now be eagerly attacking one of her ripe eggs? God. Either one would be a disaster. He slammed his head into the pillow, but it was too late to knock any sense into his brain. The woman rolled to her side and brushed her fingertips across his chest. Despite himself, he felt his nipples tensing. "Is it a problem you're having?" She sounded like an uneducated farm girl again, which he'd noticed she did under passion. His masculine pride longed to indulge in some puffing and strutting, at this proof of how deeply he'd rocked her with his lovemaking. But now was not the time. "We didn't use protection," he said, still shielded by his arm. Her hand on his chest stilled. "Oh." That answered his question, then. The dryad's effect was just for last night. "I think it will be okay," she said softly, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "My last period was not too long ago. I shouldn't be able to get pregnant now."

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Dermot snorted, thinking of the old joke. What do you call a couple who relies on the rhythm method for birth control? Parents. Speaking of which, he could just imagine explaining this disaster to his parents. "Mom, Dad, I met this beautiful Irish witch. She saved me from a dryad and I got her pregnant." He groaned again. "I don't even know your name." "Oh! It's right you are!" She breathed deeply, no doubt making her delicious breasts jiggle and sway most alluringly. Dermot resolutely kept his arm over his face. He would not look. He would not be tempted again. "My name is Eileen Daniells. What's yours?" He dropped his arm and stared at her. She watched him out of those guileless bluegreen eyes, waiting for his answer. "You don't know?" She shook her head, pursing her lips. He couldn't think about those lips, where they'd been, what they'd done. He forced his gaze back to her eyes. "You looked familiar when I saw you last night," she admitted. "I thought you had come from that big wedding. You're obviously an American." There was no point in lying to her. All she had to do was pick up any news account of Tami's wedding and his photo would be there. The fact that he'd attended his former nanny's wedding had been billed as a great human interest angle, a softening of the Stone image. "My name is Stone. Dermot Stone." She smiled, as if the name meant nothing to her. "Dermot is a good Irish name." "My mother is Irish. Well, of Irish descent. She always makes sure everyone knows her family moved to America long before the potato famine brought so many Irish immigrants over." He worried for a moment that he'd offended her, but she just nodded sagely. "I understand what she means. When the American publishers first started approaching me, one had the nerve to ask if I wanted an American 'expert' to ghost write my books, after I'd already sold three of them here. We're the most literate country in Europe— well, maybe second after Iceland, it depends who you ask—but the fools couldn't get past my accent." "That's why you decided to get rid of your brogue?" "Yes, they—" She frowned at him. "How did you know that?" "It comes back when you're excited. I figured it was a recent change." He paused, then asked the question hammering at his heart. "What kind of books do you write?" "Some history, but mostly nonfiction references on being a priestess of the light. What my publisher calls 'New Age' material."

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He smiled. Of course. She was a witch. She wrote books about witchcraft. "How are they doing?" "They sold very well over here, that's why Silver Moon was interested in publishing me. My first book of theirs is already in its fourth printing, and they contracted for an open-ended series. The second book will be out in two months." Dermot whistled. He'd heard of Silver Moon. They had double digit growth rates and 20% profits, when most publishers were struggling for any growth and happy to make 8% profits. He cast his mind back to the cocktail party cum investment meeting he'd attended in New York, where he'd heard those figures. All but the most inept New Age publishers were doing well, but Silver Moon had a sizable lead over its competitors. One of the reasons given had been their ability to identify talented writers and build a following for them. And one of the writers they'd crowed loudest about had been an Irish witch named Eileen Lyons. "You're Eileen Lyons." She blushed, her fine alabaster skin glowing rose. He was amazed that someone so uninhibited about sex could be embarrassed about public recognition. Dermot breathed deeply, the bands of fear that enclosed his chest shattering like sugar candy. She would never expose his secret to the press. Her career depended on her image, and any scandal would destroy her completely. "Yes, that's the name I write under. But how did you guess?" "I was approached about investing in the company a few months ago. I remembered the name." She tilted her head, resting it on her bent arm, and studied him. "You're uncommonly clear sighted for one who doesn't walk the path." "I pay attention and I know what I want." He shrugged. "No great trick." "And what is it you want?" Money. Power. To make his mark in the world and surpass his father's achievements. And right now, her. "To spend the rest of this day in bed with you," he admitted. "But I can't. I've already missed a breakfast meeting with our Dublin directors. That was only a status meeting, and I'll get as much from reading their reports as from listening to them. No doubt they figured I was sleeping off the wedding celebration, and carried on without me. But I have to be in London by one o'clock. I can't miss that." She rolled away from him, then leaned over the edge of the bed to gather some of the covers. "So you won't be staying in the area, then?" "No. The only reason I was down here was the wedding." He reached out and touched her shoulder, turning her to look at him. "I'd like to see you again, Eileen. We could meet in Dublin."

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She wouldn't meet his gaze. "Is it seeing you've a mind to do, or could you as easily keep your eyes closed?" He blew out his breath in a disgusted snort. "Yes, I want to make love to you again. But it's more than that. Beautiful women throw themselves at me all the time. I don't need to import lovers. I want to see you again because there's something special about you, something I don't have the time to explore right now even though I wish I could. I hoped you might feel the same way." Now she looked at him, gazing deeply into his eyes as if she could read his soul. For all he knew, she actually could. But he'd told the truth. The sex had been phenomenal. After all these years of denial, finding a lover who understood and encouraged his desires was like a dream come true. And to have her be an intelligent, successful woman on top of that? If there was one thing he admired more than anything else, it was a person who'd succeeded because of their own tenacity and competence. God, he couldn't have asked for a more ideal woman. A chill ghosted over him, and it had nothing to do with his nakedness. She was exactly what he'd asked for. And the leprechaun had delivered her. Dermot leaped out of the bed. His clothes were in the bathroom where he'd left them, although the pants had been hung on a peg to dry. "Where's my jacket?" he asked. "You weren't wearing one. Just your shirt and shoes. You're lucky I saw your pants, black as they are." "Damn." Now that he thought about it, he recalled carrying the jacket over his arm as he walked through the woods, his blood warmed by the Irish Whiskey. "Are you in such a hurry to be leaving?" "No, it's not that. I wanted to give you my business card. It has my office number, and I'd give you my cell phone number, too, so you can call me no matter where I am. Except the cell phone was in the pocket of the jacket." She lifted the pants off the peg, and held them out to him. The wool blend fabric was stiff with dried mud and blood. He took the pants and stared at them, momentarily at a loss. "I can't wear these." "Then you'll be walking through the forest naked." Grunting, he stepped into the pants, grimacing as bits of the forest floor flaked off against his legs. He picked the shirt up off the floor and shook it out, revealing the full extent of its tatters. He tossed it onto the floor again. "That's useless." "You'll have your jacket to wear again soon enough," she reminded him. "I'll lead you back to the dryad's clearing." She pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, wrapped her stained cloak around her shoulders, and led him into the forest. She moved silently, discouraging any attempts to talk to her, so he just watched her lithe body swaying beneath her cloak.

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The mere sight of her, even shrouded in that cloak, was enough to make his blood pulse. There were so many more things he wanted to explore. Were the backs of her knees ticklish or would kissing her there leave her dripping with excitement? Would she gasp and moan in pleasure if he buried his face between her legs and loved her with his mouth and tongue? Would her breasts bounce and sway with her energetic movements as she straddled his hips and rode his cock? Now that she knew his name, would she scream it as she came? She stepped into a clearing and swept her arm out to gesture at the leaf-strewn ground. "This is it." He recognized the wych elm at once. Eileen's crystal still hung from the branches, and he'd swear the tree was sulking. That was the only explanation for the pronounced droop of the branches. Skirting widely around the tree, in case the dryad managed to break free of the charm binding her and lunged for him, he searched the surrounding forest. His jacket was tossed over the lowest branch of a neighboring sycamore. He pulled it from the tree, then dug in the inside pocket. After pulling out a business card and a pen, he scribbled his cell phone number on the back, and handed the card to Eileen. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't take it, but then she reached forward and plucked it from his hand. "I'm not promising I'll call." He smiled. "You'll call." "Arrogant American!" She turned and stalked away. Dermot watched her go, her long, swinging strides reminding him of her strong legs, locked around him. When the forest had swallowed her, he sighed and took out his cell phone. He punched in the number of his driver. "Meet me at the eastern entrance to the woods in half an hour," he ordered. "Your luggage has already been loaded in the limousine. Would you like to leave directly for the airport?" "Unload it. I'll need to go back to the manor and shower before I can be seen anywhere." He snapped the phone closed before his driver could ask any more questions. Shrugging into his coat, he stared for a moment at the last place he'd seen Eileen. Then he sighed, and opened his phone again. He'd never expected to use the GPS feature. He'd never expected a leprechaun to grant him his heart's deepest desire, either. He needed to learn to broaden his expectations. Whistling softly, Dermot headed for his rendezvous.

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Chapter Four "Arrogant American," Eileen muttered under her breath as she stalked back to her cottage. He expected her to call him, did he? And drive up to Dublin for a quickie at his convenience? Her anger softened, her steps slowing and her lips curving at the memory of their lovemaking. No, it would never be a quickie with him. That she could be sure of. "Dermot." She whispered his name, enjoying the feel of it in her mouth. Almost as much as she'd enjoyed the feel of him in her mouth. A flush of heat swept over her, her breasts tingling and moisture gathering between her thighs. By the circle, the man was a fantastic lover. She smiled, fingering the card he'd insisted she take. Maybe she'd call him after all. She glanced at the card, instantly recognizing the logo of a globe chiseled from granite. Stone International Industries, makers of applesauce, zippers, and everything in between. Stone. She sank to her knees in the leaf-strewn path. Now she knew why his face had looked so familiar. It had been staring at her from the magazine racks on her last trip to the market. Dermot Stone, multimillionaire son and heir presumptive to Randolph Stone's multi-billion dollar empire, had been declared the most eligible bachelor of the year. A collage of photos had shown him on the arms of models, actresses, and beautiful women from the wealthy elite. Eileen knew she was pretty enough not to scare the livestock, but certainly not in the same league as the women he normally dated. What could he possibly find of interest in her? Her mind and spirit? He hadn't had a chance to discover much of either. They'd barely spoken to each other. Then she knew. He'd never told any of those other women how he liked his sex. He wouldn't have told her, if he hadn't been desperate for release from the dryad's spell. Now she was the only woman he knew who could give him what he wanted. She could be a toothless hag with the interpersonal skills of a filth-covered hermit, and he wouldn't care, as long as she slapped his ass while his cock was filling her. She crumpled his card in her fist. She wouldn't be calling him. Ever.

***** Dermot frowned at the numbers scrolling by on his screen. It was an enticing proposition.

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He shifted position, trying not to think about his enticing Irish witch. It seemed that everything he did lately reminded him of her. With his usual thoroughness, he'd read her first Silver Moon book. She'd described a ritual of renewal performed naked in the woods. The image that had sprung to his mind at her words was so arousing, he'd had to stop reading and relieve his massive hard-on. Dermot sighed and forced his attention back to the report on his screen. Silver Moon publishing was a lucrative business opportunity. The returns weren't quite up to his standards, but he could easily trim costs in warehousing and transportation by piggybacking on other Stone investments. Then there was the matter of increasing the value of their assets. With her beauty, self-possession, and quick wit, Eileen was a natural for the talk show circuit. They could start her out on some of the smaller networks that catered to women's issues—much of the resurgence of interest in witchcraft was part of a women's empowerment groundswell. Slanting the material to attract potential buyers would be trivially simple. The viewers would love her. And they'd become ardent buyers of Eileen's books. The fact that many network studios were located in Manhattan, where his primary office was also located, was an added bonus. There'd be many hours surrounding her television appearances during which Eileen would be at loose ends, and in need of companionship. Companionship he was eager to supply. They wouldn't have to spend all their time in bed. There were plenty of places he'd love to take her, showing her his favorite parts of the city. They'd dine at his favorite restaurants, listen to music or dance at his favorite clubs, maybe even go to a show or a museum if she was interested. He smiled, anticipating the leisurely process of getting to know everything that interested her. Everything she enjoyed. Everything that gave her pleasure. He absent-mindedly caressed the casing of his computer with his thumb, stopping as soon as he realized what he was doing. Instead, he reached for the phone. He'd waited for her to call him. He'd waited two weeks, longer than he was accustomed to waiting for anything. So now he'd take matters into his own hands.

***** Eileen shook her head, certain she'd heard her agent incorrectly. Switching the phone to her other ear, she asked, "Would you repeat that, please?" "Silver Moon is considering booking you on the talk show circuit for your next book's release, and needs to know if you'd be comfortable discussing your beliefs on the air." That's what she'd thought he'd said. "Why? They never showed any interest in publicity before."

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"Some shakeup in the company, I hear. The new management wants to increase the value of the company's assets, and that means building their lead author's name recognition." "Stone." After a pause even longer than the usual transoceanic delay, her agent said, "That's what the rumor mill says. But how'd you hear that all the way in Ireland?" "Never you mind. Tell them I'll be coming to discuss it with them, if they'll be paying my way." Although he tried, her agent couldn't convince her to give a more definitive answer. He promised to relay her response and hung up. Eileen put down the phone and stared out her kitchen window at the trees beyond. She'd wondered how Dermot Stone would react to her not calling him. Now she knew. She'd called him arrogant before, but she hadn't comprehended the magnitude of his arrogance. He was willing to buy her publisher—or at least invest heavily in the company—to get her to come to him. A horrible suspicion rose in her mind, souring her stomach. Did he expect to buy her along with the company? Was the television offer supposed to be the incentive to lure her into his bed? She sighed. No. That didn't seem like Dermot's style. Her gaze wandered over the pile of magazines stacked on the kitchen table; lifestyle magazines discussing his eligible bachelor status, entertainment magazines with photos of the premier events he'd attended, and business magazines analyzing a merger between one of his companies and the offshoot of a French conglomerate. She recalled one of the quotes he'd given the business magazine. "I have no desire to win every game. But I only play when I can be confident of winning." He'd been referring to his skill at picking underrated companies in which to invest, returning 80% of them to profitability within five years. He had been scoffed at by the business press for turning down lucrative investment deals, only to have his instincts proven correct two or three years later. Some companies were now hesitant about approaching him as a possible investor, fearing that if he rejected their offer, no one else would be willing to risk the investment. But his words now haunted Eileen with a different meaning. He would not play until he was confident of winning. Buying her publisher was surely the opening gambit of his play. So what was it that he hoped to win? Feeling suddenly restless, she grabbed her cloak and headed for a walk in the woods. Without her conscious volition, her feet led her to the dryad's clearing. Her ward stone glittered blue and white in the sunlight, now just a pretty trinket twisting in the light breeze. The dryad stepped out of the wych elm, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. "Is it you, then?" she asked in Gaelic.

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"Aye. It's sorry I am to be disturbing you," Eileen answered in the same tongue. "I was only just out for a bit of a wander." Reassured that Eileen wasn't going to trap her inside again, the dryad slipped back into her tree. Eileen felt a brief surge of hot emotion, demanding the tree woman be chained within her elm with no hope of ever escaping. But that was foolish. The dryad's binding that prohibited her from enchanting mortal men to their deaths had been broken by a leprechaun. Restoring the binding was sufficient action. To punish her further simply for being what she was would be wrong. When Eileen had confronted the dryad after stopping her attack on Dermot, she had forced the dryad to seek refuge within her tree and then trapped her there. But that had been a matter of expediency. She'd needed to make certain the dryad wasn't enticing anyone else to her tree while Eileen was caring for her victim. After Dermot left, she'd released the dryad and reset the binding to the proper level, allowing the creature her freedom, so long as she caused no harm. "No harm," she whispered. She'd explained that tenet to Dermot. Maybe the best way to test the temper of his intentions was to see whether or not he was acting in accordance with her beliefs. Was he doing as he wished, regardless of others, or would he first ensure his actions caused her no harm? When she looked at it that way, perhaps her haste to ascribe the worst possible motive to him reflected poorly on her. "Cause no harm," she repeated. Very well. She would fly to America and meet with him, to discuss the possibility of a talk show appearance. Her blood heated at the thought of seeing him again. Although it had been two weeks, she could still taste his lips on hers, and feel the imprint of his body. His lovemaking had transported her in a way she hadn't known was possible. She'd salved her pride by insisting it had been a lingering effect of his encounter with the dryad, enhancing his appeal. He'd certainly seemed less than appealing when he'd hurried away from her without a by-your-leave, and all but ordered her to schedule another session of lovemaking. In retrospect, she may have overreacted to his innate arrogance. He was an American, after all, and a rich one. He was used to giving orders. It didn't mean he thought less of her, any more than her brogue meant she was a fool. Now that she'd found a way to soothe her conscience and see him again, she eagerly anticipated finding out if it could be as good as she remembered. Humming softly to herself, Eileen turned to leave and spotted a branch that had fallen from the dryad's tree, and been half-buried in the mud. She plucked the fallen branch from the ground, then knocked it against her leg to dislodge the dried mud clinging to the smooth gray bark. She'd clean it up and bring it to America with her. The thought of striking Dermot's firmly muscled ass with the supple branch made her breath quicken and wet heat build between her legs. Swishing the wych elm stick through the air, she trotted back to her cottage.

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***** Dermot scanned the line of passengers coming from the Aer Lingus flight to the luggage area. He'd given Eileen first class tickets, so she should have been one of the first people off the plane. But that didn't mean she'd be one of the first to reach the luggage carousels. She might have gotten a slow line through customs. He turned to his driver, Chris, looming behind him for protection. "If I don't tell you otherwise, take us to my apartment and cancel Ms. Daniells's reservation at the Niko." The driver couldn't quite conceal his smirk. "And keep the limo's privacy screen up and the intercom off. Yes, Mr. Stone. You've already given me thorough instructions." Struggling to control his rising impatience, Dermot schooled his features to polite indifference and went back to searching the crowd for Eileen. There! His breath caught in his throat. Still wearing the cloak he remembered so well, she seemed to float down the corridor, a breath of Irish breeze mysteriously finding only her among the crowd of passengers and wafting through the soft curls of her honey gold hair. Lifting his arm, he waved to her. "Eileen!" Those incredible blue-green eyes focused on him, going wide as she realized who had called her name. Then, like sunlight breaking through a cloud-filled Irish sky, she smiled. "Dermot." She stepped out of the flow of people, and crossed to meet him.

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Chapter Five At the sight of Dermot waiting for her, a warm glow of contentment filled Eileen. He looked out of place in the crowded airport, standing as still and unmoving as the stone he was named for while currents of passengers broke and swirled around him. Threading her way through openings in the crowd, she crossed to his side. "I didn't expect you to meet me." "Officially, I sent my driver to meet you." He nodded his head to the side, directing her attention to the man in a charcoal gray suit and mirrored sunglasses standing behind him to the left. The man nodded. "Ma'am." "Hello." She smiled and nodded in return, then turned back to Dermot. "Unofficially?" "Let's get your luggage. We can talk in the limo." "Of course. It's a blue rolling case, with a crescent moon appliqué." She wasn't sure what reaction she'd expected from Dermot, but it wasn't this cold aloofness. He'd gone to a considerable amount of trouble to get her here. And there'd been no disguising the pleasure on his face when he'd spotted her in the crowd. As they followed the driver—judging from his size and attitude, Eileen suspected he was a bodyguard as well—through the crowd, she turned and asked softly, "Are you happy to see me again?" "More than you know. Seeing you pass through that security gate was like seeing the sun after two weeks of rain." She felt her cheeks glowing, and glanced away, before her eyes could reveal all her hopes and longings. "It's a weakness I have for a finely tuned phrase," she muttered. Dermot chuckled. "I'll have to remember that." They reached the designated luggage carousel and fell silent while they watched the various cases and bags circle past. She pointed out her suitcase to the driver. He grabbed it, then carried it to the waiting limo. Eileen frowned slightly. A long black car, its sleek lines marred by the profusion of antennae sprouting from it, waited at the curb for the two of them. It contrasted sharply with the crowded mini-sedan that had carried her and five members of the Sullivan clan to the airport. She'd appreciated the amenities of her first class seat on the long flight to America. Rather than being equally appreciative of the first class ground transportation,

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however, the luxurious automobile only served to underscore the differences between her and Dermot. Once again, she wondered how he could possibly be interested in her. But she had resolved not to prejudge Dermot's motives. She would wait to hear whatever he had to say. She slid onto the gray leather seat, and stared at the consoles before her. The bench seat faced two televisions, connected to a DVD player and VCR, a computer hookup, a 12-CD stereo, and a fully stocked bar. A silvered window made it difficult to see out the front of the vehicle. No doubt the driver would be unable to see them at all. Dermot slid onto the seat beside her. The driver closed his door, sealing them together in the back of the limousine. A moment later, the car rocked slightly as the driver stowed her suitcase in the trunk. Then he took his own seat, his image blurred and darkened through the privacy screen. Dermot pressed a small button amid the cluster of controls on his door. "Midtown," he ordered. Another touch of a button, and soft music began playing, some classical piece that was all violins and woodwinds, drowning out the faint sounds of the people and traffic surrounding them. As the limo pulled away from the curb, Dermot turned to face her. "Now, we can talk." "If talking was all you were wanting, you could have taken another trip to Ireland. You know where I live. Instead, you bought my publisher." Dermot shrugged. "I didn't buy it. I invested in it. Pending their ability to implement improvements." A chill ghosted down her spine. Her appearances on talk shows. Was Dermot buying her after all? "And if you don't invest?" "Your publisher won't go bankrupt, if that's what you're concerned about. They were looking to expand. Without investment capital, they won't be able to grow as fast as they would otherwise, but the underlying business is still sound." He reached over and clasped her hands in his. "I offered to get you talk show bookings because I know it's something our publicists could arrange, it would increase the value of Silver Moon's assets, and you'd make more money. You'd be a natural in front of the camera. That's true, even if you want nothing more to do with me." "But…?" "Why didn't you call me?" His hands still held hers prisoner, and she was strangely reluctant to break free of his grasp. Instead, she turned her head and stared at the buildings and other cars moving past. "Eileen, why didn't you call me?" he asked again.

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"What was there to say?" she countered. "We shared one night together, but how many more could we share before our differences drove us apart?" "A relationship between us is doomed, so you don't even want to try?" She shrugged, still not meeting his gaze. "Belike." "I refuse to accept that." She couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips. "Arrogant American." That was one of the things she found desirable about him. Not his arrogance, which infuriated her, but his calm assurance and soul-deep dedication to a course of action. She turned, to find him watching intently, waiting for her answer. Tugging one of her hands free, she reached up and stroked the side of his face. "You see extremely clearly for one not on the path." He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. "I want you. And yes, I arranged all of this to get you here where I could tell you that. But you didn't have to come." He stroked his fingertips along her hairline, from her forehead to her ear. Eileen shivered with desire. She wanted to turn to him, capture his mouth with kisses, strip off her jeans and his slacks, and make love to him on the wide leather seat. "I'm here now. But wanting, having, and keeping are three different fish." He cupped her cheek in his palm, splaying his fingers into her hair while his thumb outlined her lips. With his other hand, he cupped her breast, his thumb flicking the nipple. She gasped, instantly wet as her body remembered the lesson he'd taught her during their morning together. Her nipple beaded into a tight, aching bud. He flicked his thumb against it twice more, than pinched it lightly. She moaned, arching into his touch. "I see the wanting," he whispered huskily. "And you can be having as soon as you give the word. Let the keeping take care of itself." She opened her mouth, letting his thumb glide over her lower lip. Eagerly, she sucked on it, sweeping his thumb with her tongue. Dermot's breath hitched, then he whispered, "Say the word, Eileen." "What word?" "Yes." Dimly, the shreds of her common sense struggled to be heard through the sensual haze of his hands caressing her body. "And what question would I be answering 'yes' to?" "Stay with me tonight and be my lover." She let out her breath on a shaky sigh. "Yes."

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He also released a shaky breath, then moved so that he was kneeling on the carpeting in front of her, his hands braced at her hips. "Let me love you, Eileen. Now." "Yes," she whispered again. Slowly, he unsnapped her jeans and slid down the zipper. He reached inside the waistband of her panties, skimming her stomach with his thumbs, then caressed her hips, and finally shoved his hands inside the panties to cup her ass. Eileen moaned softly. His hands on her body felt so right, as if this was where she'd always belonged, and just hadn't known until now. Dermot kneaded and caressed her ass, lifting her from the seat so that she sat on his hands. As he rocked her gently, his hands slowly worked further under her panties, until she was balanced on his wrists, then his forearms. His fingers stroked between her legs, light teasing brushes that started at her ass cheeks and gradually approached her aching heat. His fingertips dipped into her slick folds, and she moaned again, flexing her hips. He circled his fingers at the edge of her vagina and she lifted her hips again, urging him to press further inside. "Like that?" he asked. "Yes. Oh, yes," she answered. That seemed the only thing she could answer him. In response, he stroked her clitoris with his thumb. Eileen grabbed the leather seat with both hands and lifted her hips, tilting them to allow him greater access. Dermot pulled her jeans and panties down to her ankles. Holding her by the hips, he scooted her to the very edge of the seat, then nudged her knees as far apart as they would go. "Lean back," he told her. "Yes." Her breathless answer had become almost inaudible. She leaned her head back and cradled her neck on the buttery smooth leather, tilting her hips to expose her sex to his sight and touch. Dermot rested his hands on her thighs, pressing lightly to keep them spread, and used his thumbs to delve between her slick folds. When he brushed her swollen clitoris, she moaned and thrust toward him. He dipped his thumbs in the wellspring of liquid pooling within her, making her shudder and moan again. Then he slid his wet thumbs over and around the tight bud until she thought she'd go insane. "Yes. Yes. Yes," she chanted, not knowing what she was agreeing to now, only that he made her feel so good that she never wanted him to stop. And then his thumbs were replaced by his tongue. Eileen gasped. He swept a wet caress around her sensitive bud, and then surrounded it with his mouth. "Oh," she moaned. "Yes."

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She plunged her fingers into his thick hair, cradling his skull and holding his mouth right there while she bucked against him, trying to deepen his kiss. He began sucking on her bud, still flicking it with his tongue. Eileen writhed madly against him, clutching his head and pumping her hips. "Yes. Yes. Yes." Her whispered litany was broken by sharp gasps and low moans as his skilled mouth and tongue brought her closer and closer to climax without giving her release. He cupped her ass with one hand, supporting her as he plundered her with his mouth. Then his other hand reached past what he was doing with his tongue and found her vagina. He teased her, slipping one, then two, then three fingers just past the sensitive ridge of muscle. She shook, trembling under his onslaught, and locked her thighs around his neck. "Yes. Yes. Please. Now. Yes." His fingers thrust deeply into her vagina just as his teeth bit lightly on her clitoris. Eileen came in a blinding rush, all light and heat and wave after wave of fluid pouring out of her that he lapped and suckled. She floated, Dermot's skilled hands and mouth keeping her body hot and excited while her mind and spirit spun in wheeling ecstasy. Gradually, her passion cooled, and she returned to awareness to find herself fully clothed and sitting cradled in Dermot's lap on the back seat. His free hand was tucked beneath her shirt, softly caressing her breast. "Welcome back to Earth," he whispered. "Did you have a nice flight?" "Yes," she answered. "Oh, yes." She closed her eyes and leaned against his wool-clad chest, wishing his suit coat and crisp shirt were gone so she could feel his heated skin beneath her cheek. She heard the steady beat of his heart, and snuggled closer. His hand closed over her breast, as if he wanted to feel her heartbeat as well, and he held her quietly. The only sound was the gentle swell of violins, building to the final crescendo of the music. The limousine lurched, rocking them forward then back against the upholstery. Eileen lifted her head to look out the window. They were turning onto a narrow street, almost impassibly cluttered with double parked cars. Scraggly trees struggled for life amid the exhaust fumes, their narrow circles of dirt imprisoned within larger squares of concrete. People bundled in heavy coats strode briskly along the sidewalk, their heads down and shoulders hunched as if they battled a strong wind. The buildings' brown and gray polished marble and granite walls reflected distorted views of the cars and pedestrians. The limousine lurched again, turning to squeeze between two marble pillars flanking a cobblestone circular drive that passed underneath one of the buildings.

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Bumping over the uneven surface, the limousine slowly drew even with an elderly black doorman liveried in the same brown and gray as the building. Dermot released her, sliding her onto the seat beside him. The limousine slowed to a stop and the electronic locks popped open. No sooner had she heard the click, than the doorman swung open the limousine's door. The tiny doorman peered inside the car. "Good evening Mr. Stone, ma'am. Would you like a hand?" Eileen thought it was more likely that she would pull the man into the car than that he could successfully pull her out of it. "I can manage." He nodded his head and stepped aside, holding the door so that it wouldn't swing back and hit her as she exited. Dermot followed her out of the limousine a moment later. "Good evening, Clarence. Has your grandson heard back on his audition yet?" "Not yet, sir." He shut the car door and hurried ahead of them to open the glass door into the building. "By Tuesday, they said." "I hope he gets it." "I'll tell him you said so, sir." Feeling completely ignored, Eileen walked up a short flight of brown marble steps to a bank of elevators. The nearest one was already waiting with the door open. She stepped inside, joined a moment later by Dermot. He slid his key into the slot at the top of the elevator panel and turned it. The letter "P" lit up with a pleasant chime. He removed his key, finishing just as the elevator doors closed, and turned to take her in his arms. Eileen sidestepped him. "What was that about?" "Clarence's grandson is a talented musician. He's trying to get into one of the orchestras. They've already called him back once." "That's nice. But I meant, why are you all over me as soon as we're alone, but when we're where anyone can see us, you act like you hardly know me?" Dermot's eyes widened, as if she'd asked why water was wet. "Because anyone could see us." "And…?" she prompted, feeling foolish but needing to know his reason. Did he want to keep her his guilty secret? He sighed, and leaned back against the elevator wall. "Images sell stories. The news rags won't invent a scandal if they have no pictures to support it." The elevator chimed again. When the doors slid open, she darted through them, into a brown and gray marble foyer. Two glass-topped tables, each filled with a massive floral arrangement in a marble urn, flanked the single door.

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Dermot unlocked the door and ushered her inside. She pushed past him into his black leather and wire-work living room. The open wire shelves held an entertainment system, including a home theater, easily a hundred CD's, and hardcover business books, interspersed with small sculptures and decorative glass bowls and vases that provided the room's only color. The couch and accent chairs were all upholstered in black leather. Sheer panels of black and white gauze draped over the sliding glass door leading to a roof garden. He closed and locked the door, then turned to face her. "My driver will leave your luggage in the foyer." "Am I your secret scandal, Dermot? Is that why you weren't officially at the airport to meet me?" "No!" He pushed his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Waving one hand at the couch, he told her, "Sit. This will take a while." She glanced at the soft leather cushions, and was immediately reminded of the back seat of his limo. "I prefer to stand, thank you." Dermot prowled around the perimeter of the room, as if seeking the perfect position from which to deliver his argument. Finally, he leaned his hip against one of the shelving units and faced her. "When you didn't call, I wasn't sure how you felt about seeing me again. After all, I was the one who gave you my card. You never volunteered your number. Maybe that night didn't mean anything to you. You might have done the same for any man you rescued from a dryad." Eileen opened her mouth to protest, but he raised his hand and cut her off. "Since I wasn't sure of your feelings, I thought it prudent to act as if you would not be interested in furthering our relationship. I told no one that we'd met. You have a room booked in your name at the Niko. Officially I was not at the airport so that, if you wished to deny our previous encounter, there would be no awkward questions for you to answer." Eileen swallowed to clear her tight throat. Do no harm. He'd arranged everything so that he would do no harm. His motives couldn't be any plainer than that. "It's sorry I am to have doubted you," she said. Darting across the room, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Dermot curled his arms around her waist, pulling her hips tight against his, and deepened the kiss. Opening her mouth, she allowed the sweet invasion of his tongue. He tasted like mint. Twining her tongue with his, she sucked lightly. He groaned. He rubbed his growing erection against her abdomen, and when that wasn't enough, grabbed her by the ass and lifted her to straddle his swollen cock. She locked her legs around his waist and rocked against him.

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His cock pressed against the seam of her jeans, teasing her with the light touch. Still joined together, he turned them away from the shelving unit, until he had Eileen's back pressed against the wall. He ground his hips against hers, digging his cock harder and harder into the cleft between her legs. She whimpered, needing to feel him inside of her instead of this torturous tease through his slacks and her jeans. Breaking their kiss, she labored for breath, then asked, "Why are we still dressed?" Before he could answer, the door bell rang; two deep, sonorous tones. "Because we're waiting for your luggage." Eileen reached underneath his suit coat and ran her nails down the back of his shirt. He arched into her stroke with a groan. "You don't need your luggage just yet," he said hoarsely. "Oh, but I do." She scraped her nails down his shirt again, eliciting a throaty groan. "There's something in there for you." He pulled up the hem of her sweater, exposing her stomach, and reached for the snap on her jeans. "It can wait." "It's a branch from the dryad's wych elm." He stilled immediately, his cock no longer pressing insistently against her. "The dryad?" "Certified dryad free. It's just a tree branch. A very long, supple, springy tree branch." She slapped his ass for emphasis. Dermot trembled against her. "Would you…?" She gazed into his eager face and smiled. "You made me incredibly happy on our way over here. Now it's my turn to make you happy." Eyes shining, he swallowed twice before he was able to speak. "Let's get that suitcase now."

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Chapter Six Dermot smoothed his hand over his hair out of habit as he hurried to the door. Eileen's suitcase was waiting in the hall, his driver having delivered it and then departed. He grabbed the handle and swung it inside. After closing and locking the door, he carried the suitcase to the guest room and tossed it onto the navy and gold bedspread. Eileen followed him in a moment later, pausing in the doorway to glance around the room. "You paid someone to decorate your apartment, didn't you?" Dermot appraised the gender-neutral guest room. The bed, chair, and pillows were covered in navy and gold brocade trimmed with gold braid. The headboard, nightstand, and dresser were made of pecan with gold accents. Navy gauze panels tied back with gold tassels draped over a decorative pecan rod, unifying the theme. The look was completed with three still-lifes bordered by wide navy mattes in slim gold frames. It looked elegant, without being ostentatious. "She did a good job." Eileen smiled. "It's pretty enough, true. But it's not you." "This is the guest room." Dermot grinned, anticipating her reaction to the designer's safari look in his room. "Wait until you see the master bedroom." Eileen unzipped her suitcase, flipped it open, and tossed aside a sweater to reveal a slender gray branch, about two feet in length, tapering from an inch in width at the foot of the branch to the tiny twigs at its tip. Dermot swallowed, unable to tear his gaze from the innocuous branch. He remembered the feel of the dryad's hands whipping his ass, the glorious pain that transported him to the faerie realm of indescribable beauty. The ecstasy that had nearly killed him. He reached for the branch, and saw that his hand was shaking. Quickly, he clasped his hands behind his back before Eileen could spot his tremors and have second thoughts. She lifted the branch out of her suitcase and whipped it back and forth in front of him. It whistled as it cut through the air. Dermot's entire body trembled with eager fear. His cock hardened and jutted forward, making a tent in the front of his pants and pulling the fabric tight against his ass. A soft whine escaped his throat, like a dog whimpering for a promised treat. Eileen smiled and lifted one hand to encompass the guest room. "Here?" He shook his head. "My room. This way."

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He led her down the interminably long hallway to the master bedroom. The Safari Suite, as he'd nicknamed it. The heavy wooden furniture was embellished with leopard-, cheetah-, and lion-skin prints. Mosquito netting draped the bed, matching the black and tan gauze panels curtaining the window. "It's all faux," he hastened to reassure her. "I wouldn't let the designer use real animal skins." "Harm no one." Eileen bestowed a brilliant smile upon him, and slapped the branch against the bedspread with a sharp snap. Dermot jumped. The blood rushed to his cock, leaving him lightheaded, and the plaintive whine broke from his throat again. She stroked the branch across the shoulder of his suit coat, caressed his neck, then slid the branch inside his open jacked and down his chest. The tip flicked one of his nipples through the fine cotton of his shirt, wrenching a groan from him. Then the branch stroked lower still, and his stomach muscles clenched in trembling anticipation. She hesitated at his waistline, then dipped the branch and lightly tapped his cock. He surged forward, heat flaring in his groin, and groaned. "Oh, yes, please. Yes." "Strip," she ordered. Dermot yanked off his suit jacket and flung it against the wall. His trembling fingers seemed unable to grasp the tiny buttons on his shirt, so he simply pulled it over his head. There was a moment of resistance, then the offending buttons gave way. He yanked his hands free of the imprisoning cuffs and tossed the shirt after the jacket. His belt was next, followed by his pants. The brush of fabric against his cock as he wrestled with the button and zip was maddening, but he persevered, and soon freed his cock from the tangle of his briefs as well. His pants fell to his ankles. He stepped out of them, getting rid of his shoes at the same time, then balanced on first one foot then the other to remove his socks. Completely naked, he waited for Eileen to tell him what to do next. She'd been busy while he'd been disrobing, and had pulled all the covers off of the bed, leaving just the black and tan fitted sheet. She tossed a leopard-printed pillow into the center of the bed. "Lay down, and cradle your cock in that." When he looked at her in confusion, she smiled. "I don't want you coming too early. I want to find out just how much we can hurt you without doing any harm." He shivered, his balls trying to pull up, even as his cock hardened still further and molten desire filled his veins. "Yes," he whispered. He crawled up on the bed and lay face down, his cock nestling into the soft embrace of the feather pillow.

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Eileen stroked his ass, her soft hand warm against his quivering flesh. "Your scratches have healed nicely. Good." He thought again of the blood coursing down his legs from the dryad's beating, and cold fear clutched his heart and balls. Then Eileen slapped his ass, and he felt only hot desire. The bed shifted as she climbed onto it and straddled his legs. The soft denim of her jeans caressed his thighs. Her fingers stroked the cleft in his ass. "The having is as easy as the wanting if you say the word." "Yes!" he cried. Her palm slapped his ass, driving him into the pillow. It was a poor substitute for the wet embrace of her mouth or vagina. Using both hands, she covered his ass with stinging slaps. His hips rose and fell beneath her, matching her rhythm. His cock thrust in and out of the feather pillow with each swat. Dermot grunted at each blow, aching for more. He wasn't sure what he wanted. Higher, harder, faster, stronger. Something. Something that would turn this sweet stinging pain into the full-throated bellowing agony of ecstasy. She paused then, and ran her hands over his tender skin. "Your ass is a lovely shade of pink. All warmed up." A shudder rippled through him. She'd only been warming him up. Now the real hitting would start. The wych elm branch cracked against his ass. He bucked beneath her, startled by the sudden pain, but pinned to the bed by her weight across his legs. The branch cracked across the other side of his ass. His body twitched again, this time arching up his torso and thrusting his hips down. The pillow cradled his cock in softness, promising soothing relief from the sharp pain in his ass. Dermot groaned, and ground his hips into the pillow, caressing his hot cock. The branch fell again, thrusting him into the soft feathers. Soon he was bucking and humping with Eileen's new rhythm, each slash of the branch driving his hard cock into the warm embrace of soft down. His world collapsed to the twin sensations of painful lashes against his ass and the sweet thrust of his cock into the waiting feathers. The tension between the pleasure and the pain built within him, shaking him with fevered chills. He groaned and gasped in delicious agony, balanced on the knife edge between buildup and release. His cock was huge, swollen as hard as it had been for the dryad, and every blow on his ass pumped more blood into it. The feathers scraped and scratched, clawing his cock as he thrust again and again, straining for the release that eluded him. Hoarse, harsh vocalizations ripped from his throat, grunts and whines and broken whimpers. His fingers tore at the sheet,

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searching, always searching for the secret that would send him over the edge. And still the whip rose and fell against his ass, marking the time in which his body writhed. The whip fell again, one last blow that was finally too much for his abused flesh to take. With a scream of agonized delight, he spasmed, hot come bursting in a geyser to rival Old Glory. Moaning in ecstasy, he rocked against the sodden pillow, wringing the last drops from his spent cock. He was still rocking gently when he fell into an exhausted sleep.

***** Dermot woke slowly, curled around Eileen and cuddled beneath his thick comforter. His leg covered hers, and one of his hands loosely cupped her breast. She was deliciously, delightfully naked. He snuggled closer, pressing as tightly against her back as he could, and nuzzled the side of her neck. As he shifted his leg, his ass throbbed dully, reminding him of the glorious whipping she'd given him. And afterward, she'd cleaned him up and reassembled the bed before climbing in beside him. What a woman. He tugged and teased her breast. Her responsive nipple hardened against his palm. Continuing to toy with her nipple, he scraped his teeth lightly along her neck, then followed with openmouthed kisses. Eileen sighed deeply in her sleep, and shifted slightly, turning her head to the side and angling her chest into his hand. He eased his other hand down between her legs, and delved between her folds. Her hips rocked slowly, taking his fingers into her a fraction of an inch at a time. His cock firmed, tucked in the cleft of her rocking ass, and Dermot purred with pleasure. "Dermot?" Her voice was thick with sleep. "What time is it?" "I don't know," he whispered. "Does it matter?" She wiggled her ass against him and giggled. "By the circle, you're hard again? What does it take to deflate that thing?" Fair was fair. He wiggled his fingers, transforming her giggle into a breathy sigh of pleasure. "I hope we never find out," he answered. "Mmmm." They fell silent, enjoying the slow movement of his fingers slipping inside her and her ass rocking against his cock. "I need my hand back for a moment," he murmured in her ear. "Must you?" "I promise you'll be happy with the result." She sighed. "Very well."

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He chuckled at her obvious reluctance, giving her one last wiggle of his fingers before he pulled his hand free. Then he rolled to the side and reached for the drawer of his nightstand. His fingers fluttered among the cascade of condom packages within, finally nudging one to the front where he could grab it. He ripped the package open and rolled the lubricated condom over his jutting cock. Then he snuggled close to Eileen again, resting the head of his cock against the opening of her ass as his hand slid between her thighs. She eagerly opened her legs, welcoming his fingers into her wet and waiting warmth. He flexed his fingers, pulling a moan from her, and pressed lightly on her hips, rocking her backward. The very tip of his cock slid into her ass. "Oh! What are you…?" Softly, Dermot rocked her forward onto his hand, then backward onto his cock. The entire head slipped into her ass. She moaned again. He let out a shaky breath, and kissed her neck. "It's up to you. Take me as slow and as deep as you want to go." She clenched her ass muscles and he groaned. He held her, unmoving, and she slowly relaxed. Tentatively, she rocked forward, sighing as his fingers slid deeper into her. Rocking backward, his cock slid an equal depth into her ass. They sighed together. "Don't stop kissing me," she whispered. "Never." With mouth and tongue, he swept gentle kisses over the pulse pounding in her neck. He kissed her shoulder and behind her ear. All the while, she rocked back and forth, until his folded hand was buried in her up to his wrist, and his cock was sheathed to the balls in her ass. "God, baby, you feel so good," he murmured in her ear. She let out a broken sob. "Love me, Dermot. Please. Love me now." He rolled her over so that she was impaled on his hand. Flexing his fingers, he stroked the walls of her vagina as he pulled his cock partially out and thrust deeply into her ass. She moaned. "Yes." Twice more, he stroked her with his hand and cock. Thick lubricant coated his fingers and flowed down his arm, increasing with every stroke. His cock grew firmer with each thrust into her tight ass, until he was hard enough that he feared hurting her if he pulled out and tried to enter her again. Holding her tightly, Dermot rolled them over again, so he was on his back and she was lying on top of him. He gasped as their combined weight pressed his tender ass

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into the bed. His cock swelled in response, and Eileen shuddered and moaned, her ass muscles clenching around his rigid cock. He started rocking beneath her, rolling his hips up and down to find all of the tender spots she'd left on his ass. Every time he pressed against one, his cock jumped within her, and she moaned and writhed above him, rubbing herself against his hand buried deep within her. He licked and kissed her neck, shoulder, and back, uncaring what he tasted except that it was Eileen's skin. His buried hand stroked and fondled, while his free hand roamed over her stomach, ribs, and breasts, sometimes caressing her and sometimes simply clutching her tightly as they rocked back and forth. His blood pounded in his ears, deafening him to the labored rasp of his breathing and Eileen's sharp cries. No longer able to hear her response, he focused on the feel of her, flowing hot and wet around his hand, and clenching tight around his cock. She grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his skin, and forced his hand deeper still. His middle finger slipped through her narrow cervix. She went wild, bucking her hips as tremor after tremor rippled through her muscles. Deep muscles clenched the length of his cock just as she slammed backward, driving her weight onto the tender spot on his ass. He grabbed her and held on as he came, arching in an instinctive final thrust as he filled the condom with his seed, driving his hand deeper at the same time. She screamed something in Gaelic, then collapsed limply on top of him. His hand slid out of her in a wet flood, and his flaccid cock slipped free of her sticky ass. He pulled off the condom, trying to be careful, but his slick fingers couldn't hold onto the lubricated surface and his hot come poured out onto his stomach, running down his hip to puddle on the sheet. Now that the euphoria of their lovemaking was fading, he couldn't bear to lie on the sodden, sticky sheet, while the evidence of their passion dried in itchy patches on his skin. Dermot threw aside the covers and climbed out of bed. A glance at the bedside clock revealed it was nearly four o'clock. Too early to get up, but too late to change the sheets and remake the bed. Bending down, he lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against his chest. "We'll spend the rest of the night in your bed," he told her, getting a sleepy mumble in response. "But first, we need a shower."

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Chapter Seven Eileen drifted slowly to wakefulness, nestled in Dermot's warm embrace. Listening to his slow and even breathing, she relished the peace and comfort of simply lying beside him. Soon, that was not enough. Turning onto her hip, she propped her head on her fist so that she could study him at her leisure. Even in sleep, his face held the strength and determination she admired. Lightly, she traced her fingertip over his arching brows, along his jawline, and across his dangerous lips, rendered temporarily safe by sleep. His lips parted slightly, releasing a tiny sigh. She slid her finger along the open seam of his lips, pressing lightly, until he pulled her finger into his mouth. He sucked gently, sparking a heat deep within her as her body remembered how he'd suckled and feasted upon her flesh in the back of the limousine. She smiled. Her first limousine ride, and she remembered nothing about it except the feel of Dermot's hands and mouth as he'd brought her to one shuddering, shaking climax after another. She tugged her finger free, earning a soft protest from her sleeping lover. His head turned, trying to recapture his prize. "Hush, now. Be still," she whispered, stroking his thick hair until he subsided. Her exploration continued. She glided her palm over the smooth planes of his back, down his spine, to his trim hips. As she caressed his ass, still slightly swollen from the beating she'd given him, he moaned softly in his sleep. His cock twitched to life. Eileen watched, entranced, as it slowly lengthened and straightened, like an inflating balloon. By the circle, the man was insatiable! She'd thought the number of times they'd made love in her cottage was a side effect of the dryad's spell, but this voracious sexual hunger seemed to be his natural state. She heard his breathing shift. A moment later he opened his eyes. "Mmm. This is a nice way to wake up." "I know." She brushed his lips with a feather-light kiss. He moved closer, sandwiching his warm cock between their stomachs and pressing her breasts against his chest. His hand cupped her ass, holding her hips tight to his, while his mouth captured hers in another kiss. He groaned as he released her. "I would like nothing better than to make love to you all day. But we have to get ready for the Silver Moon meeting."

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"What is it we're to be discussing? My agent never gave me specifics." "Oh, publicity plans, how to position you, what your talking points are, those sorts of things. Mostly it's for the publicist to see what level of media coverage you can handle." His hand drifted lazily up and down her hip. She pressed her body against his and hugged him tightly, needing the reassurance of his solidity. That was his world, the world of media coverage and publicists, of celebrities and limousines. She didn't belong in that world. She belonged in her woods, writing her books and following the cycle of nature. "Do we have to go?" she whispered. "What is it? You're shivering." He held her close and rubbed her back. "Are you cold? Or scared?" "Why am I here, Dermot?" He hesitated, then answered slowly, "Are you wondering or am I supposed to guess?" "Tell me. Why did you send for me? What is it you see in me that made you go to so much trouble to bring me here?" He sighed deeply. "Well, you did save my life." "Is it because you're grateful, then?" "Of course not. I mean, yes, I'm grateful, but my gratitude is usually expressed in a check with a healthy number of zeroes. It's something more with you." "Great sex," she muttered. "God, yes! It is." She stiffened, but he didn't seem to notice. "We're great together. I shouldn't have to tell you that, not after last night. It's a good thing this is the penthouse, or my neighbors would have called the cops, the way you were screaming. And what you did to me with that branch…" He groaned, a shudder rippling through him. "God, that was good." Eileen swallowed against the lump in her throat, and blinked her burning eyes. That was it, then. She knew the secret of how he liked his sex. He wanted his ass whipped, so he wanted her. It had nothing to do with who she was as a person. Dermot continued, oblivious to the devastation his words had caused. "And, of course, you're intelligent, beautiful, and highly successful. You have an adorable accent." "I donna!" She clapped one hand over her mouth, but the treacherous brogue had already escaped. He just laughed. "See?" His mirth faded, and his voice softened, as if he was thinking out loud rather than speaking to her.

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"But I think, even with all that, I would have let you stay in Ireland if I hadn't read your book." She blinked. "You read one of my books? Which one?" "The latest. I wanted to understand the Irish witch who had beguiled me. The dryad nearly killed me, but before that, the sex with her was better than I'd thought possible. Throughout history, men have gone mad trying to recapture the embrace of a faerie lover, even though they knew it meant their deaths. Yet I barely thought about her. It was the night and morning afterward that I couldn't get out of my head. You. I had to figure out why." Eileen stared at him with rapt fascination. "Why?" she breathed. "Your book gave me the clue. You talked about the potential for human purity. That's you." She thought of all her doubts and disbeliefs. "I don't feel very pure." "Oh, but you are! It shines from you, like a light that can't be seen, only felt in the heart. It makes me want to be a better person, to be the kind of man who would deserve you." She couldn't breathe. Her lungs labored in deep, shuddering gasps, but her throat was too tight for the air to pass. "Eileen?" He pushed her away to see her face. "Are you crying?" "No. And a proper gentleman would know better than to ask a lady such a question." She spoiled her indignation with a wet sniff. Dermot smiled, and curled her close to his chest. "Whatever you say." He continued stroking and caressing her, molding her body gently to his, until her breathing steadied and she relaxed against him. Turning her head slightly, she swept her tongue across his flat nipple. He sucked in a sharp breath, so she did it again, this time cupping and caressing his ass at the same time. "Keep that up, and this conversation will be over in a few seconds," he warned. "Didn't I tell you it was a weakness for a finely turned phrase I had? And you, you've kissed the Blarney Stone for certain." He chuckled. "Well, then, it's time I stopped talking. Your turn. Why did you accept my offer to come to America? Was it only for the publicity tour?" She heard the fear underlying his forced good cheer, and hurried to reassure him. "No. Nor for your wealth. Truth be told, that was why I threw your card away. I couldn't imagine you in my world, and knew I could never fit in yours." "But you changed your mind." "Aye. I realized I knew no such thing. I believed it. As if I'd seen a rainbow, and believed it rained." He frowned. "But it does have to rain before you see the rainbow."

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"Did you never see a rainbow over a waterfall?" "Oh…" "Aye. I misjudged you. And it's sorry I am to have done so." She pressed another kiss to his chest. "What do I see in you? Ask why am I here, and get the same answer to both. You did not give up. Not when the dryad tried to claim your life, not when I needed to help you in my cottage, and not when you chose to pursue me. You see clearly, Dermot Stone, more clearly than most who do not walk the path, and you walk your own path guided by what you see." She blew out a disgusted sigh. "So many of the people I meet are searching, for what, they don't know. But it's me they want to find it. It's me they want to tell them the truth that should be hidden in their own hearts. Not you, though. You know. And like the stone that is your namesake, there's none alive who can move you once your feet are set." He brushed his hand through her hair, then tilted her face up so that he could meet her gaze. "You see all that in me?" he whispered. "Aye." His lips closed over hers. They continued speaking, no longer needing recourse to words. Instead, their kiss expanded and deepened, until they breathed each other's souls. Slowly, with no sense of urgency, Dermot rolled her onto her back and slid inside her. She held his cock sheathed deep within her, not moving, just kissing him, while time stretched and distorted and billowed around them. They hung suspended, supported by their fused breaths, in a moment that transcended time. The blood pulsed in her groin. Dermot's cock twitched. Time snapped back in a howling rush, reclaiming them to the ordinary world. Her hands roamed across his back, stroking and petting and clawing, while his heavy cock slicked in and out of her wet vagina. He grunted, thrusting hard and fast, and she slapped his ass, urging him on. And still they devoured each other with their mouths, teeth and tongues tangling and striking. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She could only feel, Dermot hard and hot and pounding inside her. Then he burst, flooding her with his fire, scorching the tender flesh he'd loved so thoroughly the night before. She broke apart, shattering into a million pieces, each a mirror to the glowing flame of his love, until she was engulfed in a brilliant inferno without end.

*****

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Eileen had no time to think about the coming meeting as she hurriedly showered and dressed in her book-signing outfit of a long gray wool skirt, white blouse, and gray velvet shawl. As soon as she was ready, Dermot called for his limousine. He glanced at his watch. "Barring traffic, we'll make it." "Isn't traffic usually a problem in Manhattan?" He grinned as he escorted her to the elevator. "Compared to what you're used to, I'm sure it would be. My driver can handle it." The driver and limo were waiting for them in the circle outside the apartment building. A new and younger doorman held open the limousine's door for them. As she entered the passenger compartment with Dermot right behind her, Eileen was assailed by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. As soon as they'd taken their seats and the doorman sealed them inside, Dermot pressed the intercom button. "The Silver Moon offices. For a nine o'clock meeting." "Yes, sir!" Dermot released the button and reached for one of the brushed steel coffee cups engraved with the Stone Industries logo, only to be flung backward into the seat as the limousine shot out of the circle and into the street. He righted himself, and grabbed a bagel from the bag beside the coffees instead. "I'll wait until a traffic light to try drinking anything. Would you like a bagel? We have plain, sesame, cinnamon raisin, and blueberry." She rested her hand on her stomach, which chose that moment to gurgle. "Yes, please. Blueberry." She tore into the bagel, surprised at how suddenly ravenous she was. He smiled indulgently, more interested in watching her than in eating his own bagel. "Built up quite an appetite last night, did you?" "What with all the time zone changes, I missed a meal along the way." "Would you like another bagel?" She pressed her palm to her stomach, which was now churning. "No, thank you. That wouldn't be a very good idea right now." The limousine stopped at a light, and Dermot quickly swallowed half a cup of coffee. She added cream and sugar to hers, so only had time for a single sip before the car lurched into motion again. The driver continued darting the big car in and out of traffic in a manner that did nothing to soothe her nerves. Dermot held her hand, offering her silent encouragement. "I don't know why I'm so nervous," she admitted. "I suppose it's because I don't know what to expect." "My publicist is excellent. She'll find your comfort level, and book you accordingly. Just be yourself. You'll be fine." He squeezed her hand lightly. "There is one thing, however. It would be best if you didn't mention we knew each other."

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She smiled, recognizing now that he was trying to protect her. "You don't want them to think this publicity is favoritism?" "I want them focused on enhancing the value of the publisher's lead author, and public recognition of Silver Moon." "How long should we wait before telling them, do you think?" "They don't need to be told." Eileen frowned. "Your limousine driver, and the two doormen at your building all know I spent the night with you. You know what they say. It is not a secret if it is known to three people." "Don't worry about it. They are well paid for their discretion." "And when you run out of those whose silence you have paid for, what then? Am I to be seen nowhere in public with you?" "Don't be silly. Of course we'll be seen together. We have to eat. And I'm eager to show you many of my favorite places in the city. That doesn't mean our personal lives need to be fodder for the gossip rags." The limousine pulled up before a utilitarian, cement-walled building. As soon as it stopped, the driver hopped out and hurried around the car. Eileen pulled her skirts away from Dermot so that not even her clothing touched him. "No one who sees us now could mistake us for lovers. Does this make you happy?" His glance darted to his driver, leaning forward to open the door. "We will continue this discussion later." "Only if you find a new tune to sing." Pushing past him, she climbed out of the car and hurried into the publisher's building.

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Chapter Eight Dermot traded an exasperated look with his driver as he exited the limousine. "Would you like me to run any errands for you during your meeting, sir?" Dermot knew what Chris was asking—did he need a bribe to regain his lover's good graces. Chris had purchased roses, diamonds, and coveted event tickets plenty of times in the past for him. Dermot wasn't certain what had just gone wrong, but he knew enough to know that a gift wouldn't make it right. "No. No errands today. Pick us up in three hours. And make reservations for dinner—someplace with a lot of people. Leave a message on my cell with the details." "Yes, sir." Dermot forced down his frustration and put on his game face. Time to meet with the publisher and publicist. At least now he'd get to see how Eileen handled herself, and if she could remain professional even when she was upset. She was not in the deserted lobby. Hoping she knew which floor the meeting was on, he took the elevator up to the seventh floor. Everyone was already assembled in the conference room. Everyone except Eileen, that is. He glanced around the four people already in the room to make sure he hadn't overlooked her, although he couldn't imagine ever doing such a thing. She wasn't there. "Where's Eileen?" he asked. "She's in my office," Brian Royce, the CEO of Silver Moon, said. "Adjusting her travel arrangements." "Will she be long?" What the hell did 'adjusting her travel arrangements' mean? Her flight back to Ireland was booked for next Tuesday, and he'd already canceled her reservation at the Niko since she was staying with him. Neither needed adjusting. A chill rolled down his spine. Unless she wasn't planning on staying with him after all. Whatever had just upset her hadn't upset her that badly, had it? Surely she was going to give him a chance to correct the situation. "No, not very," Royce answered. "In fact, here she comes now." Eileen breezed into the room, the wind of her movement rippling the fringe on her shawl with eye-catching waves. All he could think about was chasing everyone else from the room, ripping it off of her, and turning the cherry conference table into an impromptu bed. Far from getting his fill of her, after their night of passion, he was well and truly addicted to the pleasures of her body.

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A slight smile slipped his iron control. Technically, that wasn't correct. The mindblowing ecstasy she'd given him using that wych elm branch had been a pleasure of his body. But whether they'd been making love skin-to-skin or pleasuring each other in one of the other creative variations they'd found, it had been great, and he wanted more. He didn't think he could ever tire of making love to her. Numbly, he took his seat at the table, across from Royce. Where had that thought come from? Royce began his presentation, introducing the people at the table, but Dermot had no attention to spare for the man. He hadn't given the matter any particular thought, but had simply assumed that any affair with Eileen would run the normal course of his affairs, a brief flare of passion followed by growing disinterest until the embers were completely cold and he moved on. Could he possibly be thinking of something more with Eileen? Something like marriage? But that was ridiculous. They were completely unsuited for marriage. She'd said it herself—they came from two entirely different worlds. Royce had finished his introductory comments, and Sara Combs stood up to give her presentation of the proposed publicity campaigns. "Our goal is twofold. First, we want to identify in the consumer's mind the name Eileen Lyons with the female-empowering neo-pagan revival." "But I'm not—" Sara shot a brittle smile at her, silencing Eileen's objection. "Those are just the buzz words. We'll address your actual beliefs in your product differentiation." Sara glanced around the table, checking for any additional objections. When none were forthcoming, she plunged back into her presentation. Dermot listened to the ideas with a sense of impending doom. Eileen had tried to warn him. She'd known that they were embarking on more than a casual affair. That's what had angered her so badly this morning—not that he didn't want to disclose their relationship, but by refusing to plan for a future disclosure, he was announcing that he was only interested in a brief fling. His skill at manipulation that had engineered her arrival so smoothly now worked against him. He'd bought into the publisher under the pretext that his money would be used to fuel growth and expansion. The publicity campaign was central to that growth. Eileen was going to be associated irrefutably in the public mind with witchcraft, bizarre and scandalous pagan rituals, and weird occult powers. The news rags would be thrilled to exploit any personal connection between the two of them. Eileen would be accused of bewitching him. Dermot's business judgment would be called into question. He remembered how, after one of his parents' legendary scandals, the reporters had circled the family home like sharks scenting blood in the water. An enterprising photographer had snapped a picture of a very young Dermot playing in his sandbox,

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catching him in the act of demolishing a sand castle, and used it to highlight an article about the effects of parental discord on children. Dermot was forbidden from playing outside after that, trapped in a state of house arrest for over a month until the reporters and photographers finally disappeared. He had vowed as a child that he would never endure that particular hell again. His conduct as an adult had conformed with that vow, so that while he'd had his share of articles and photo spreads about his personal life, especially after that most eligible bachelor nonsense, he'd never suffered through another tabloid feeding frenzy. Most of his adult life, he corrected. His trip to Ireland had touched off a flurry of irrational behavior. First his telling the men he'd gone leprechaun hunting with about his affair with Tami. Then having sex with a dryad. Confessing his sexual desires to Eileen, and having unprotected sex with her. His stomach clenched. He hadn't used a condom this morning, either. And the last time they'd made love, it had been in the standard position that could easily have gotten her pregnant. A sudden babble of voices recalled him to the meeting. Sara had concluded her presentation, and the other attendees were now adding their own comments. Royce glanced his way and frowned. "You look concerned, Stone. Do you see a problem with Sara's proposal?" "The proposal is fine. I said as much during our prereview." And thankfully he had reviewed Sara's material once before, since he'd paid absolutely no attention during her presentation. "But there's a difference between a proposal and an executed campaign. I'll reserve judgment until I see how it all plays out." Royce didn't look happy with Dermot's answer. And why would he be? Dermot had practically shoved the publicity campaign down his throat, and now he was backing off his support. Sara regained the meeting's momentum like the trooper that she was. "That's a valid concern, Mr. Stone. And why we're here today, to hammer out the details of the execution. Ms. Lyons, after hearing the presentation, which sections of the proposal did you feel most comfortable with?" "I liked the idea of applying ancient wisdom to modern situations. In fact, as soon as you said that, I had an idea. Women are so often called upon to play the role of wife, mother, and caretaker of elderly parents. Many times, they feel guilty about taking time for themselves, and end up neglecting their needs in favor of others'. Or else they overcompensate and always put their own needs first, with no regard for how their actions affect those that rely upon them. One of my religion's central beliefs crystallizes how to balance those two extremes—do what you want, so long as it causes no harm." Sara scribbled frantically. "Oh, yeah. That's good. We can run with that." Dermot leaned back in his chair, stunned. How could he have overlooked something so incredibly simple? In all of his plans and deliberations, his schemes to get Eileen to come to him or his resolve to have nothing more to do with her, he had not

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once asked what she wanted. Oh, he'd considered her wants. How else could he have baited his trap with this publicity campaign? But he'd never simply come straight out and asked her. God, he was a fool. He entered the discussion, offering his full range of experience and support. He'd make sure Eileen had every opportunity for a successful publicity campaign. If she chose not to go through with it, that was one thing. But he wouldn't cripple the campaign before it started, simply to make things easier for himself. That would run counter to her prime dictate, and he was gaining more respect for that philosophy every time he heard it.

***** The meeting broke up an hour and a half later. Dermot stood immediately. "Ms. Lyons, if I might have a word with you?" "Certainly." Her cheeks glowed, and sparks glimmered within her eyes. The other attendees slowly filed from the room, most telling Eileen how pleased they would be to work with her, or how successful the campaign was going to be. Finally, the two of them were alone. "You did great," Dermot said softly. "You'll knock 'em dead on the talk show circuit." She blinked, then smiled. God, he loved that smile. A barrel of honey would not be as sweet as the curve of her lips. "Thank you, Dermot." "You know why I'm so certain you'll be a knockout talk show guest?" "Why?" "Because listening to you speak made me have a revelation. I have been a complete fool. Eileen, what do you want? For us, I mean." Her eyes widened. "That was a revelation." "Don't dodge the question." "I'm not dodging. I'm stalling." She traced scrolling patterns on the gleaming surface of the conference table. "What I feel for you is different from anything I've ever felt before. Maybe it's love. Maybe it's something else entirely. I want the opportunity to find out." "So, you want to date? I can do that. When you return to Ireland, I'll fly over every weekend I can get away, so we can keep seeing each other." He hesitated, his new resolve to focus on her wants warring with his need to know. "Royce said you were readjusting your travel arrangements. Are you still going back on Tuesday?"

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"Yes. But I won't be staying long. I called my friend Soibhan. She's watching my woods while I'm gone. She'll move into my cottage and take over the position so I can stay in America a while longer." "You can live with me. There's no better way to find out how we really feel about each other." "I'd like that." She favored him with another glowing smile. "But I've got to know. Why? You were furious with me this morning when you left the limo. Why did you go out of your way to make sure you could spend more time with me?" "An áit a bhfuil do chroí is ann a thabharfas do chosa thú." "Sounds lovely. What does it mean?" "It's an old saying. 'Your feet will bring you to where your heart is.' I knew this morning, when your refusal to acknowledge our relationship hurt so badly, that my heart was here." She shrugged. "So here was where I needed to be as well." He couldn't believe it. Everything was falling together perfectly. Everything except the tabloid threat, that is. But after watching how she handled herself today and listening to her responses to Sara's questions, he knew he had nothing to fear from her religion. The only possible scandal was a much more prosaic one, and he had a simple solution for that. "If you're going to be living with me," he warned her, "people will talk. The easiest way to cut short the gossip is if we're engaged." She blinked. "Engaged? But the whole purpose for my staying is to find out if it's love." "So we'll make it a long engagement. Years, if you like." "Somehow, I don't think it will take that long." "However long it is, I'll be here when you make your decision." He walked around the table and stopped in front of her, taking her hands in his. "My feet have brought me to where my heart is, too. And I don't ever plan to leave." Looking deep into her eyes, Dermot knew he'd made the right decision. The worst media frenzy would be inconsequential with her by his side, and soon over, compared to the hell he would endure for the rest of his life if he let her get away. Slowly, reveling in the feel of her trembling body beneath the soft velvet of her shawl, he glided his hands up her arms, to her shoulders, then down her back. He moved forward, at the same time pulling her to him, so that their bodies were pressed together from leg to chest. Eileen's hands slid under his suit coat, caressing his chest, then slid down his ribs and around his waist to cup and cradle his ass. His cock sprang to full and instant arousal, pressed into the folds of her skirt, and he considered locking the door and making love to her right there on the conference table. But that would mean he'd have to break away from her in order to reach the door.

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Instead, he bent his head and captured her lips in a deep, soul-searing kiss. Everything he'd said, hadn't said, or wanted to say but had said incorrectly, was all expressed in that one perfect kiss. Distantly, he heard a click. "Mr. Stone, if you're—" Sara began. "Oh. Excuse me." Dermot turned. "Sara. There's one more thing you'll need to consider for your publicity campaign. Eileen has just consented to become my fiancée." Sara's eyes widened. "But this changes everything! We'll be able to book you on—" "No," Eileen interrupted. "He asked you to consider it, in case the news would affect my believability as an independent authority. But I won't answer any questions about my personal life." Sara shook her head. "You're wasting a golden publicity opportunity. But fine. I'll reshape a few things, and otherwise ignore your engagement. Now I'll let you two alone to finish your, mm, discussion." She slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. Dermot stroked Eileen's cheek, admiring the fire in her eyes. She'd have no trouble handling nosy questions from reporters. "The tabloids will ask, you know," Dermot warned softly. "I think not." Eileen slanted a smug smile at him. "Neglecting to print gossip about our relationship could not possibly harm them." Dermot stared at her in amazement, then began to laugh. She was everything he'd ever wanted in a lover, plus she had the power to keep the tabloids away. The leprechaun truly had given him his heart's deepest desire.

The End

Luck Of The Irish


A Wolf By Any Other Name Kate Douglas

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Chapter 1 Zev wondered if a man’s head could actually explode from a hangover. The visual was enough to make him gag, and he might have, if the dream bringing him slowly awake didn’t feel so damned good. Warm lips suckled the tip of his cock and an obviously talented tongue tested every fissure and ridge. Fingers with long nails stroked his balls, fondling each one in its turn, tugging gently and rolling the family jewels just the way he liked. Well of course you’re gonna do me the way I like. You’re mine, aren’t you? He groaned as soft hair swept over his belly and Zev went with the flow, luxuriating in the skilled but imaginary lover he’d conjured for this morning’s wet dream. Maybe a hangover wasn’t such a bad thing, so long as the day started out like this. Of course, if he’d been a little sharper with women, he’d have a real one sucking his cock. There’d been some pretty hot women at the reception last night. Unfortunately, none of them had shown him the least bit of interest. Experience had taught him he’d find very few women impressed with his knowledge of computers, the latest in game technology, or his ongoing dislike of standard operating systems. Conversation with the opposite sex definitely wasn’t his forte. As down on his luck as he’d been lately, he hadn’t attempted even a minor flirtation last night, which was, of course, a moot point right now. He sighed and let his fantasy flow. Another pair of lips joined the first set, kissing his chest and suckling his nipples. Zev moaned, and wondered briefly where he’d come up with the details. He’d gotten pretty creative over the past year, since breaking up with Tami, but nothing this good! Sweat broke out in a hot flush over his entire body as the imaginary sensations grew more intense. Strong fingers kneaded his buttocks, the mouth on his penis sucked like a Hoover. Another set of hands rolled both his balls in a steady massage that bordered on pain. He moaned aloud and let his thoughts roam free. For some reason, they ended up back at the wedding. Damn. What a party that was! First there’d been champagne, then that unbelievable Irish whiskey, then…the image of a little man dressed all in green floated just beyond his consciousness. Nah. No way. He must have been drunker than he realized.

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Obviously, since he couldn’t even recall coming back to his hotel room. Zev raised his hips just a tiny bit, giving the imaginary mouth enveloping his cock a bit more room to work. Forget the wedding. Stay with the dream. Oh Lord, that’s amazing! The imaginary mouth grew more insistent, suckling his cock deeper and deeper. The fingers squeezed his balls with a bit more enthusiasm and one sharp fingernail lightly rimmed the sensitive ring around his ass. Zev completely forgot about the wedding. He put the little green man where he belonged, in the mental circular file designated for useless information. Useful information was the delicious dream taking him closer, ever closer to the edge. It was so real he almost opened his eyes to watch the two women making love to his entire body, so real he could have sworn he heard their soft grunts and the rustling of their clothing. Lips dragged at the nipple over his heart, another set of lips compressed the base of his cock, encasing him in a hot, wet mouth. Hands squeezed his buttocks and massaged his balls. A blinding coil of need started building somewhere down in his gut. A finger, this one without the sharp nail, circled his ass, pressing against the sensitive nerves, pressing harder then retreating, press…retreat…press…retreat. He relaxed his sphincter muscles, subconsciously begging the finger to press just a little harder, for the mouth to suck just a little more of him into that hot, wet cavern. As if he’d communicated every wish to his fantasy lovers, they complied. Zev knew he was going to make one hell of a mess in the bed in a very short… A whole lot of things happened all at once. The finger pressing against his anus suddenly gained entrance to an entirely virgin opening on his body. Gained entrance, kept going and pressed something Zev didn’t even know he had. In that split second where Zev wondered how he could possibly fantasize an act he’d never heard of, sharp teeth came together on his nipple and the teeth buried behind the lips that were sucking his cock suddenly clamped down on the base of his penis. Cheek muscles compressed his straining flesh to the point of pain, fingers squeezed his balls, the sharp fingernails raked across his perineum and the biggest blast of cum he’d ever produced managed the convoluted journey from his testicles to the end of his cock in record time. Zev arched his hips and howled his release. For the first time since the dream began, he realized his hands and feet were somehow bound to the bed. The mouth sucking his cock suddenly disappeared, leaving him wet and bereft, spurting the rest of his load into the chilly air. Someone spat and gagged. A woman’s voice snarled, “Shit. I hate the taste of that stuff.”

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Another female voice made a snorting sound of disgust and said, “Then spit it out. What did you swallow it for, anyway?” “I didn’t know you were going to stick your finger up his ass, sister dear. I don’t know a man alive who can handle that. Warn me next time. Oh crap…it’s all over the front of me.” “You said you wanted him to have, and I quote you, an extreme orgasmic experience.” Zev’s eyes flew open. His first thought, Wet dreams don’t talk, was quickly buried. Standing over him were two of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen…identical in almost every way. They were tall, slim, very young and blonde, their hair long and hanging freely, almost to their waists—literally the answer to his dreams. Suddenly, it all came back to him. The little green man—no, make that leprechaun— had said he would grant Zev his greatest desire. It hadn’t been a dream! A quiet little voice in the back of his head asked Zev if his greatest desire had included being tied naked to a bed in what looked like a mad scientist’s dungeon. He suppressed the thought, choosing to focus instead on the women arguing over him. “He didn’t shift, Petunia. He’s still just a man. Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?” Petunia looked at Zev, staring down her nose at him as if he were some kind of bug as she wiped a damp rag at a big wet spot on the front of her black gown. He elected to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he studied her jewelry, the unusual necklace she wore and her copper bracelet, shaped like a snake winding from the back of her left hand all the way to her elbow. The snake’s metal head rested just between her thumb and first finger, its beady, jeweled eyes seeming to watch every move Zev attempted to make. Zev glanced away from the snake and looked directly into the blonde’s eyes, a bit disconcerted to realize one was blue and the other completely white. The woman tapped the side of her nose in a thoughtful gesture, then picked up a dog-eared book from a nearby table. She flipped through the pages while, on the opposite side of the bed, her twin paced back and forth. “Ah. Here it is, Verbena. I thought so.” She tapped something on a page midway through the book. “Page 369, paragraph 2. It says, ‘A shift may be instigated by any physical extreme, be it sexual or sensory. A full moon is not always necessary. Shifting during orgasm is not uncommon. Neither is it unusual for a shift to occur during periods of pain or stress’.” “That’s not the spell I was talking about. Did you use the proper conjuring spell? Are you sure you’ve conjured up a shifter?”

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“Well of course I am! You know I was always better than you at conjuring. Case in point, our little woodsprite?” Petunia snapped her fingers under Verbena’s nose. “You’re just jealous.” Verbena grumbled. Zev tried to disappear into the mattress. None of this made sense. He glanced the length of his body and noticed his flaccid penis nestled quietly in its dark forest of pubic hair. It was probably trying to disappear as well. “Well, if stress counts for anything, I would have changed by now.” Verbena leaned over and stared closely at Zev. Her left eye was just as white as Petunia’s right, but the right one was as green as an emerald. Zev blinked. Verbena blinked back. “Let’s try pain.” “Uhm…” Zev cleared his throat. “Do I have anything to say about this?” “No.” Both women answered as one. Petunia set the book carefully down on the nearby counter. Verbena dragged a box out from under the table on her side of the bed and set it carefully on the mattress next to Zev’s left hip. “Excuse me?” Zev tried for a more forceful approach. “Would either of you ladies mind telling me where I am and how I got here?” He tugged at the chains holding his wrists. They clanked and rattled. He noticed the sound echoed, almost as if the room were set up for really good acoustics. “It’s quite simple, “ Verbena muttered. Her attention appeared to be more on the contents of the wooden box than Zev’s question. “Petunia used a conjuring spell and brought you here, to the land of Faerie. My sister and I are taking an advanced level mail-order college course in inter-species experimentation. It’s only offered once a year through the International Witches and Warlocks Guild. This semester we’re working on shapeshifters.” She looked up and smiled sweetly at Zev. “You’re our lab project. If we’re successful, we’ll get an A in the class and move on to the next level.” Zev tried to ignore the implications of going from computer scientist to lab animal in the space of a few hours. He decided not to go anywhere near the Witches and Warlocks Guild, much less an in-depth discussion of the land of Faerie. Who the hell did they think they were kidding? Instead, he tugged experimentally at the chains holding his arms, at the same time putting pressure on the restraints holding his feet. His ankles were essentially bolted directly to the bed with thick leather bands holding him firmly in place. He had a bit of movement with his arms, but a few light tugs followed by a full-strength pull convinced him he wasn’t going anywhere soon. “Have you got everything?” Petunia leaned across Zev’s body to stare into Verbena’s wooden box. The soft sweep of her long hair across Zev’s hip and genitals suddenly brought his cock out of hiding. He willed the traitor to relax. Petunia absentmindedly stroked his smooth flesh as she studied Verbena’s treasures. Within seconds, Zev was once again fully erect, bobbing inelegantly against Petunia’s black gown. “I think so.“ Verbena handed a number of items to her sister. “If we combine sex and pain, I imagine it should induce stress. If we hit all three, he’s sure to shift.”

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“Works for me.” Petunia experimentally clicked a small nipple clamp just under Zev’s nose. “Uh, not for me.” Zev raised his head as much as he could. “I don’t like pain. Not one bit. Nope. I think we should try sex again. Now that works for me. What, exactly, is it you want me to do?” “Shift.” Verbena quickly massaged his left nipple to a point. Petunia slipped the clamp on it. Zev yelped. They repeated the process on the other nipple, although this time Zev kept his yelp down to a teeth-clenching grunt. The sharp pain in his nipples slowly eased into a deep, throbbing ache that somehow transmitted itself to his traitorous cock. His erection had grown so large it actually hurt. Petunia completely ignored his cock and slipped a hard pillow under Zev’s hips. Verbena adjusted his ankle restraints, bent his knees and shoved his feet closer to his butt. Before he could figure out what was going on, Petunia slapped some kind of salve on his butt then shoved a vibrating dildo up his ass. After the first jolt, Zev decided it wasn’t all that bad…until he realized that whatever the witch had used to lubricate the damned thing was mentholated. After a moment of inglorious squirming against the icy hot vibrator, Zev grew aware of a soft chanting. He opened his eyes to mere slits, looking past the nipple clamps and between his raised knees. Petunia and Verbena held their hands outstretched over his erection, chanting softly in some strange tongue. The jewels in Petunia’s necklace glowed brilliantly. Verbena’s matching necklace had taken on more color as well, until a soft light emanated from the gleaming stones. Suddenly Petunia wrapped her long fingers around Zev’s cock. He watched in mounting horror as the copper snake bracelet she wore suddenly came to life. It slithered down her fingers and wrapped itself slowly around his cock. Petunia pulled her hand away as the snake constricted. Zev jerked at the chains holding his wrists. He was afraid to move his hips, afraid to jostle the snake in any way. The chanting continued, finding its way into his soul, his bones, the straining sinews of his body. The rhythmic undulations of the snake twisting around his erect cock took on a hypnotic pattern, timed to the mystical spell of the two witches’ chanting. The dildo vibrated at a higher pitch, the clamps seemed to tighten on his nipples and the snake’s black tongue darted in and out with each muscular compression against Zev’s growing erection. In spite of himself, he felt his orgasm building, felt the pressure deep in his gut—the pleasure in spite of the pain—or because of it? He didn’t know, couldn’t tell if he’d ever known. He was alive and aware as he’d never been before. Aware of the tiny shifts of

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current in the air around him, the scent of herbs and spices permeating the stone walls of the room, the tiny motes of dust hovering in the candle light. The chanting grew louder. The sisters began to stroke his flanks, his chest, the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. He moaned, trapped in a visceral reaction to extreme sensation, an awareness completely foreign to him. He felt each ridge of the women’s fingerprints, compared the warmth of their touch to the heat of the vibrating dildo and found his own rhythm to match. The pleasure built, the pain increased. Zev struggled to open his eyes, to fight the sensation, the sensual assault that traveled beyond violation. The snake grew stronger, larger, until it totally encompassed his straining cock. Zev forced his eyelids apart, horrified to see the reptile undulate further down his penis, wrapping itself around and around like a hangman’s noose until it reached the base, where his cock was rooted to his body. The head of his penis looked like a swollen, purple plum, peeking out of the tailend coils of the snake. Zev stared at it, the sensation filling him with terror while at the same time he realized he’d never been so acutely turned on in his life. The snake looked back at him once, its red eyes glowing with an intelligence beyond reptilian. Its jaws opened wide, wider until the dripping fangs filled Zev’s field of vision. Senses on overload, Zev shut out everything around him. He narrowed his focus to the snake. Each metallic scale glowed with life, the eyes narrowed to fiery pinpoints and a silvery drop of venom hung like a tiny ornament from the tip of each ivory fang. Zev felt a scream building, a terror unlike anything he’d known. With it, the pressure of his climax charged, a powerful orgasm trapped behind the constricting muscles of the snake. The sensation of the vibrator disappeared, the clamps lost their power. Even the witches stood back from his straining body. With a last flick of his tongue, the snake dipped his head, released its body’s pressure on Zev’s penis, and sank its fangs directly into Zev’s balls. Pain and pleasure connected in a single lightning bolt, a maelstrom of horror and blinding light. Then all was dark.

***** Zev pulled the soft blanket up over his shoulders and rolled over on his back. At least his headache was gone. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, decided he’d better not try it again until he brushed his teeth, and stretched. Hell. What a dream! Idly he ran his hand across his chest, recalling the weirdest nightmare-slash-wet dream he’d ever had.

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His fingers rubbed over one of his nipples and he jerked. Damn! Why was it so sore? He gently tested the other one. It felt as raw and abraded as the first. Suddenly, crystallized images from his dream began to coalesce and regain their shape. Eyes still closed, Zev trailed his fingers along his belly, stopped for a minute to stroke his flaccid penis in greeting, then moved around its base to touch his balls. His fingers hit a hard and painful lump. Jerking upright, eyes wide open, Zev exploded awake. “Nightmare, shit! It really happened!” Frantically, Zev twisted and turned to see where he was. Definitely not his own room. Unless the local LazyDaze Motel had suddenly gone in for the dungeon look, he wasn’t there, either. This room, which appeared to be made of solid blocks of stone, was about twelve feet square, without windows. Light glowed from a number of candles in metal sconces placed about the walls. The door was a solid plank of wood with a tiny iron cage covering an opening about six inches across. The only furnishings appeared to be the bed he slept on, a sink on a pedestal and what he hoped was a toilet, hidden behind a drape in one corner. An innocuous little table sat next to the sink. It seemed to be made of wood and plants, almost as if it were growing from the dirt floor. Zev shook his head and quickly checked his body for more injuries. Other than the two little puncture wounds under his cock where the damned snake must have bitten him, he was unmarked. Where the hell was he? He shoved the one blanket back and sat on the edge of the bed, cursing steadily. None of this made sense! Matching witches, sexual games, a magical snake with real fangs…frustrated, he shook his head. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” “Can’t you find anything more creative to say?” “What the…? Who said that?” Zev leapt to his feet, feeling even more naked now that he realized he wasn’t alone. He glanced toward the door, but he was certain the sound had come from his left. He stared at the odd little table. It began to unfold. Zev stepped back, bumped into the bed with the backs of his knees and sat down. “I did.” A tiny, green-haired figure unfolded from her position on the ground. Zev guessed it was female because she had absolutely gorgeous breasts…and gorgeous legs…and the most delectable, pert little nose… “First I had to listen to you snore, then you talked in your sleep, now you’re just cussing without any originality at all.” “What the hell are you?” “Excuse me? Try ‘who the hell are you?’ For that matter, I might ask you the same question, especially since you’re in my cell and you slept in my bed.”

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He blinked. Talk about getting put in your place by a runt! A really cute runt, to be certain, but…“I’m Zev. Zevulun Cable, actually. Zev for short.” He stood up, the better to tower over her. The little creature circled him, looking up out of eyes the color of new-mown grass. He guessed her to be about five feet tall, a mere shrimp next to his six foot, four inch height. “You’re definitely not short,” she said. “Not short at all.” She smiled and shook her hair back out of her eyes. At this point, Zev was certain he’d lost all touch with reality. Her hair wasn’t hair at all…it was silky strands of leaves flowing in a waterfall of ivy green to her shoulders. Her skin was a deep shade of olive, the little fluff of pubic hair reminded him of the seedpods on thistles. She was beautiful and exotic and he had a strong compulsion to water her to see if she’d bloom. Zev did the next best thing. He grinned at her like a complete idiot. At least that’s the way he felt. An idiot under intense scrutiny. Finally, after an interminable amount of time in which the creature studied him as intimately as someone could without touching, she held out her hand. Zev took it in his much larger one, surprised by the strong grasp of her fingers and the warmth of her palm. “My name, fellow captive, is Fern. I’m a woodsprite, currently serving as an accidental science project for the terrible twosome.” She smiled at Zev. His heart stopped beating. He was convinced the damned organ forgot how to work. Fern’s smile was a thing of poetry, a warm, all-enticing look that drew him in and made him feel, well…not quite as nervous as he’d been before. His cock decided to make her feel welcome, too. It came to attention and said hello in its own, inimitable way. He tried to brush it down with his free hand. It popped right back up. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Fern laughed. Her laughter was even more unsettling than her smile. Zev thought of bells, of sweet fields filled with birdsong, of throwing her down on the bed and screwing the socks off her. If she’d been wearing socks. “What do you mean, accidental?” he asked, instead.

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Chapter 2 It wasn’t easy to concentrate on his face, though that part of his body was certainly easy to look at, especially with the glowing aura surrounding him. The spectrum of colors fascinated her: the vibrant yellow spoke of intelligence and wisdom, the spike of red showed his fear of the unknown and the blue told her he was a searcher, still learning his place in the world. As fascinating as she found his aura, though, it was that other rather enticing body part doing its best to get her attention. Better to stick with auras. At least they were something she understood. Fern slipped around behind Zev and sat on the edge of the bed, scooted back against the wooden headboard, drew her heels up against her thighs and wrapped her arms around her knees. If she was really careful, she could cover her breasts with her hair and knees, her crotch with her heels and possibly carry on an almost normal conversation with the first human male she’d ever seen up close. Zev quickly followed Fern’s lead. He sat back on the bed and leaned against the wall, surreptitiously tugging a corner of the blanket over his middle. There was an obvious protrusion just below his waist, but covered as he was, it was easier to ignore. Not so the aura. It continued to glow, the colors constantly shifting and stirring as if this beautiful man had multiple realities within him. Fern sighed. She’d worry about his aura later. Where to start? “For a third level witch, Verbena isn’t very good at conjuring, from what I’ve learned,” she said. “She and Petunia are constantly at odds over who has the better powers. Their assignment was to conjure up a shapeshifter for this semester’s lesson, and Verbena rushed the spell, trying to show off to her sister. She got me instead.” Zev frowned. “You’ll have to start from the beginning. What’s a shapeshifter? What are you, for that matter?” He smiled at her with the confused look of a nymph just emerging from its husk. His aura faded to the light brown of confusion. Well, of course the boy was confused! Fern reminded herself. After all, he was only human. “I forget. Humans aren’t nearly as familiar with the land of Faerie as we are with your world. I’m a woodsprite, born of the deep forest and the magic of the earth.” She spread her hands for emphasis and raised her head, then remembered the naked body parts she meant to hide. She quickly folded herself back into position. “I just am. I’ve always been, for all I know. I have no mother, no father, no siblings other than the other sprites and nymphs of the forest. I don’t shift, though I do become

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one with the ancients in the deep woods. I think when Verbena spoke her conjuring spell, she caught me in the midst of my transformation after a long conversation with an ancient oak, and mistakenly took me for a shifter. I awoke, screaming, chained to a bed.” She shuddered, the memory as painful now as it had been those long days ago. “They used iron on me. I couldn’t escape.” Fern rubbed her wrists, vividly recalling the burning pain of her restraints. Now, at least, when the witches brought her to the lab, there was soft wool covering the iron. The pain was there, though not so intense. “For all her faults, Petunia is better at spells and conjuring. She went after a shapeshifter and got you, didn’t she?” Zev shook his head, his frustration obvious. “I’m not a…what do you call them? Shapeshifter? I’m a guy. Period. Specifically a thirty year old computer technician for a life insurance company in Springfield. I grew up in Ohio, for crying out loud! Shapeshifters, whatever they are, do not come from Ohio. They don’t work in offices in Springfield.” “No.” Fern studied his eyes and their unusual shade of brown glistening with amber highlights, the shifting colors of his aura, the slant of his high cheekbones and the dark mahogany depths of his hair. “I don’t know this Ohio…I’ve never heard of it before. You are from a much older place. I believe your world calls it Romania. I sense it in you. Just as I sense your other self, the shape you are destined to become.” Zev’s choked gasp was matched by the look of wonder in his eyes. “No one knows I’m Romanian. No one! Even I didn’t know, not until about a year ago. After my father had a heart attack and died…that’s when my mother finally told me I was adopted. She passed away just a few months later.” He paused a moment, long enough for Fern to see the dark wisp of sadness filtering through his many colored aura. It was obvious he mourned his parents very deeply. Zev blinked, as if shaking off the pain. “Ya know, if she hadn’t told me when she did, I might never have known. It was a black market agency, totally illegal, but my parents were older and it was the only way they could get a baby. I was in an orphanage, half starved when they found me. I’ve seen pictures of myself when I first came to the US. I was barely two years old.” He stared deeply into Fern’s eyes, frowning a bit as he studied her. “How can you know this?” “It’s in you.” Could she possibly explain how much of his life was open to her, written in the flowing shades of the aura surrounding him? “Just as your animal shape is a part of you. I’m surprised it hasn’t manifested itself.” She dipped her head, consciously acknowledging his hidden power. “The call of the wolf is powerful within you.” His bark of doubtful laughter made her giggle. “Mark my words, Mr. Cable. If Petunia and Verbena are successful, you’ll soon meet your alter ego.”

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Zev’s laughter immediately quieted. He stared thoughtfully at Fern, then reached out and touched her hand. “What do they do to you?” “They…examine me. I think they are quite curious about me. I’m the first woodsprite they’ve ever seen up close. They’ve not injured me, if that’s what you mean.” She shut her eyes and looked away. No, they hadn’t actually injured her, though they hadn’t been gentle, either. She felt violated, just the same. “They’re not really mean,” she added, attempting to explain the witches’ behavior without actually defending them “They’re witches. Young witches trying to learn their craft. They can be cruel, but without intent…it’s their nature.” Zev cleared his throat. “I don’t care who they are. I promise you, I’ll do whatever I can to protect you. In the meantime, shouldn’t we be trying to figure out how to escape?” “Do you know where you are?” Zev wanted to reply that he must still be smack dab in the middle of the weirdest hallucination he’d ever experienced, but he was afraid his companion wouldn’t see the humor. Instead he glanced about their small cell and said, “In a dungeon, I assume.” Fern nodded. “You’re close. It’s not just any dungeon, though. We’re about 100 feet underground, the walls are hewn from solid rock and the only way in or out is by witchcraft.” “What about the door?” He pointed at the door for emphasis. “It leads to a corridor that leads to a couple of other cells like this one, empty last time I looked. Go ahead. It’s unlocked.” Unlocked? Zev jumped off the bed and yanked at the heavy door. It flew open so quickly he almost slammed his hand between the heavy metal handle and the stone wall. A narrow hallway stretched into the darkness to both his right and left. A door directly across from him led to another stone cell just like the one he and Fern shared. Zev pushed open the heavy door. Candlelight from the corridor illuminated the room in a soft, golden glow. Four square walls. Dust and what appeared to be broken pottery littered the stone floor. No windows, no furniture. Nothing but the stale smell he associated with old warehouses or storage rooms. At least he could be thankful he hadn’t awakened in that one, all alone. He glanced back through the open doorway for a reassuring look at Fern, then grabbed a candle from the wall and explored farther along the corridor. There were two more cells. The first was empty. The next one had a surprisingly modern looking shower set into the stone wall. Zev tried the single fixture. After a bit of sputtering and spitting, a steady stream of lukewarm water sprayed out. An old wooden shelf next to a small porcelain sink held

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plain white towels, something that might have been soap, and an old-fashioned safety razor. Zev picked up the razor and shook his head. Curiouser and curiouser. He rubbed the stubble on his chin, then carefully set the razor back on the shelf. Two toothbrushes lay side by side. The pink one looked used. Shrugging, he grabbed the blue toothbrush, ran it under a stream of water, dipped it in a little bowl of what had to be tooth powder, and brushed his teeth. “The Ritz Carlton it’s not,” he muttered, shaking the wet toothbrush over the sink and setting it back on the shelf. He had to admit, though, his outlook was much improved with a clean mouth. He’d worry about a shower and a shave later. He glanced around, holding the candle over his head. Nothing. The shower, the sink and the shelf…nothing else. The floor, at least, was clean. Sighing, Zev left the cell and continued his exploration of the dungeon. It didn’t take him long. The corridor ended in a solid wall of rough-hewn stone. A few steps in the opposite direction showed him exactly the same type of barrier. “Do you believe me, now?” Fern stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the flickering light of the candles behind her. “I don’t want to, but it looks as if I haven’t got much choice.” Zev carefully replaced the candle in the holder outside their cell. He stared at it a minute. Not a bit of wax had dripped during his exploration. The candle hadn’t appeared to burn down at all. None of this made any sense. No sense at all. Shaking his head, he followed the tiny woodsprite back inside. “The air’s fresh. I wonder where the source is?” He turned the handle on the porcelain sink, identical to the one he’d seen in the other cell. Water spurted out and gurgled down the drain. “Plumbing looks pretty basic. Has to go somewhere.” He swept the curtain back and discovered an old fashioned toilet, the kind with a water closet overhead and a long chain to pull for flushing. “Very basic. Uhm, excuse me a minute.” Zev pulled the curtain shut behind himself and made sure the plumbing worked. It was not easy to pee, knowing a strange—make that very strange—woman stood just on the other side of the flimsy cotton drape. He fought an overwhelming urge to whistle or sing or do anything to drown out the racket as he emptied his bladder…”Come on baby…twist and…” The words died off into a soft whisper. Damn, that’s how he got himself into this mess in the first place. He shut up and decided it was better to just get on with it. Finishing his business, he carefully put the seat back down in deference to his roommate, pulled the chain to flush, stepped out from behind the curtain and washed his hands.

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“No towels.” He shook his hands dry, then rubbed them against his bare flanks. “We need to speak to management about the service here.” Fern giggled. She’d moved back to her position at the head of the bed, her feet all tucked up and hiding what he’d almost been able to see just a moment ago. Zev usually hated giggly girls. When she giggled, though, he thought of birdsong and butterflies. It gave him a knot in his gut somewhere just below his navel. His stomach growled. Maybe the knot was just hunger. “Do you get fed around here very often?” “You just have to ask.” Fern glanced around the room, then shouted, “Hey, Verbena. We’re hungry. Send us something to eat.” “No please or thank you?” “Uh, you’d better move out of the middle of the room.” Fern patted the bed next to her. Unsure where this was leading, Zev sat down on the bed, a bit closer to Fern than he’d been earlier. She glared at him. “Please or thank you? Are you kidding? I didn’t ask to be conjured and/or kidnapped.” Before Zev had a chance to answer, a small, food-laden, round wooden table and two chairs popped into the room, right where he’d been standing. “Thank goodness they passed cooking last semester,” Fern said, matter-of-factly. Obviously, tables appearing out of nowhere meant little to her. “Though Verbena is much better with spices than Petunia. Of course, Petunia’s a real pro when it comes to desserts. C’mon.” Bemused, Zev followed her lead, pulled out her chair, then sat down in his. A carafe of coffee and a plate piled high with thick strips of bacon, fried potatoes and three perfectly fried eggs had him salivating within seconds. Fern’s plate was filled with lighter fare—what looked like a bagel, slices of fruit and some kind of cereal in a small bowl. “Is it real?” Zev didn’t wait for Fern to answer. He gulped a swallow of coffee, burned his tongue and took a huge bite of eggs and potatoes. “Tastes real. Damn. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” “I think it’s real. I’ve been here for at least a moon’s pass and I’ve not lost any weight.” Fern sipped neatly at a cup of juice. “I wondered too, at first. I mean, to create something out of thin air! It takes powerful witchcraft to perform tasks like that and I don’t think these two are that good. Then I got to thinking…maybe they just steal it off a table somewhere, you know, sort of the same way they got us?” Zev laughed. “I find that appealing…you know, the idea of our scarfing a meal conjured away from some stuffed-shirt in a fancy restaurant. Guess it appeals to my convoluted sense of humor.” Fern stared at her bagel a moment before taking a dainty bite. “So long as it wasn’t someone really hungry who needed it more than we do.”

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The thought lingered between them for a moment, reminding Zev of the world beyond these stone walls. Faerie, the witch had said. He was in the land of Faerie. It couldn’t be. Impossible. How else could he explain all the weird stuff happening to him? He watched Fern as she ate, enjoying her precise movements, the tilt of her head, the flow of that beautiful ivy cap of hair that drifted about her shoulders and parted to allow her full, olive-green breasts to peek through. Somehow, over the past hour since he’d awakened, he’d accepted the fact she wasn’t human. His cock certainly didn’t have a problem. Thank goodness the table hid that part of him from her view. Trying to keep the damned thing under control had been wearing him out. There really is a land of Faerie? Conversation. He needed to think of something other than the impossibility of Zevulun Cable in the land of Faerie, and he really needed to get his mind off the exotic beauty of the small woman sitting across from him. How long did she say she’d been imprisoned here? “A moon’s pass?” he said, answering himself. “That must be about the same as a month, right?” Zev carefully placed his knife and fork across his empty plate and sighed. Food certainly helped put a new light on things. Fern did the same, folding her cloth napkin and setting it to one side. In a soft, haunting voice, she began to chant. Sixty seconds are but a minute, sixty minutes an hour. Twenty four doth make a day where sun and moon share power. Seven days to build a week, four weeks the pass of the moon. Four seasons, twelve passes and a year goes by. It all comes around too soon. “That’s beautiful.” Fern tilted her chin close to her chest and blushed. “’Tis but a nursery rhyme. I’ve always known it. Time really isn’t all that important in Faerie, other than the course of the moon.” Zev let that sink in for a moment. There it was again. Faerie. Something else caught his attention. Hadn’t the witches mentioned the moon? Fern said he was a shapeshifter…a wolf? He shook his head. Too much, too soon, and none of it felt real, much less, made any sense. He’d deal with the impossible later. As if any of this were possible… “What do you think they have planned for us next?” he asked. He toyed with the scraps of food left on his plate. “I think they will do their best to force you to change. You may not have much control over it. I doubt they intend to hurt you. Remember, this is just a class project for them. As much as I dislike them, neither Petunia nor Verbena is totally evil, as witches

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go. They’re very young and insensitive to the rights and needs of others, but that’s their nature.” “What about you?” Zev reached across the table and took Fern’s hand. He’d known her for such a short time. How could she matter so much to him? “I don’t know. I’m not sure why they’ve kept me as long as they have. Curiosity, I imagine. They’re very curious about me.” She turned her head, as if in shame. “So am I,” Zev said, squeezing her fingers. “Curious about you, I mean. You’re not exactly human…are you?” He let go of her hand and touched the soft green leaves flowing over her shoulder, traced them to the point where they parted at the top of her breast. His finger brushed the flesh just below her collarbone and she sighed. Her skin felt like the finest satin, pulsing with life, silky smooth and warm beneath his touch. His fingertips looked pale against the deep olive shade that reminded him of the color of old moss. Zev’s lips tingled with the need to kiss her, to taste the flavors of the forest, the essence of earth and air, woodland and sky. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He leaned across the table, aware of her subtle shift closer to him. His eyes closed. He licked his lips and cupped her head beneath his palm. The leaves brushed his hand, warm and so very alive. He felt as much as heard the soft moan from her parted lips, just at the moment his mouth touched hers. He kissed air. Eyes flying wide open, Zev jumped back from the table, knocking his chair to the floor. “Fern? Fern! Where the hell are you?” Frantic, more frightened than he’d been since this whole bizarre episode had begun, Zev backed across the room until his back connected with the cold stone of the dungeon walls. The candles flickered, the currents in the air seemed to mock him. Suddenly the table and chairs, the plates and the remnants of their meal, all disappeared as well. Zev’s fingers scraped against the rough stone. His legs shook, his knees buckled and he slid to the cold floor. A scream buried itself deep in his throat. I am not going insane. I am not crazy. I’m not in a dungeon somewhere in the land of Faerie, trapped below ground with no way out. I’m not. Fern, where are you? Fern? I need you.

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Chapter 3 “Oh, I didn’t realize Verbena had already summoned you.” Petunia smiled at Fern, then leaned over and tightened the leather straps holding her hands to the headboard. “You’ll notice I got rid of the iron. I told my sister it was unnecessarily cruel to trap a woodsprite with iron, even with the wool covers.” She checked the leather straps holding Fern’s ankles and stood back to admire her handiwork. “Verbi? She’s ready. Watch her, will you? I’ll be back in a minute.” Petunia moved beyond Fern’s field of vision, still talking. “What do you have planned for today?” “I’m going to make her shift. I know she can do it. I used a shapeshifter’s spell to bring her here…she would never have been caught in it if she couldn’t shift.” Fern glowered at Verbena. She’d tried explaining what had happened, but the damned witchbitches wouldn’t listen. They’d tried numerous spells and herbs. On the last visit, Verbena had resorted to pain, clamping Fern’s nipples in hard, pointy little clamps and stretching and bending her limbs until she thought the bones would break. She wondered what they’d done to Zev. He obviously hadn’t wanted to discuss the details any more than she had. She hoped they hadn’t hurt him as much as they had her. Fern’s thoughts were still wandering when Petunia walked back into the room. She was stark naked. Even Verbena appeared shocked. “Did you forget something?” she asked. “No.” Petunia stood close by Fern’s side, wearing only her gemstone necklace and the copper snake bracelet that wrapped from her elbow to her hand. “We’ve tried stress and we’ve tried pain. I thought I’d work on sex and arousal. I get into it better without my clothes. She will shift, sister.” Verbena shook her head and laughed. “I’m not interested. She’s all yours.” Fern glanced at Petunia, surprised by the satisfied smile on the witch’s face. “Feel free to join us at any time,” Petunia whispered. The lights dimmed. Fern tensed against her restraints, unsure what was coming. Not that she hadn’t heard about sex. She wasn’t that stupid. Unfortunately, the closest she’d ever come to experiencing it in any way was the kiss she’d almost gotten from Zev. Key word: almost. Petunia set a small glass jar on the bed, dipped her fingers in the stuff inside, and began to rub it on Fern’s abdomen.

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It felt absolutely wonderful. Fern closed her eyes against the low overhead lights and decided to just go with the sensation. Petunia rubbed the lotion over Fern’s stomach, her fingers massaging and kneading with surprising gentleness. Fern moaned with pleasure. She heard Verbena’s muffled, “Well, if you insist.” Before long, a second set of hands joined in. Fern moaned again, feasting on the complete sensuality of four knowledgeable sets of fingers massaging her abdomen, the taut flesh along her ribs, the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Occasionally a finger would flick across her nipple, maybe sweep through the soft down at the apex of her thighs. Accidental? It must be. It only happened a couple of times…at first. Then Verbena held something close to her nose…a vial of some foul smelling liquid. Fern jerked against her bonds, held her breath, then finally took a deep lung full of air. Whatever she inhaled had an immediate effect. First a buzzing in her skull, a sense that something else had taken control. Then an awareness, a deep knowledge of her own body, of her needs…needs only the witches could fulfill. When Petunia caressed her inner thighs, Fern arched her back for more. When Verbena’s hands’ massaged the rounded flesh beneath her breasts, she begged for her to touch the nipples as well. The witches complied. Gleefully. Fern sensed her reality had been compromised, while at the same time she begged for the sensual touch the two offered. A tongue brushed her nipple. She cried out. Lips suckled her and she groaned. Another set of hands gently rubbed her thighs, the soft flesh of her buttocks. Soon the hands were joined by the gentle brush of lips, the taut exploration of a searching tongue. Where she might have fought such a violation at one time, now Fern welcomed the sensual assault. She arched her hips, offering herself to Verbena’s lips and tongue. She sighed at the moist suction over her abdomen. Lush and loving, the constant caress of lips and tongue, fingers and palms brought her closer and closer to something. In the back of her mind, Fern tried to remember what she’d always been told…woodsprites were not sexual beings. Their bodies were part of the earth, the forest, the ancient spirit of the ages. This was wrong. This growing excitement, this drug-induced sensual response was against her nature, against all she’d ever known. Wrong? If it was so wrong, why did she want it so much? Why did it feel so good? Why did she reach for the secret hidden in Verbena’s lips, in Petunia’s fingers and spells? How could this possibly be wrong? “My goodness, Petunia! Something’s horribly wrong!”

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Caressing fingers suddenly grasped Fern’s thighs and spread them wide. She blinked, and the sexual haze enveloping her flashed out of existence. “I don’t believe it, Verbena! Look at her!” Fern raised her head just as Petunia flicked her fingers roughly between Fern’s legs. “Ouch! What are you doing?” Both sisters stared accusingly at her. Petunia held one leg, Verbena the other so that Fern felt as if she’d been split in two. “What are you?” Verbena pointed between Fern’s legs. “Where’s your cunny hole? You don’t have a clit. There’s nothing but a peehole there.” Fern frowned. Cunny hole? Clit? “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me see?” Suddenly the wrist restraints disappeared. Fern sat up, bent over and did her best to inspect her crotch. “Looks fine to me,” she said, glancing up at the twins. “What’s the problem?” “Look at me.” Petunia thrust her hips forward, reached between her legs and spread apart what looked like plump pink lips to Fern. Buried behind the lips was another mouth! She leaned over and looked closer. No, there weren’t any teeth. Just lips, no tongue, unless that funny little protuberance at the top was…Fern reached out and touched the bump. Petunia gasped and jerked her hips away. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wanted to see what…” Fern ducked her head in shame. How embarrassing! “No…no…it’s okay.” Petunia huffed out a big breath of air. “I had no idea. Verbena, we need to help this girl! Fern, it’s okay if you can’t shift. We won’t worry about that for now. What we do need to worry about is why you haven’t got a cunny hole!” “I’m a woodsprite. We must not have those things.” Why then, Fern wondered, did it suddenly seem so important that she should have what the two witches obviously felt so necessary to her well being? “What are they for?” “Well…” Verbena blushed. Fern had never seen anything quite so colorful before. Deep red, all the way to the roots of her white blonde hair. It blended beautifully with the orange aura glowing about her. “You have to have a cunny hole to make babies,” Petunia said. “That’s where the man puts the baby seed and the baby comes out when it’s ready.” Fern suddenly relaxed. “Well, that explains it. Woodsprites don’t have babies. We just exist. We’ve always been, we always will be, so long as the land of Faerie breathes.” “You have no idea what you’re missing.” Verbena was leafing through a huge, leather-bound volume. Her dry comment caught Fern’s attention. It made her think of the fascinating equipment hanging off the front of Zev. Her gaze had been drawn to

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that particular body part ever since she’d first seen him. She’d noticed them on other males of other species as well. It must be what they used to plant baby seeds! Petunia dropped Fern’s thigh and peeked over Verbena’s shoulder. “Whatcha looking for?” “A spell for Fern. One that will give her all the missing parts.” Petunia recoiled in absolute horror and slapped her hand to her chest. Fern noticed it made her naked breasts jiggle. “Verbi, we can’t! That part of the book isn’t covered until next semester! We haven’t studied that chapter yet. If Mother finds out, she’ll kill us!” “Mother’s supposed to be away for six weeks. She won’t be home for at least another two weeks, which gives us plenty of time. Here it is!” Verbena jabbed her finger at a page midway through the book. “It’s a stage spell.” “Oh…Verbi! A stage spell?” There was a hint of awe in her voice. Fern wasn’t so sure she liked the sound. “Uh, what’s a stage spell?” “It means we have to do it in stages, over a period of seven days culminating with the full moon.” Petunia paused, stared blankly at the wall as if working out mental calculations, then smiled. Fern wasn’t sure she liked the look of the smile any more than she had the sound of the spell. “We’ve got just enough time, if we begin tonight.” Fern swallowed. “Tonight?” Neither twin paid her any attention. Verbena grinned at her sister. “I thought you were the one who said we weren’t ready to attempt it. Are you sure you want to try?” “Just think how far it would put us ahead of the rest of the class.” Petunia rolled her eyes. “So long as Mother doesn’t find out!” “What if something goes wrong?” Fern asked. Both witches turned to look at her as if this was the first time she’d spoken. “Your point is?” Petunia asked, a puzzled look flickering across her beautiful face. Verbena dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “If it goes wrong, we’ll just do it over.” She handed the huge book to Petunia. “Read it, Pet, and let me know what you think.” Petunia’s lips moved as she read through the pages. “Uh oh. The subject must want the transformation for the spell to be a success.” She stared at Fern. “You do want this, don’t you?” “You mean I have a choice?” Fern pursed her lips and thought seriously about allowing two witches in training to rearrange her body parts. “I don’t think so. I’m happy with what I’ve got.”

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Verbena grabbed Petunia’s arm and dragged her out of hearing. Fern concentrated on the movement of their lips, but could only be sure of two words—desire and spell. The next thing she knew, Petunia was sprinkling something shiny and glittery over her head and Verbena was chanting madly, waving her hands and staring at the sparkles floating around Fern. There was an audible pop, both witches blinked and Verbena smiled. “Ah…that should work perfectly.” She leaned over and unfastened Fern’s ankles. “You’ll definitely want us to start the stage spell tonight. We’ll see you in a couple of hours. Just holler when you want us.” With a wave of her fingers, a now familiar incantation and a cheery smile, Verbena sent Fern back to her cell.

***** Zev awoke to the changing air currents in the room and the distinct knowledge Fern was back. The fact she reappeared right next to him on the bed, under the covers and pressed against his back, made her difficult to ignore, especially since he’d just been dreaming about her. He was so glad to see her, he flipped around and dragged her into his arms for a hug. “You’re shaking! What did those two bitches do to you? Are you okay? Fern?” He hugged her tighter then backed away to get a better look at her face. She stared beyond him, as if seeing something for the first time. “Do I look different?” she asked. Zev sat up in the bed and pulled her out from under the covers to get a better look. He noticed she kept her legs together just as tightly as she had this morning. “No,” he said, studying her closely. “Why? Should you?” “They put some kind of spell on me.” “What kind of spell?” He checked her over again. She looked just as exotic and gorgeous as she had the first time he saw her. “I dunno. I think they called it a desire spell. Do you have any idea what that means?” Fern’s brilliant green eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Whatever the two witches had done to her had definitely been frightening. “As in sexual desire?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I feel…weird. Different. Sort of…” Her voice dropped off and she took a deep breath. “May I touch you?” Talk about your non sequiturs! “Excuse me?” Zev grabbed Fern’s shoulders and turned her to face him. She was suddenly focused on his cock. That obliging organ, never shy under the worst of circumstances, chose that moment to stand up and say hello. Without waiting for permission, Fern slowly reached out and touched the tip. It jerked. She yanked her hand back, but Zev noticed she was smiling.

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She touched him again, this time with a bit more confidence. He wondered if he should question where this was leading, but since he’d spent the past hour or so fantasizing about hot and heavy sex with the woodsprite, he hated to interrupt. Of course, if she was only interested because of some stupid spell… Fern giggled, stroking his cock and helping it grow to much better proportions than Zev was used to seeing. Her small hands grasped him with just the right amount of pressure, slipping up and down the smooth shaft as if she’d done this more than once…or twice. He decided the spell couldn’t be a bad thing. A tiny drop of pearly liquid appeared at the top of his penis. Without hesitation, Fern lifted it off with her finger and popped it in her mouth. She grinned around the tip of her finger, which stayed there, pressed against her lower lip. Her teeth were white and perfectly straight, her lips full and inviting. Zev did what came naturally—he leaned over and kissed her. She obviously didn’t have a clue what to do, though she didn’t back away. The innocence of her response sent his libido into overdrive. He had a brief and unfavorable impression of Tami and her worldly confidence, but that was buried in the slight parting of Fern’s lips beneath his own, the tiny thrust of her tongue against his. Her hands fluttered across his chest, then one slipped along his arm to grasp his shoulder. The other held on to his ever-growing cock as if it were a lifeline. He groaned and sprawled back against the pillows, dragging Fern with him. Her lips never left his, her hand continued its steady slow but sure massage of his cock, her tiny fingers pumping him with growing skill. He suckled her small, darting tongue, then slipped his own between her lips. Her eyes flashed wide and green, then drifted shut on a sigh. He fucked her with his tongue, slipping in and out of her mouth, matching the strokes she gave his penis. She drew him deeper into her mouth and her tongue tangled with his, her fingers tightened on his shaft and he knew if he didn’t pull away immediately, it would be too late. Panting, breaking the contact, he ended the kiss, gently lifting her fingers away from his hungry cock and resting his forehead against hers. She was breathing just as hard as he was, so that they sounded like twin bellows. “I’ve only known you for a few hours,” Zev whispered. “It’s too soon. Too much, too fast. It’s gotta be the spell those bitches put on you.” “It’s not just the spell,” Fern said, huffing the words between breaths. “I’ve been fascinated by you, wanting to touch you, since you first appeared. I’ve wanted to taste you.” Sliding along his torso, she slipped down to lie on the rumpled blankets between his spread legs. Her hair, that glimmering cascade of green leaves, rustled against his

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thighs and Zev shuddered with renewed desire. His cock danced once more at full attention. Her touch was just as tentative, just as fresh as her kiss had been. She ran her tongue along the full length of him, dipped into the tiny opening at the tip, then licked him like a popsicle from bottom to top. She discovered his balls, first with her fingers, then with her lips, suckling with great care after he told her just how sensitive they could be. She was especially careful where the snake had left its mark, but when she popped first one testicle and then the other into her mouth, he practically whimpered. After what seemed like a lifetime of exploration, Zev grabbed up fistfuls of blanket in a vain effort to control his hands as Fern sucked his cock into her mouth. If I die right now, I will still have known heaven. Zev’s body went limp. All his blood rushed directly into his penis. Even his brain quit functioning. Petunia had done an amazing job of giving him head the night before, but there was no comparison to what Fern was doing. The witch might have managed more suction, but she certainly hadn’t put as much heart into it. Fern smiled around his erection as she drew him deeper and deeper into her mouth. After a moment, she scooted up on her knees for a better angle. Zev watched with growing amazement as the tiny woodsprite swallowed and sucked and eventually managed to take all of him down her throat. He was afraid to move, afraid he’d hurt her if he thrust in the manner he was dying to do. Even Petunia, with all her skills, hadn’t swallowed all of him with such skill. Fern gathered up his balls in her hands and gently squeezed as she slipped up and down his cock. She appeared to finally get the rhythm figured out, enough so that Zev realized he’d found true bliss. She moved faster, her cheeks compressing his sensitive cock, her tiny fingers stroking his balls and tickling the sensitive flesh between his cock and his ass. Those busy fingers were everywhere, scurrying from his sac to his thighs, to the taut, muscular ring around his anus. For all her innocence, she certainly seemed to know what buttons to push. Zev groaned when one finger almost breached his ass, then retreated to rub rings around him, literally. She seemed fascinated by the length of his cock, slipping it almost completely out of her mouth before diving down on him again. Occasionally she raked him with her teeth, then soothed him with her tongue. Zev moaned and wondered if the multiplication tables would have any effect on him right now. He was coming. There was no stopping what the sexy little woodsprite had put in motion. She sucked even harder, her fingers tickled his ass, they raked over his balls.

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Groaning, clutching the sheets and thrusting against her unbelievable mouth, Zev lost all control. He cried out, the sound vaguely reminiscent of a wolf’s howl. Fern grabbed the base of his penis and squeezed, as if milking even more from his pumping gonads. Zev complied for all he was worth. It felt so good he wanted to cry. First he had to remember how to breathe. Fern continued to lick his cock, bringing him gently back to earth. He cracked open one eyelid and winked at her. She might not have even noticed, so intent was she on the job she was doing. Zev owed her. Big time. No woman had ever given so unselfishly, had ever made him feel so cherished. Obviously there was no way he could have sex with her now, at least not until his batteries recharged, but there were other ways to make love, to give back some of what she’d shared with him. His body felt like warm Jell-o on a hot afternoon. Fern still sparkled with uncharged energy. He slowly dragged himself to a sitting position and pulled the gorgeous woodsprite into his arms. She came willingly, her lips parted. When he kissed her, he tasted himself on her lips. “That’s a first,” he whispered, stroking the edges of her lips, then dipping between them to taste her tongue. The thought that, just moments ago, his cock had filled this same hot, wet cavern, brought an amazing and unexpected stir to his groin. Zev slowly rolled over. He slid Fern’s willing body beneath his and settled his hips into the hot V between her legs. She had a glazed look in her eyes. He hoped like hell it was lust and not the effects of some damned spell. What if this magic between them was nothing more than hocuspocus? Fern wiggled her hips, better to position the two of them closer. Zev concentrated on her lips a moment longer, then slipped down to suckle her breasts. For all the fact she had leaves instead of hair and skin the shade of forest moss, her breasts were amazingly normal…if perfect could ever be called normal. He licked and sucked at the round globes, working his way slowly around each breast before dragging one nipple, then the other, into his mouth. Fern arched her back and air hissed out between her teeth. Inspired, Zev tongued the pebbly surface of the nipple he’d chosen to concentrate on with his mouth, and carefully rolled the other between his fingers. He could have played with her breasts all day, but the heat between her legs was drawing him. So far, she’d been everything a man could want in a lover—responsive, creative, willing—though he was convinced she was as innocent as they came. The thought made him pause. “Fern?” He raised his head from her warm breast and gazed into her grass green eyes. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with. Promise to tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

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He was certain a shadow passed over her eyes. The sparkle dimmed a moment, then she smiled at him. “Zev, do whatever you can. Please? Whatever you can.” Odd way to put it, he thought. I can do one hell of a lot, sweetheart. Grinning, he slowly worked his way along her flat stomach, kissing and nipping until she squirmed and giggled beneath him. He blew a puff of air into the frothy curls at the juncture of her thighs, secretly relieved when they didn’t just blow away like dandelion fluff. Her scent filled his nostrils. He inhaled woodland flowers and the earthy musk of the deep woods. She arched her back in blatant invitation and Zev knew he’d teased her long enough. He loved the taste of a woman. The textures and flavors from musky to sweet, the quick or slow response, the way every woman’s shape was unique and hers alone. It was always a surprise, that first moment when his tongue made contact with the soft lips, the hard little nub, the hot center. Zev allowed his own anticipation to build, felt his once flaccid cock grow in response, then he dipped between Fern’s legs for the first taste. “Holy shit.” He’d never taken a virgin in his life. This lady took virginity to a whole new level. “Fern?” Zev raised up on his knees, his breath coming in quick gasps, his cock back in hiding like the coward it was. “Uhm…sweetheart? There’s something missing here.”

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Chapter 4 Fern huddled at the far end of the bed, obviously distraught. Zev leaned against the headboard, his knees upraised to give Fern more space. If anyone needed their space right now, Zev figured it was the little woodsprite. He couldn’t imagine the feelings she was dealing with, especially after the effects of the witches’ desire spell had begun to wear off. Personally, Zev felt like shit. He wanted to take her in his arms and offer some sort of comfort, but she’d shoved him away and scrambled to the far corner of the room after their aborted attempt at making love. Sex. He had to keep reminding himself it was just sex. A man did not make love to a woman he’d only known for a couple of hours…make that a woodsprite he’d only…hell, who was he kidding? “Fern? Sweetheart…I am so sorry. I had no idea.” This time she raised her head and glanced in his direction, if only for a moment. Her eyes were red-rimmed and filled with tears. Zev couldn’t stand it. He scooted close to her and dragged her into his lap. She offered only a token resistance, then sighed and snuggled against him. “Oh Zev…” She hiccupped. “S’okay.” “No, it’s not. There’s more…” She ducked her head against his chest and shuddered against him. More? What more could happen than falling for a woman lacking, what he considered, anyway, to be some very essential equipment? Zev stroked the shiny green leaves cascading over her shoulders. Fern sighed. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “The twins said they could fix me.” Zev’s hand stilled in mid-stroke. He thought about that a moment, about witchcraft and woodsprites and all those convoluted things suddenly filling his brain…a brain used to dealing with the pure logic of computer code. Was this any more fantastic? “You’re not broken, Fern. You told me yourself…you’re a woodsprite. Your body isn’t designed like a human’s. It’s designed to do exactly what yours does—be a woodsprite. If sexuality isn’t part of your natural make up, it would be wrong to change anything about you.” Fern sniffed. One tiny hand crept along his chest to rest next to her cheek. “Why do I have breasts, then? Woodsprites don’t have babies…but I’ve got breasts and nipples to

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feed a babe. Breasts that ache to have you touch them. Don’t you understand? Even though the desire spell wore off hours ago, I still want to do all those things with you. I have a need…” She paused and Zev heard her swallow and sigh. “…a need here…” She touched her lower abdomen, then slowly ran her fingers through the downy curls to stroke briefly between her legs. “…an emptiness that wants to be filled. I felt it before, when you first appeared in the cell. I feel it now. I don’t understand it. I want to.” “Oh shit.” What else could he say? Zev hugged her tightly. Her innocent longing swept over him with a yearning so lush and hot, it left him gasping. His cock suddenly reached gargantuan proportions, leaving no doubt in his mind that life with a woodsprite could become terribly complicated. Fern lifted her chin to gaze at him. Her lips were slightly parted, a look of abject misery suffusing her lovely face. Zev leaned close to taste her sweet mouth. A shaft of light suddenly blinded him. There was a subtle shift to his reality, a quiet little pop, and once more Zev found himself shackled to the narrow bed with the witches staring down at him. Fern’s woodsy scent lingered in his nostrils and his erect cock waived gaily at his captors. “Goodness.” Verbena batted at his erection with the tips of her fingers. “Is this for us?” Petunia snorted. “I imagine he’s been taking advantage of our little woodsprite.” “That’s got to be frustrating,” Verbena said. She leaned over and stared closely at Zev. Her glassy white left eye seemed to peer right through him. “Did she tell you we can fix that little, um, problem of hers?” “She’s fine just the way she is.” Zev tugged at the restraints to emphasize his point. Verbena backed away, laughing. “Noble, aren’t we?” She flicked his swollen cock. “But without any place to put our little friend, I imagine captivity will grow very uncomfortable.” She glanced at her sister. Petunia frowned. “She’s got a mouth, hasn’t she? I imagine she’s already given him some relief. He doesn’t appear to be suffering. However…” She encircled his erection with her fingers, frowned even deeper, then used both hands to hold him within her tented fingers. Verbena glanced at Zev, looked at her sister’s hands entrapping his cock, and grinned. “Pet…are you thinking what I’m thinking? Frustration might accomplish what pain, sex and stress haven’t.” Petunia moved her hands away. Verbena gently stroked Zev’s cock. The thoughtful look on her face made him very nervous. Suddenly she laughed. “We’ll muzzle the beast. It seems apropos, doesn’t it? Considering our assignment and all.” “Perfect, Verbi. Here, let me.” Petunia grabbed the book of spells and flipped through the pages. “Here’s one.” Holding the book in her left hand, Petunia made an

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odd series of motions over Zev’s rapidly shrinking cock, all the while muttering a string of incantations. “I’ll need your help, sister.” Verbena stepped closer and looked over Petunia’s shoulder at the open pages, then moved to the head of the bed. She stood just out of Zev’s line of vision and hummed. Zev pressed his hips as close to the mattress as he could. Whatever the hell the damned bitches had in mind didn’t sound like something healthy for his privates. Suddenly, Petunia let out a shriek and pointed right at Zev’s balls. Blue smoke puffed out, hiding his parts from view, sparks flew and Verbena clapped her hands loudly. When the smoke finally cleared and Zev stopped coughing, he focused his eyes on his crotch and forgot to breathe. His cock and balls were completely enclosed in some sort of iron mesh contraption shaped suspiciously, over his cock at least, like a dog’s muzzle. He couldn’t tell what held the cage to his body, but just from looking at it, he figured it wasn’t going anywhere. Verbena stepped around the side of the bed to view their handiwork. “Just lovely, Pet, but what’s the purpose?” Petunia stoked the mesh covering. “He can’t touch himself, nor can our little Fern help him ease the pressure.” Verbena tapped one long fingernail against her perfectly straight, white teeth. The click, click, click seemed to get louder with each tap. “True, Pet, but he has no incentive to touch anything. His cock has practically disappeared.” She flicked the metallic frame. “Of course, if there was something stimulating him just to the point of…hmm. Hand me the book.” Mumbling, Verbena flopped the heavy book on to Zev’s belly and began flipping through the pages. Zev growled. He felt the tension building, the anger at their blatant disregard of his humanity, of his freedom…of him, Zevulun Cable. He tugged at the restraints and bucked his hips, throwing the book to one side. “Tsk, tsk. Bad boy.” Verbena glanced at him through narrowed eyes, grabbed the book and righted it, then returned to her search. “Hurry,” Pet said. “It’s almost time to start Fern’s spell.” Verbena smiled. “I’ve got it. This should take care of things.” She tapped the entry in the book, reread the lines a couple of times then tapped the mesh surrounding Zev’s wilted cock. He tried to make out her words, but she mumbled them too quickly and they all ran together. Zev stared at his crotch, aware of a faint, bluish glow surrounding the mesh. Within minutes, the glow began to produce heat, a pulsing warmth that felt like tiny fingers encasing his genitals.

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The sensation was subtle, barely registering at first. Zev stared at himself a bit longer, decided nothing important was going to fall off or disappear, and relaxed back against the mattress. The witches ignored him, busying themselves preparing their potions and checking through the large book. Finally Verbena barked out a series of words and Zev found himself suspended from the wall on the far side of the room. He might have been made of Velcro. There were no visible restraints, but something held him against the cold stones as if he’d been permanently fastened to the rock, his feet dangling about six inches off the ground. Cold permeated his buttocks and shoulders, the two places where contact was the strongest. It made him even more aware of the tantalizing heat surrounding his genitals. His cock began to swell, filling the wire mesh without ever actually touching the glowing strands. The cage enlarged as he did, floating just a fraction of an inch beyond his turgid flesh. He was aware of an increase in sensation, though it was obviously too subtle to do any more than keep him hard. Suddenly Fern appeared on the table, bound much as he had been, though the restraints that held her appeared to be made of soft leather. She glanced toward Zev and gasped, then jerked her head back in the direction of the witches. Verbena smiled at the little woodsprite from one side of the bed, Petunia from the other. “Don’t you have better things to do than harass me?” Fern’s voice was filled with bravado. Zev felt quite proud of her. “We’ve told you, dear. We only want to help you.” Petunia leaned over, her face a mask of caring and commiseration. She ran one long finger from Fern’s navel to the tuft of down at the apex of her thighs, then tapped lightly where a clitoris should be. “We can start here, with the little pleasure button. You only need to ask.” Petunia smiled. Fern jerked her head around and stared at Zev. Good lord but she was gorgeous. Her skin had gone a bit pale but the ivy green leaves fluttered about her face, her lower lip trembled with apprehension and desire. His cock swelled and throbbed, stretching out but never quite reaching the limits of the iron cage. He couldn’t help but imagine actually making love to her, burying himself deep within her…what? “Not for me, Fern.” He shook his head. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” He barely noticed the flip of Verbena’s fingers, but suddenly the heat and sensation surrounding his cock multiplied. Zev hardly recognized the low growl emanating from his throat, the sudden increase in awareness. Suddenly his nostrils, his ears, his eyes, his entire body attuned to the room and the people within. As the sensations in his groin increased, so did his preternatural abilities. He heard the nervous patter of Fern’s heart. He smelled her, the woodsy scent of deep

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forest and damp earth, the sweet flowery essence he’d begun to associate with his little woodsprite. She filled his vision, filled his very being with need. As if he were shutting down the rest of the world, awareness narrowed to Fern, then back to the powerful ache growing between his legs, returning to the glistening trail along her bottom lip where her tongue brushed the soft flesh. Snarling with frustration, Zev dragged his concentration away from the woodsprite and narrowed his gaze on the witch closest to Fern. As if the sprite spoke in slow motion, Zev heard her agree to Petunia’s offer, saw the devilish glee spread from Petunia to her sister, sensed the gathering power as the witches offered the first step of the spell that would forever alter the woodsprite. “No!” he shouted, struggling fruitlessly against his bonds. “No, Fern! Don’t let them change you, don’t…” His voice broke, the words choked off in a long, mournful howl. “I have to, Zev.” Fern gazed at him with tear-filled eyes. Her leafy hair was dull and lifeless, the tendrils limp and wilted. “I have to.” He slumped against his unseen restraints, ignoring his swollen cock. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” “Don’t blame yourself. I’ve known for years there was something missing in my life. I just didn’t know what it was. All you’ve done is show me. Now that I know what might be, I don’t want to live without it.” Fern glanced at the two witches, hovering expectantly at one side of the bed where she’d left them, halted in mid-spell. “Go ahead,” she whispered. “I’m ready.” Zev wasn’t going to watch. He really didn’t want to, but his gaze was drawn to the flying hands of the two witches as they danced above Fern in cadence with their whispered spell. First Petunia, then Verbena hissed a string of gibberish, each sound punctuated by slashing fingers and loud claps. A puff of smoke surrounded Fern and she cried out. Zev jerked at his unseen bonds and fell flat on his face when the wall suddenly turned him loose. He scrambled to his feet and rushed to Fern, vaguely aware the cage encircling his cock was no longer attached. Fern lay on the bed, limp and barely conscious. “What have you done?” Zev glared at the witches as he quickly released the restraints holding Fern’s hands and feet. He gathered the limp woodsprite into his arms. The witches slumped against the counter next to the bed, obviously spent. “Fern? Fern…are you…? “Am I different?” She struggled in Zev’s embrace and bent forward, spreading her legs apart. Her shoulders bowed in defeat. “Nothing. I look just the same.” Zev turned to the witches and snarled.

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Verbena flicked her wrist, Petunia muttered a curse, and Zev found himself back in their underground cell, Fern still cradled in his arms.

***** “Zev! Zev, wake up! Something’s happening…look!” Zev blinked awake, groggy and disoriented. Something was pressing down on his chest, making it very difficult to breathe. Fern shook him by the shoulder. “Ze-ev,” she wailed. “What’s happening? Look.” He lifted his head and realized he was looking directly at Fern’s crotch. She straddled his chest, legs spread wide, her little tuft of pubic down about six inches from his face. She was pointing at something between her legs. Zev blinked, adjusted his focus, and stared. Protruding from a point where her clitoris should be was a perfectly formed little penis. About four inches long and fully erect, it stuck straight up. “What do you think?” Zev jerked his head back so he could look at Fern’s face. “Uhhhhhhh…” “It feels oh, so good when I play with it.” She sighed. “I had no idea a pleasure button could be so much fun.” “Uh, Fern, honey…it’s not really a pleasure button. The witches made a mistake.” “A mistake? How could they?” She stroked the little cock lovingly. “I think it’s wonderful.” Zev scooted upright. Fern slipped down his midsection until she came to a stop, her crotch pressed to his. Her little pale green penis bumped his much larger one. Zev couldn’t repress a shudder. The image of two cocks, his and hers, was not one he was comfortable with, no matter how open-minded he considered himself. “Oh…mine looks just like yours.” Fern grabbed his wilted cock and held it up next to her smaller one, studied the two for a moment, then sighed. “Well, sort of.” Her shoulders slumped. “I see the problem now. Wrong sex, ‘eh?” She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and hollered, “Verbena! Petunia! I need to talk to you. Now!” “Well, at least you don’t have balls,” Zev muttered, but he figured Fern didn’t hear him. She disappeared with a quiet little pop, leaving Zev’s cock hanging at parade rest.

***** “You weren’t gone for long,” Zev said. Fern had reappeared within minutes. Unfortunately, so had his personal muzzle. The mesh cage surrounded just his penis this time, but the eerie sensation of heat and touch was even more pronounced.

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His balls contracted. He wasn’t sure if they were trying to hide or just wanted to crawl back inside his body. “Would have been even sooner if Petunia and Verbena hadn’t gotten into a blaming match. They are such idiots! Neither one of them is willing to admit they blew it.” Fern spread her legs apart and bent at the waist to inspect herself. “I sure hope they got it right this time. What do you think?” Zev tried to ignore the increasing heat between his legs. He leaned over to take a look at Fern’s re-formatted body parts. The little penis was gone, replaced by a rounded bump. As she gently rubbed it with the tip of her index finger, the flesh around the protrusion parted and out popped a perfectly serviceable looking clitoris. Of course, the area behind it remained un-serviceably closed. Zev groaned. “Looks good to me, what there is of it. How’s it feel?” “Mmmmmmmmmm.” Fern continued rubbing at the tiny little nub, the look on her face one of unabashed pleasure. Zev worried his eyes might pop out of his face. He licked his lips, following the lift and stroke of Fern’s fingertip. The mesh around his swollen cock throbbed and pulsed with heat and sensation. He reached down to touch himself, to ease the torment. A painful shock zapped his hand. “Shit! What the hell was that?” Fern blinked and stared at him. “What was what?” “I touched the damned thing the witch bitches put on my cock and it shocked me.” Fern looked apologetic. “Oh. I forgot to tell you. They wanted me to warn you not to touch the mesh. It’ll give you a shock.” “Thanks,” Zev muttered. “I appreciate the warning.” He spread his hands wide to either side of his trapped cock and glared at Fern. “What’s the whole point of this thing, then? What’s it supposed to do, other than give me a hard on?” “That’s what it’s supposed to do. Keep you in a state of extended sexual excitement without possibility of release. They’re working on the frustration angle. I think they figure if you get frustrated enough, you’ll change shape.” Fern giggled. Zev glared at her. “What are you laughing about?” “Something Petunia said…about wanting to find your ‘inner beast’. They don’t have a clue what shape you’re going to change into.” “Neither do I. Personally, I don’t see the humor in it.” “You will when you shift.” Fern returned to stroking her new clitoris. Zev figured she was making up for a very long lifetime of abstinence. It still didn’t help his frustration levels any, watching that smooth little olive green finger bringing life to the most perfect clit he’d ever seen stroked. Zev took a deep, painful breath, aware of a shuddering sound as he exhaled. “I still don’t understand,” he said, staring mournfully at her incomplete crotch.

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Fern leaned back against the wall, spread her legs wider to stroke her new clitoris with her right hand while twisting the nipple on her breast with her left hand. She closed her eyes, sighed, then opened them and smiled at Zev. Her fingers kept up their slow rhythm. “You will shift, Zev. I see it in your aura, in the ebb and flow of color around you each time you become frustrated or angry. You grow closer to the wolf with every episode. You, as the wolf, are much more powerful than even the combination of two witches. Once you shift, they’ll have no control over you.” Zev let out a strangled croak. Control. What the hell was control? Fern’s breasts drew him like a magnet. He leaned over her, careful to keep his aching cock away from any contact with the tiny sprite. For all he knew, the powerful shock could harm her. Zev drew Fern’s untouched nipple into his mouth. Her sigh vibrated against his lips as he suckled the turgid bit of flesh. He nipped at the tip with his teeth, then trailed his fingertips along her torso, working ever closer to her brand new clit. He found the little protrusion of flesh and gently nudged her fingers aside. She spread her legs even wider. Zev stroked the smooth flesh, automatically sliding his fingertip beyond, searching for the hot opening his conscious mind reminded him he wouldn’t find. There was a tiny cleft, obviously there for more mundane needs, and beyond that, the perfectly puckered little ring of flesh that told him she at least had an anus like other women. He suckled harder at her breasts, his mind feverishly entering new areas of pleasure. Not that he’d ever tried sex through the back door, but he knew it was possible. He circled the taut ring with his fingertip, applying just a bit more pressure. Fern groaned and arched her back. No, she definitely was not trying to get away from his probing touch. Zev released her nipple with a wet pop and scooted lower on the bed. His cock ached within its mesh enclosure, but he ignored it as best he could. He owed this to Fern. Hell, he owed it to himself to see if this new button the witches had blessed her with actually worked! He found the stiff little nubbin with his lips, licked at it with the tip of his tongue, finally settling his mouth around it and nursing slowly, softly, humming his own pleasure to gently vibrate the sensitive flesh. Fern’s thighs clamped against his head, holding him a willing prisoner between her legs. Zev continued to torment her, working on the only erogenous zones he could find. He palmed her breast with his free hand, suckled at her clit and continued his slow but steady invasion of her only accessible passage. The heat between his legs grew, the frustrated need to touch himself for relief driving his loving assault on the woodsprite. He looked up and saw that Fern’s head was thrown back, her mouth open, eyes shut tight.

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So close! He held her on the edge of orgasm, wondering if she, like he, was trapped in a body without possibility for release. Suddenly his finger breached the tight muscles surrounding her anus and slipped into the hot passage. He suckled hard on her clit, worked his finger deeper inside and pinched her nipple between his other thumb and index finger. Fern screamed. Her body stiffened, her tiny clit throbbed between Zev’s lips and the muscles surrounding his finger clenched and held him tight. Obviously, the woodsprite had working parts. She screamed again, a loud wail that ended on a sob…followed by a giggle. Zev licked the tiny nubbin between her legs and she jumped and giggled again. He slowly withdrew his finger and stroked the softened ring around her anus. Fern laughed out loud. Zev playfully flicked her nipple with his fingers and she weakly batted his hand away. He looked up at her once again, peering through the downy fluff between her legs. Fern stared back at him, a look of blissful fulfillment on her face. “I take it that was your first?” he asked, grinning broadly. “Oh shit yes.” Fern flopped back against the bed. “I never knew what I was missing. Didn’t have a clue.” Her breath shuddered in her chest. Zev felt it beneath the palm of his hand still encircling her breast. “Guess the witches aren’t so bad after all.” “I beg to disagree.” Zev shoved himself up on the bed to sit next to Fern’s prostrate form. He gestured at his painfully engorged cock, bobbing in mute frustration behind its ensorcelled mesh cage. “I could cheerfully kill either one of them.” “Have you thought of taking their theory one step further?” Fern scooted up and sat next to Zev, so close their bodies touched from elbow to thigh. “What if we controlled the shift? I’ve noticed your aura shifting as you touched me. Before you started really concentrating on making me come…” She blushed and looked away. “Thank you, by the way. I really, really had no idea…” “S’okay.” Zev wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Both of them were careful to keep her from touching the glowing mesh muzzling his straining cock. “Anyway, as I as saying…” Fern snuggled even closer to Zev. “If we controlled your frustration levels and you shifted here, you’d learn how to work it. I’ve heard it said knowledge is power.” Zev stared at his little woodsprite. Why hadn’t he thought of that? If he could, unbelievably, shift into another form, it made sense to learn as much about it as they could without the witches’ knowledge. “You keep talking about auras. What do you mean?” “Many woodsprites have the ability to read auras, the colorful energy that emanates from all living things. When I see you, I see the man surrounded by an ever-

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changing kaleidoscope of colors. The colors have meaning. The intensity of the shades tell us much of what people are thinking.” Zev had heard of auras. He’d never believed any of that garbage, of course, but then, he’d never believed in leprechauns or woodsprites and witches in the land of Faerie, either. “So what’s my aura like?” Fern giggled. “Which one? You change constantly!” She stared at him a moment, pulling away from his gentle embrace. Zev held very still. “Right now you’re mostly blue and white and pink. The colors tell me you’re searching spiritually for something more—that’s the blue. I think the searching has to do with your search for your other self, your animal shape. The white means you’re feeling protective and the pink means affection.” She smiled. “I hope that’s for me.” “No one else. No one at all.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her leafy head. “Is there anything else, any other colors?” Fern leaned back against him, her hair of leaves rustling provocatively against his shoulder. Hell, as horny as he felt right now, she could twiddle her thumbs and it would be provocative! “There’s a red spike. Very vibrant, very intense. I’m not certain if that’s anger over your situation, sexual frustration or what. It’s been growing ever since I returned from my most recent visit with the twins.” She turned her head so that Zev looked directly into her grass green eyes. “That’s the color we watch,” she said. “That red spike of emotion. If it begins to grow and overwhelm almost all the others, we’ll know we’re on the right track. We need to control it as well. Ideally, if we can bring up the vibrant red and a deep, deep blue, which means you’re on a spiritual quest, or, in this case, searching for your counter spirit, I think you’ll shift. Once you take on your wolf form, you should be able to overpower the witches.” “Okay.” Zev brushed the silky leaves back from her face. “Your idea has merit, but we need to wait.” Fern frowned at him. “Wait? Why?” “We wait for the witches to complete your transformation. If we stop them now, you’re only half woman, half woodsprite. We have to make it for six more days, until your stage spell is complete.” “Oh, Zev. I don’t think you can last that long.” Fern glanced down at the glowing mesh between his legs. Zev gulped. As the two of them watched, his erection increased in length and girth. His muzzle-encased cock pointed straight up toward his belly, pulsing with energy. Groaning, Zev slammed his head back against the stone wall. Six more days. Six more days. Gotta make it six more days…

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Chapter 5 “It’s decidedly unmanly to take a pee sitting on the pot.” Zev washed his hands at the sink, grumbling under his breath. The mesh glowed about his painful erection. Fern grunted sympathetically—he thought—from her spot on the bed. “I do it all the time,” she said. “Point made.” Zev glared at the damned cage encircling his cock. He’d had just about enough of this. Their meals came and went. His balls ached, his cock ached, his muscles screamed from prolonged tension. He’d definitely had enough. The witches repeatedly called Fern, cast another spell on her, and sent the woodsprite back to their cell. Neither Fern nor Zev could see anything different looking between her legs, though she said something felt different. Inside. Zev had paced. He’d tried sit ups, push ups, walking up and down the short hallway outside their cell. He knew Fern used the time he was away to stroke her new clitoris, to experiment with the sexual sensations so new to her. His hands quivered with the need to stroke his cock, to do something to relieve the tension that had been building over the past few days. He wanted to pace, to scream, to…hell, he wanted to FUCK something. Anything. Fern. He really, really wanted to make long, slow, passionate love to Fern. Unfortunately, though Fern had a beautiful, functional clitoris, she still lacked the necessary equipment to take his rampaging cock…even if he could release it from the damned magical muzzle. “Zev?” “Huh?” He spun around at Fern’s soft question. She’d been so quiet the past few days. He figured he’d probably scared her half to death with his moods and pacing. “Zev, I think it’s time. We really need to see if you can shift now. Before the witches are through with me. They don’t watch us. I asked. Spying for some reason, goes against their code of honor.” “You’re telling me they’ve got a fucking code of honor?” Zev waved a hand across his crotch. “This, my dear, is not honorable. This is torture. This is something the Geneva Accord does not allow.” “I don’t think the denizens of Faerie signed the Geneva Accord. I’m just saying, Verbena and Petunia do not spy. They don’t think it’s fair. I asked them, and I believe them when they say they give us complete privacy.”

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“So, what do you suggest?” Zev stood over Fern, his hands clenched at his sides, breath coming in harsh bursts that burned his lungs. Something had to break, and he was growing more and more concerned it would most likely be him. Fern ducked her head. He could have sworn she blushed. Her mossy green cheeks turned the most alarming shade of violet… “Remember when you made me come? You touched me…there?” Zev took a step back. “There?” There, as in…he silently clenched his buttocks in response. “Yeah…your point is?” “I can’t touch your…your penis. But, I can touch your balls and…” “Oh yeah.” He took a deep, desperate breath. Right now, Zev didn’t really care what Fern touched, so long as she brought him relief. “I’m thinking, if I touch you just enough to stimulate you, to frustrate you even further…” “Fern. There is no way in hell anyone could frustrate me further. Watching you day after day as you diddle away with your new body parts is just about as frustrating as anything can be. Please, tell me exactly what it is you’re suggesting.” “No. Zev, you’re missing my point. I think the witches are right. You’re obviously blocking your ability to shift. We need to teach you to do it here, away from Petunia and Verbena. You need to learn to control it, but until you actually shift, you’ll never understand the process. And, you’re not going to shift until your frustration levels are high enough to overwhelm your inhibitions.” “You think so?” Zev felt ready to explode as it was. How much higher could any man’s frustration levels climb? “Remember, I’m keeping track of your aura. Your red can spike higher than it has been. You’ve got a long way to go.” “I find that hard to believe,” Zev muttered. Deep in his heart, he still hadn’t quite swallowed either the aura or the wolf stories. Fern took a deep breath and a look of resolve steeled her features. “Lie down, Zev.” Zev held back his smart-ass reply and stretched out on the bed. Fern stood over him, her perfectly formed feet planted firmly on either side of his hips. She held a length of soft rope in her hands. “Roll over. I want your butt in the air and that electrically charged cage under your belly and out of my way.” “Yes ma’am.” Grinning to himself, Zev followed her orders. Talk about acting out of character! His little woodsprite was showing an entirely new facet of her personality. Fern quickly tied his wrists to the headboard. Before he realized what she was up to, she’d flipped around and secured his ankles as well, spreading his legs wide apart.

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“What the hell is going on here?” Zev tugged experimentally at the ropes. They held him practically immobile, a lot more effectively than he’d imagined. He turned his head and glared at her. “Frustration, Zev. We’re working on frustration.” “Fern. You can’t touch me. I’m afraid the shock could hurt you.” “I don’t intend to hurt myself. I may, however, hurt you.” With that enigmatic comment, she scooted back to the foot of the bed. A moment later, she crawled up along Zev’s back and secured a soft blindfold across his eyes. His mesh covered cock throbbed against his belly, but he was vastly relieved it didn’t shock him. His buttocks tightened against the chill air in the cell. Then he felt the soft touch of Fern’s fingertips, gently massaging his hips and the globes of his ass. Zev bucked his hips. “What the hell are you doing?” “Doing my best to turn you on.” He groaned. “Fern. I’ve been turned on for the better part of a week. It doesn’t get much worse.” “Hmmmmm. I think it does.” Zev hardly had time to consider her cryptic comment before he felt the soft caress of Fern’s tongue over his balls. He cried out. Damn! It felt so good it hurt! She tongued each testicle in its turn, licking and nibbling until he thought he would die. Then she encircled his left nut with her lips. He felt her nose pressed against his ass, her lips massaging his balls, her tongue coming so close to the ensorcelled mesh around his penis that he almost forgot the pleasure for his fear she might hurt herself. “Don’t worry,“ Fern whispered, almost as if she could read his mind. “I’m being very careful.” Her small hands massaged his butt, rubbing and kneading the tense muscles, growing ever closer to the more sensitive area between his cheeks. She touched him, a brief pass of her fingertip over the tight ring at his anus. Zev saw tiny sparkling flashes of light behind the blindfold. She suckled first one, then the other testicle into her mouth, tonguing the eggshaped organs within, nibbling at the sensitive flesh so perfectly that he almost forgot what her fingers were doing. Oh shit! One finger had settled on a pattern, a rhythmic, circular massage of the one no-longer-virginal opening the witches had explored. He bucked his hips in mute protest, all the while praying Fern wouldn’t quit doing exactly what she was doing. Her mouth worked his balls, her finger pressed against his ass, the enchanted mesh surrounding his penis heated and pulsed, teased and teased some more.

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Zev felt his world changing, knew he was going someplace new, somewhere he’d never been. Lost behind the darkness of the blindfold, he blinked against flashes of light, sparks of unexplainable energy. The hot recess of Fern’s mouth encased his balls, her finger suddenly gained entrance to his ass. She added another, pushing the two fingers deeper, stretching and filling, finding nerves Zev never knew he possessed. His climax coiled and screamed within his loins, contained by the magical mesh imprisoning his cock. So close, so close…her fingers moved back and forth within his slick passage, her tongue and lips worked his balls. He couldn’t climax! The witches’ magic held him on the edge, their spelled muzzle containing his orgasm. A frenzy of lust took Zev to another plane. He clutched at the ropes holding his wrists, arched his spine, threw back his head and howled. Howled his pain, his frustration. His anger. His need. The blindfold slipped away from his eyes. The bright light in the cell suddenly narrowed to a pinprick of brilliant red fire. The sounds about him grew more deafening. The racing thud of his heart. The rapid staccato of Fern’s. The harsh rasp of his breath. The woodsprite’s timid cry. Sensation. Awash in sensation, he suddenly knew the absence of her hot mouth and mobile tongue. No longer clenched against her invading fingers, touching, exploring. His howl ended on a yelp of loss and pain. Zev felt the pressure first along his spine, a twisting, burning, muscle-tearing rip, almost as if his bones splintered within his skin. The room spun, a spatial disorientation that seemed to last for hours, but took only seconds. The ropes binding his wrists and ankles shredded and snapped. Suddenly, Zev was looking up at the side of the bed out of eyes that viewed the world in unfamiliar patterns and colors. He snarled, sat awkwardly down on his haunches, lifted one paw to study the black nails protruding from furred toes, and blinked in astonishment. His first impulse was to touch the paw with his tongue. He swept his new tongue along his paw and foreleg, experimenting with the dexterity and sensitivity inherent in the damned thing. Tami would have loved that tongue! She’d complained on more than one occasion that he didn’t have what it took to make her come when he went down on her. He drew his long tongue back within his mouth, careful not to snag it on the sharp canines protruding from his upper jaw. Yeah…Tami would have loved this tongue. Too bad she wasn’t ever going to experience it. Sounds echoed against and within his sensitive ears—Fern’s terrified shriek, his own harsh breathing. He growled, testing the power of his voice.

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His wolfen shoulders shook in silent laughter. This body was going to take some getting used to. Zev grinned, not the least bit upset to realize the woodsprite and the witches had been right all along. He was a shifter. Damn. He stood up on all fours and stretched, arching his back and slowly waving his long tail. Testing further, he reared up on his hind legs and braced his front paws against the bed where Fern cowered. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, so he took an experimental swipe along the woodsprite’s bare leg. She screamed. Zev flattened his ears. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt or frighten her. He closed his mouth and rested his head against her warm tummy. Her heart thudded against his ear and he sensed fear in every ragged breath she took. Zev sighed and closed his eyes. She had to see he wasn’t a threat to her, didn’t she? Her rapid heartbeat slowed just a bit. Zev peeked at Fern through slitted eyelids. She had raised her head and was staring at him. One finely boned hand tentatively reached out and touched the space between his ears, patting him like a large dog. Zev leaned into her touch, encouraging her. “Oh my. Zev? Is that really you? It really worked?” He answered her with a soft growl and the warm sweep of his tongue across her breasts. Fern giggled. There was an hysterical, nervous edge to the sound. “Looks like we got that red aura to spike like I wanted! I told you I sensed your other shape was a wolf. You wanna know the truth?” She drew a long shuddering breath. “I had no idea you’d actually manifest. This is amazing. I mean, I was almost positive, but I had no idea. You’re amazing…absolutely the most gorgeous wolf I ever…” She paused. Her hand snapped away from his head to cover her lips. “Uhm, Zev? Do you know how to turn back into a human?” Zev shook his head, snorted and stretched his long, lean form. How could he tell her he’d worry about that later? Now, he looked out at the world with eyes unfamiliar. He smelled layers of scents, sensed sounds and emotions, fear and disbelief. His? Fern’s? He glanced once more at his paw, at the dark fur and shredded rope dangling loosely from his front leg. He lifted his paw. The nails were truly beautiful—black as ebony and sharp—razor sharp. He sniffed the air, sensed the woodsprite’s mixture of fear, awe and amazement, and turned his shaggy head once more in her direction. Fern had scooted back against the wall during his self-examination. She looked confused and still a little bit frightened. She’d drawn her knees up in a defensive posture. Her hands were plastered against the cold stone. Zev opened his mouth to speak.

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A low growl escaped. Fern shuddered. Zev backed away and shook his head again, then sat back on his haunches. Somehow he needed to reassure her. Why hadn’t they ever discussed this part of the shift? For shift it was. He’d done it. Zevulun Cable, computer scientist and resident nerd was now a huge, shaggy wolf. He flexed his shoulders, aware of strength and power he’d only dreamed of. His heart beat steadily in his chest, his nostrils quivered at the potpourri of scents, each one an individual message in the very essence of the air. He was wolf, he was powerful, he was the quintessential Alpha Male from the tip of his brushy tail to the ultra-sensitive nose on the end of his snout. A rush of pleasure heated his blood. He yipped, looked down between his front legs and realized his wolf cock was poking out of its sheath, the pink tip glistening with moisture. He stared at the unnerving appendage and fought a powerful urge to sit down and lick his balls. Shit. The urges were much more difficult to control in wolf form than human…not that he’d ever wanted to lick himself before. In fact, Zev suddenly realized his sexual urges and needs were the uppermost thoughts in his wolfen mind. Not the witches. Not escape. Mating. He wanted to mate. He whipped his head around and stared at Fern. She was watching him now with more curiosity than fear. He narrowed his eyes, inhaled her feminine scent. He wanted her. Wanted her with an intensity that even the enchanted mesh muzzling his human cock hadn’t achieved. The enchanted mesh that had amazingly disappeared during the transformation from human to wolf. He still hadn’t come. All that energy continued pulsing, raw and hot within his blood. Zev raised his head and sniffed the air, drawing in more of the alluring scent of the woodsprite. His nostrils flared, his lungs expanded, he was subtly aware of the blood racing through his veins, the powerful beat of his heart. Aware of the beast he had become. What did Fern see? Merely the huge, black shaggy wolf sitting on the floor beside her bed, or could she perceive any of Zevulun Cable behind the beast? Did Zevulun Cable even exist? The wolf had Zev’s memories but appeared to be working under an entirely different set of social rules. Had Zev been lost forever in the shift? When and if he shifted back to his human form, would any of the wolf remain? Damn. He’d think about the implications later. The entire concept of matter changing shape, form, substance, thoughts. Awareness in this wolf mind was different from that of his human form. More primal, more elemental.

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For now, he was very definitely a wolf. Zev stood up and shook himself. He looked back over his shoulder. From what he could tell, his lupine form was absolutely magnificent. His bushy tail wagged slowly back and forth. He realized his color was more an iron gray than true black, the longer, coarser hairs on his coat tipped with silver. Zev spent a brief moment admiring himself. He decided he really was quite impressive. He sensed a shift in the air currents the moment Fern scooted forward on the bed. Without even looking her way, Zev knew she was moving cautiously closer. Zev turned his head slowly and blinked at her. He held very still and fought the urge to grin. Showing her a mouthful of ivory canines might not be the incentive the little woodsprite needed to come close. Fern sat carefully on the side of the bed, her legs dangling loosely over the edge. Zev took a step closer, slowly, hesitantly, his gaze fastened tightly to Fern’s. She blinked rapidly and he felt her apprehension, but she didn’t back away. He noticed she didn’t draw her knees together, either. Another step, and Zev stood directly in front of the woodsprite. Her shapely legs rested on either side of his broad, wolfen head. He leaned over and sniffed, drawing her feminine scent deeply into his sensitive nostrils. His heart rate increased, reacting immediately to whatever pheromones Fern’s body produced. Zev glanced up, raising his head as he did and brushing his cold nose against Fern’s clit. She jumped and giggled. He expected her to scoot away. Instead, she leaned back on her elbows and spread her legs wider. An open invitation, if ever he’d seen one. Zev wondered for a moment how she could look at a wolf and exhibit such unguarded lust, then realized the rules in Faerie were probably a lot different than those in his more mundane world. Zev blinked, considering the options. Fern’s scent invaded his mind along with his nostrils. He licked his lips, his long tongue circling the tip of his nose, and drew his gaze slowly away from the woodsprite’s questioning eyes. The moment he looked away, Zev realized how unique his options actually were. He turned his head and licked a damp swath along Fern’s inner thigh. She sighed in response. He repeated the process on the other leg, enjoying the feel of her as much as the taste. His perception as wolf was totally unlike that of Zevulun Cable, human. More intense. Earthier. Deeper. Fern spread her legs wider and lay back on the bed. Her feet dangled weakly on either side of Zev’s broad head.

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He settled himself on his haunches, planted his front feet on the floor and stared hungrily at Fern’s brand new clitoris. The soft curl of fluff at the apex of her thighs framed her clit like a shining halo. He wondered if and when the witches’ spell might complete the process they’d started. So far, the only real change to the woodsprite had been her little clit, though he thought the flesh surrounding it looked puffy and perhaps a bit fuller. Was there a hint of vaginal lips where the skin had once been smooth and sleek? His cock twitched within its furry sheath. Fern sighed. That soft, needy sound, the scent, the hunger to taste her, drew Zev like filings to a magnet. He leaned forward and gave Fern a long, wet lick between her legs. She jumped, sighed again and giggled. Zev closed his eyes with the pleasure of her taste. He licked her again, taking his time with the protuberant little bud, the soft needy flesh surrounding it. He could only imagine the sensation of his rough wolf’s tongue sweeping over her sensitive skin. His own more sensitive parts began to ache. He licked Fern again and hoped it wouldn’t take much longer for those idiot witches to figure out their spell. At this point, licking and tasting was just about all he could manage. Fern certainly didn’t seem to mind. Zev nibbled at the little bud with his front teeth, licked the flesh between her legs, then swept his long tongue over her belly before returning to her clit. Fern’s breath huffed out between parted lips. Zev whimpered, wanting what he couldn’t have. Fern clamped her knees against the sides of his head. He licked her harder, faster, finally standing up on all fours to swipe his long tongue from her buttocks to her belly, lapping between her legs with quick, sure strokes. He knew her climax was coming, felt the pressure in his own groin, inhaled the sweet, innocent scent of… The room went dark. Fern’s orgasmic scream echoed in the back of Zev’s mind. Agonizing pain ripped through his muscles, his bones…a sharp, startling, tearing sensation, half pleasure, half pain, all… Over. It was all over. Zev jerked against the restraints holding his legs to the bed. Yanked wildly at the chains on his wrists. Opened his eyes and realized he was back in human form, his nude body stretched out on the examining table in the witches’ dungeon.

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His cock stood at full mast, mocking him. Zev couldn’t recall the damned thing ever standing so tall or feeling so sensitive and downright miserable. He jerked at his arm restraints once more for good measure, then growled deep in his throat. Candlelight flickered all about him. Petunia and Verbena stood near his feet, flipping through pages in that damned book of theirs, mumbling under their breath. Zev shook his head and rattled his chains once more. Petunia turned her head to stare at him. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I think we’ve figured out how to make you shift. The moon will be full in about three hours.” She glanced at her sister. “Is that enough time, do you think?” Verbena nodded her head. “So long as all goes well with Fern’s spell, I imagine it will work just right.” “I certainly hope so,” Petunia said. “By the way, sister, something went wrong with our muzzling spell. Have you noticed anything missing?” Verbena smirked. “It was your spell, sister.” “You helped.” Petunia cast a sidelong glance at her sister. “That’s not important,” Verbena sniffed. “What is important is how well we do tonight. Our grade depends on it. Once we force the shift, measure the chemical changes within his blood to prove our success, then catalogue his return to human form, we can finish our thesis and submit it for our grade.” “If only we knew.” Petunia set the book down. The twins stared long and hard at Zev. Before he could ask what Petunia meant, Verbena chimed in. “I, too, sister. I wish we knew what form our subject will shift into. At least then we could be a bit more prepared.” Zev blinked. Fern was right. They really didn’t know. “What if he’s a hawk? Or maybe an eagle?” Petunia turned her head as if studying the four walls. “Are the windows all shut? We wouldn’t want him to escape.” “I latched them this morning. The door is locked as well. For all we know, he could be a lion or a bear. I’d hate to loose something like that on the land of Faerie. Mother would have our hides!” Verbena visibly shuddered. Petunia rolled her eyes. “I doubt he’ll be anything that ferocious. Just look at him.” She reached over and batted his erect cock. It wobbled painfully back and forth. Zev grunted. Petunia grabbed the tip to stop the wobble, then idly stroked the taut flesh. Zev’s eyes rolled back in his head. “You’re right, though,” she said, grasping him tighter, as if for emphasis. “Mother’d have a fit if she knew we were even taking this course. It is upper level.” Verbena straightened her spine and looked down her nose at her sister. “We are more than ready. Mother just doesn’t understand. Our professor at the International Witches and Warlocks Guild must believe we’re ready, or he never would have allowed us to sign up.”

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“If you’ll recall, we didn’t give our correct age.” Petunia continued her steady massage of Zev’s cock. He wondered if she had any idea at all what she was doing to him. Verbena snorted. “Don’t worry. We’re perfectly capable of handling whatever form he takes. He certainly doesn’t look very threatening.” She batted Petunia’s hand away and Zev yelped, torn between lust and relief. “Quit playing with him or he’s gonna blow. We need to keep him in a suspended stage of extreme excitement for this to work properly. You’re right, though. He certainly doesn’t appear at all threatening. He’ll probably shift to a cat or something equally innocuous.” Petunia laughed, then nodded and muttered quietly. Verbena mumbled something back at her. Elation coursed through Zev’s veins. He’d show them threatening! Who’d they think they were? His thoughts swirled, the memories of wolf and man blending as one. He could shift. Now that he’d done it once, his body retained the memory. Zev knew he could shift at will. He stared at the twin witches and let his anger build. Fern’s final spell was tonight. Tonight would be the night. His captors were going to get their wish. They’d see him shift. Damn. Would they ever. He grinned, imagining their shock when the wolf appeared. Zev would get his wish as well. He’d finally have his woodsprite. His new, improved woodsprite. A woodsprite with all the accommodating parts any self-respecting werewolf—or man—required. Fern. Damn, he hoped she was okay. In the brief days since he’d first met the odd little sprite, she’d grown terribly important to him. Important in more ways than the sum of her parts. Yes, it would be mind-blowing to finally make love to Fern the way he wanted, but Zev suddenly realized there was something more, something beyond the spells and the physical changes manifesting in Fern. If Petunia and Verbena’s spell did anything to harm her…no. He couldn’t let himself think along those lines. Zev blinked, staring into the darkness overhead, and wondered at the odd premonition that suddenly shivered along his spine. Be careful what you wish for…

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Chapter 6 Fern couldn’t stop shaking. Her teeth rattled, her hands shook, her feet felt like ice. Unfamiliar nerves and muscles between her legs quivered and clenched in the final throes of orgasm. This had been different. So completely different. Frighteningly, wonderfully, overwhelmingly different. If only Zev weren’t gone. She assumed the witches had him, but she wished he’d stayed. She wanted to ask him about the feelings roiling about inside her. The physical clenchings and cravings, the emotional turmoil so unfamiliar and strange. She wanted. She needed. She lusted. This wasn’t the usual curiosity, the timid question, the mild arousal she’d experienced in her existence as an innocent sprite. This wasn’t even close to the first climax he’d given her, the one that had practically knocked her socks off. This was lush and all consuming, dark and pervasive, at the same time brilliant and glowing. This was passion and desire, an overwhelming urge to mate, a visceral craving to complete the act they’d only grazed upon. She touched herself, caressing her breasts first, those marvelous globes she’d barely noticed in the past. Next she rubbed the sensitive organ that had remained unchanged since the first day the witches had cast their spell. Once they’d gotten the sex right, of course. Fern blushed, recalling her pride in that little penis she’d first developed. Zev had been so sweet with her, even though he was obviously nonplused. Zev. Had he been able to revert to human form before the witches saw him? What if they’d zapped the wolf to their dungeon? What would they do to him? What would he do to them? She opened her mouth to call the witches, then thought better of it. Let them call her. Let the sisters continue on with their plans, unaware and uninformed. She would hold the good thought for Zev. Pray to the powers of Faerie he’d gone to the witches in human form. She had such terribly mixed feelings about the witchy sisters. Yes, they had captured her against her will. Yes, they imprisoned her away from fresh air and flowers and raindrops and the beauty of the deep woods. On the other hand… They’d given her Zev.

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They’d given her a taste of something unknown, and until now, unwanted. How could you yearn for something you never knew existed? They’d understood what she lacked and done their best to fix it. Zev said she wasn’t broken, but Fern knew better. She still wasn’t entirely fixed, either, but she wasn’t worried. Oddly enough, she trusted Verbena and Petunia. For all their immaturity and selfish behavior, the witches didn’t really mean anyone harm, even Zev. They were young and they were learning their craft. So far, the stage spell appeared to be working. Fern rubbed the smooth skin between her legs. Did she feel an indentation there, where none had been before? Was the flesh surrounding her marvelous clit really a bit puffy, fuller, perhaps? So far, the only change she’d really noticed, even with the nightly spells, was that wonderful little clitoris Zev played so well. There had to be more. She knew there was more. Today was the seventh day. Tonight the full moon. The spell should be complete by tonight. She wanted Zev, but Fern was willing to wait. She smiled dreamily, imagining the unknown, exploring her desires. Aware of the biggest change of all. It was not a simple woodsprite who lusted after the wolf in man’s clothing. It was a woman.

***** “It’s almost time, sister. Let’s take care of the woodsprite first.” Verbena waved her wand. Zev felt a woosh of air and suddenly found himself stuck to the wall, arms and legs spread wide. His cock bobbled at full mast. A fever roared in his blood. The air in the room shifted, candles flickered and Fern appeared on the examining table. Petunia immediately tightened her restraints. “Zev?” She turned her head and looked at him, her lips parted, green eyes wide, the leafy halo around her face tangled and mussed. She was absolutely gorgeous. “I’m okay. You?” She nodded, then jerked as Petunia adjusted the straps around her ankles. “Sorry,” the witch said. “I didn’t mean to make them so tight.” Fern blinked. She looked terrified. Zev fought the growing compulsion to change into wolf form. He had to give the witches the chance to get Fern’s spell right. Once she was ready…

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Damn. He wished he had more of a plan. Ripping their throats out seemed a bit excessive. Besides, how was he going to get home if he killed off his transportation? Which led to another problem. What about Fern? He couldn’t see taking his little green woodsprite back to Ohio. Of course, from what Fern had told him, the land of Faerie sounded fascinating. There wasn’t all that much waiting for him at home. Nothing at all waiting for a werewolf. He growled and tugged against the wall. He might as well have been glued to it. Snarling quietly, he watched as Petunia finished checking all of Fern’s restraints while Verbena walked about the huge stone room, extinguishing candles. Zev was aware of a sense of power in the room, as if something waited just out of sight. Fern obviously sensed it as well. She was visibly shaking, her teeth chattering, fingers clenching against the soft restraints holding her immobile. Petunia reached under the table and brought out a metal chest with an ornate lock on the front. She drew a key from the ring hanging at her waist and carefully unlocked the chest. A soft blue glow escaped the opening lid, bathing the witch’s face in an eerie, fog-shrouded light. Verbena extinguished the last candle, throwing the room into darkness broken only by the spreading blue glow. She stood on one side of Fern, Petunia on the other. They began to chant, their voices rising and falling in a soft but persistent cadence. Caught up in the mystery of their spell, Zev hung quietly from the wall. Every one of his senses focused on the tableau in front of him. The radiance shimmered with more substance than any light should have, a glowing fog that grew and spread until it surrounded Fern and the two witches in a shining sphere of pale blue light. The instant the sphere enclosed them, all sound from within ceased. Zev’s muscles tensed. The call of the wolf grew stronger. Was it the full moon or fear for his woodsprite? He strained to see what was happening within the glowing orb, but the light coalesced, thickened and hid them from his sight. Whimpering with frustration, hanging on to humanity by a thread, Zev forced himself to wait, to give the sisters time to complete their spell. His muscles strained and pulsed, his heart hammered in his chest and the breath burst from his lungs as if powered by a bellows. Still he waited, his fear for his woodsprite mounting with each passing second. The orb shimmered and pulsed. Was that movement within its glowing walls? The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls growing closer, the hammering of his heart echoing off the cold stone. Zev snarled, fighting the shift, fighting the power of the wolf with all he had. A tiny sliver of light glimmered across the high ceiling. He suddenly realized it was the glow of moonlight through narrow slits in the walls.

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He watched the light move across the ceiling, spreading quickly over the walls, growing ever closer to the spot where he struggled. Suddenly it touched the orb, moonlight and blue radiance melding, shimmering, vibrating with power unearthly and ancient. Pulsing, throbbing with a life of its own, the sphere seemed to suck every bit of energy from the room. Without warning, it burst, shattering a million sharp fragments of blue crystal. Fern screamed, a long, terrified wail that cut through Zev just as the beam of moonlight touched his face. Petunia and Verbena shrieked in unison and scrambled away from Fern, scuttling on hands and feet like terrified bugs, their blonde hair flying about them as if touched by electricity. Zev howled, gnashing his teeth in frustration, snapping at the air as his bones and sinews, muscles and skin shifted, twisted and changed. Fern’s screams grew louder, whether from pain or fear he couldn’t tell. The witches cowered in the darkness. Blue light emanated from the broken shards of the orb, moonlight surrounded Fern and bathed her writhing body in a golden glow. Zev leapt to the table in wolf form and stood over her, growling and snarling at the witches. Obviously terrified, they crawled beneath a heavy shelf, crying out in hysterics. Zev snapped Fern’s restraints with his razor-sharp fangs. Sobbing, she threw her arms round his shaggy shoulders and clung to him. Zev turned to give her a comforting swipe with his tongue, then jumped to the floor with Fern clinging to his back. Verbena rolled out from beneath the shelf and raced for the door. Petunia wasn’t fast enough. Zev grabbed her by the throat, his sharp canines holding her immobile without breaking the skin. She screamed, and in a very unwitchy act, fainted. “What have you done to my sister?” Verbena suddenly stood over Zev, her magic wand held tightly in her hand. “Don’t you dare hurt her, you beast. Let her go. Now!” Zev snarled through clenched jaws and glared at the witch. He bared his teeth, letting Verbena see just how close he was to crushing her sister’s throat. Verbena backed off, obviously confounded by the sudden shift in power. “Zev. Let her go.” Fern’s soft voice was suddenly there, just next to him. He glanced at her and snarled. It was damned difficult to communicate in this form, but he didn’t dare shift back and lose his advantage. Suddenly, the room shook. Sparks flew, a burst of light exploded in the air. Zev kept his jaws closed around Petunia’s throat, though it wasn’t easy with Fern suddenly hanging on to his neck with a death grip, her body trembling in abject terror. There was an audible gulp from Petunia. Her throat convulsed within his slavering jaws. Obviously, the source of the commotion was even more frightening than the very real possibility of having her throat ripped out by an angry werewolf. “Mother!” Verbena dropped her wand and gasped. “What are you doing here?”

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“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” An unbelievably gorgeous woman stepped out of a swirling mist of fire and smoke. Where the twins were light, she was dark, her long black hair flowing over her shoulders, curling about her waist, alive with electricity and power. Her eyes glowed with an unholy light, black coals burning in the face of a cover model. As she moved closer, her midnight gown swirled about her ankles, sparkling with the light of a million stars. Zev blinked. The fabric was the nighttime sky, the stars and planets not a design, but real. Where she walked, night accompanied her. Power shimmered and ebbed about her. Every candle in the room suddenly burst into flame. His wolfen senses, already on high, zinged at a level Zev hadn’t even imagined. He narrowed his eyes and an involuntary growl rumbled in his chest. The woman appeared focused on Verbena, but she glanced briefly over her shoulder in Zev’s direction. “Drop her, now, and shift. I refuse to deal with a wolf.” The imperious order was given in a manner that said she was never ignored. Zev did as he was told. Almost. Unfortunately, he was still new at the shifting routine. He shifted before dropping his mouthful of Petunia. Spitting and gagging, he jumped away from the witch’s throat and moved back, still on all fours, naked as the day he was born. Fern gripped his neck, trembling harder than ever. At least his erection had finally gone down. That craven beast was doing its best to hide from the world. Petunia shook her head, rubbed her throat, and glared at Zev. He snarled back at her. It wasn’t nearly as effective in human form. She scrambled to her feet, rubbing her neck. Zev was pleased to notice teeth marks. “You will explain.” The woman glared at first one twin and then the other. The girls both looked at the floor. “Now,” she commanded. “It was…” “We didn’t…” Both girls spoke at once. The woman waved her hand angrily and the young witches shut their mouths. “You are both adults! In years, though quite obviously, not in your behavior. I have been gone for barely five weeks,” she roared, glaring at them, “and look at the trouble you young ladies have gotten into! I want to know exactly what is going on here!”

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Suddenly Fern unwound her arms from around Zev’s neck and straightened up. Zev scrambled to his feet, but before he could stop the woodsprite, she approached the witch. “Ma’am,” she said, standing bravely in front of the tall witch. “Please don’t be too angry with your daughters. They meant well.” “Huh?” Zev just about choked on his surprise. “What the hell are you saying, Fern? They ‘meant well’? How can you say that? They kidnapped us, did magic spells on us, they…” Fern ducked her head. “They gave me a week with you,” she mumbled. “They tried to fix me, to make me into a real woman. They…” Her voice broke on a sob. “Oh, Fern…” Zev wrapped his arms around her. “The spell didn’t work?” Fern shook her head and buried her face against his shoulder. He held her tightly, protectively. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he soothed, oblivious to the three witches. “I told you in the very beginning you weren’t broken. I love you just the way you are.” Fern’s soft cries escalated into an anguished wail. Zev hugged her tighter as she sobbed loudly against his shoulder. Angrily, Zev raised his head and glared at the twins. “She was fine until you two started in with your damned spell. You had no business experimenting on Fern. What did she ever do to hurt you? Now look at her. She was content before you gave her a glimpse of what she might have. You promised her and you didn’t come through for her. How dare you?” Petunia and Verbena both stared at their toes. Their mother glanced from one contrite looking sister to the other, then carefully studied Zev and Fern. After a moment, she snapped her fingers. “You two,” she said, snarling at her daughters. “To your rooms. If you’re smart, you won’t show your faces until I request an audience.” She waved her hand and the twins disappeared. The air shimmered with their passing, then all was still. Fern’s quiet weeping was the only sound in the room. The witch sighed. “I will get to the bottom of this. They will pay for their cruel prank. My girls are willful and spoiled, but I’ve not known them to ever deliberately do anyone ill.” She shook her head, obviously dismayed. The witch’s anger had left with her daughters. Now she merely looked perplexed. “What to do with the two of you, I wonder?” Zev shook his head. He had no answers. His arms tightened around the weeping woodsprite and he sighed. “Our lives will never be the same, but we can’t go back to what we were.” He thought about that a moment, the words he’d just spoken. Did he really want to return to his mundane life in Springfield? Work five days a week, weekends off to spend staring at the television? A succession of Tami-types on one disappointing date after another?

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Life without his lovely woodsprite? “I don’t want to go back to what I was. I don’t ever want to be that dull, ever again.” He smiled at the witch, actually enjoying her confusion. “I guess I’m not nearly so mad at your daughters as I thought I was.” He rubbed Fern’s back, soothing her. Her cries broke into sobs, she hiccupped, sighed, quieted down and snuggled tighter against Zev. “Innocence lost, both yours and the little sprite’s? I guess I see your problem.” The witch sat on the examining table, her chin cupped in her hand in a thoughtful position. “I’m Trillium, by the way.” She held out her hand. Zev shook it. “Zevulun Cable,” he said. “This is Fern.” Fern raised her head, sniffed, and shook hands with the witch. Trillium sighed, suddenly looking tired and vulnerable. “I would like to speak with my daughters. They’re not bad girls, though I admit I have indulged them over the years. I need to know their intentions, and I imagine we all could use some sleep.” Suddenly she tilted her head and stared at Zev and Fern. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you, sir, are a werewolf, and the young lady is a woodsprite?” Zev nodded, wondering where she was headed. “Verbena and Petunia’s goal was to force you to shift, to find your true nature, correct?” Again, Zev nodded. “I’m their science project, I think.” Trillium smiled at him, as if that made perfect sense, then continued. “They also decided your woodsprite was…excuse me, I think the term they used was ‘broken’?” Fern nodded this time, her eyes huge and luminous with tears. Trillium sighed. “So the two dears decided to fix you, is that it?” She sighed again. “I think I have a better idea now of what’s going on. Let me think about this a bit. Do you mind if I just send you back to your cells? Are they comfortable enough?” Zev nodded. He’d barely finished the motion before the room shifted, steadied, and suddenly realigned itself as their familiar cell. Fern snuggled into his arms, her naked body warm and trusting against his. Zev rested his chin atop her leafy hair and stared at the candle flickering near the doorway. Like a deflated balloon, his heart sagged in his chest. What now? he wondered, now that the anger that had sustained him was gone. What now?

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Chapter 7 They were summoned the following day just as Zev stepped out of the shower. Fern had already bathed and was waiting in the bedroom cell for breakfast, Zev had just reached for a towel when suddenly they were standing, side by side, in the main room. Zev continued to dry himself, ignoring the change in surroundings as if he were still in the bathroom. Anger might be rolling off him in waves, but it felt a lot better than the pathetic sense of dejection he’d worn like a hair shirt the night before. He was tired of getting jerked around. Petunia and Verbena waited, their heads bowed, looking very contrite. Trillium was dressed in sunlight and blue skies today, the flowing gown accented by the occasional fluffy white cloud. She swept across the room and stopped in front of her daughters, glaring at them and tapping one foot. Petunia raised her head and looked directly at Fern. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We had no right to try and change your nature.” “We want to apologize,” Verbena added. “We meddled in things we don’t understand.” “We were wrong,” Petunia said. “Very wrong,” Trillium emphasized. “Very, very wrong.” She gazed at her daughters with a look of love tempered by impatience. “Zevulun, I wanted you to hear my daughters’ apology, because it applies to you as well as Fern, but the rest of the discussion is between the woodsprite and the three of us. Please return to your room.” Before he had time to complain, Zev was back in the cell. Alone and more pissed off than ever. Breakfast awaited him on the small table in the center of the room. A small table with one chair and only one place setting.

***** He couldn’t eat. The food didn’t even tempt him. Zev paced the cell, walked up and down the short corridor, counted stones in the wall and finally spent a couple of hours practicing switching back and forth between wolf and human form until it was literally second nature to him. He thought of that a lot, the concept of nature. Trillium had mentioned nature, the fact the wolf was his but Fern’s was to be a woodsprite.

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The twins had gone against her true nature when they tried to give her the parts she needed to function as a woman. A woodsprite had no need for sex, for any kind of physical love. Of course, that didn’t explain the gorgeous breasts or the full and luscious lips he loved to kiss. Damn. What were the bitches doing to his Fern? Without a timepiece of any kind, he had no idea how long he’d been pacing. Meals came and went but he ignored them. Worry gnawed an ever growing hole in his gut. He loved Fern. Loved her just the way she was. If they couldn’t have regular sex, they’d improvise. If it hadn’t been for the enchanted contraption those bitches had muzzled him with, he and Fern could have managed quite well, thank you very much. Where was Fern? What were the bitches doing to her? Poor thing…she didn’t deserve any of this. She deserved love and attention, security and peace. She needed the freedom of the deep woods, the warmth of the sun, the love Zev wanted to give her. Finally exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Zev threw himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. There were a hell of a lot of big stones up there, rough-hewn and fitted together in a variety of patterns. He started counting them, staring at the patterns, then realized one in particular reminded him of Fern. He groaned. When he thought of her sleek body, the soft breasts and tiny tuft of down between her legs, Zev’s cock once more made its presence known. He reached down to touch himself, something he’d been unable to do for days, and realized he’d never be able to substitute his own hand for Fern’s soft lips. Frustrated, frightened and lonelier than he’d ever felt in his life, Zev went back to counting the stones over his head until he drifted into a restless sleep.

***** Warm lips suckled the tip of his cock and an obviously talented tongue tested every fissure and ridge. Fingers stroked his balls, fondling each one in its turn, tugging gently and rolling the family jewels just the way he liked. Well of course it’s going to be the way I like. It’s my dream, isn’t it? Zev sighed and stretched, practically wallowing in the sensations of warm, wet mouth and busy little fingers. After yesterday’s nightmare, he figured he was due for a good wet dream. Except, he wasn’t dreaming. Reality slammed into him about the same time one of those busy little fingers found his ass and crawled inside.

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“Huh?” He opened his eyes to something better than any wet dream he’d ever conceived—Fern kneeling between his legs, her lips wrapped around his swollen cock, smiling around her mouthful. Only it wasn’t Fern. Not the Fern he remembered. Scooting to a sitting position, Zev grabbed her up in his arms, hugged her tight then held her at arm’s length to look at her. Suddenly shy, she dipped her head, the glossy dark brown hair flowing across her sleek shoulders in molten waves of silk. Shoulders that were now a deep, smooth chocolate brown, as if Mediterranean blood ran hot in her veins. “My God, Fern…you’re…” “Not completely.” She held her finger against his lips and he kissed the very tip. When he looked up, she was smiling at him, her lips full and red, her eyes still that luminous grassy green. She shook her head. “They can’t make me completely human. It’s not my nature. Trillium explained it, how we have to stay true to our nature. We can’t be unmade or created because we are who we are. That’s why the girls’ spell wasn’t completely successful. They were trying to turn a woodsprite into a sexual being.” “But, you’re…you’re…” He stumbled over the words, sweeping his hand over her smooth cap of hair, running a finger along her cheek. Suddenly he looked down between her legs and grinned. Still as soft and fine as dandelion fluff, her tiny patch of pubic hair was now the same glossy dark brown as her head. “I’m still, by nature, one with the forest.” She giggled. “But then, so are you, you know.” Zev pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “I don’t care what you are or who I am, so long as I can have you with me. I love you, Fern. Last night was miserable without you. Don’t leave me.” “Make love to me, Zev. Love me the way we’ve wanted. Fill me.” His heart must have stopped beating. He knew his lungs had quit because he couldn’t draw a breath of air. “What did you say?” “I said I want you to make love to me.” She leaned forward and kissed him, her lips warm and inviting, her tongue slipping between his and teasing him with potential he couldn’t possibly comprehend. Her kiss was an aphrodisiac, a drug more powerful than he could have imagined. Zev wrapped his arms around Fern and met her tongue, thrust for thrust, as he rolled her to her back. He reveled in her body, the sleek, warm length of her, the full, rounded breasts that were now a creamy brown instead of moss green.

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Gorgeous. She was absolutely gorgeous. He found her rosy nipples, suckled each to a burgeoning point before moving down her belly, licking and kissing each inch of sweet flesh along the way. Her scent was the same, the sweetness of woodland flowers, the freshness of a mountain breeze, but there was more, as well. An earthiness not borne of soil and moss and dark forest. Instead, the rich scent of woman filled his senses, luring him to mate with her, to be one with the woodland sprite who was magically so much more. He was hard and long and thick, his cock so ready he knew he would burst if he didn’t find her heat. Still, he kissed and suckled his way along her torso, lost in the beauty of her body, the sweet flavors of her love. He reached the silky tuft between her legs and paused, almost afraid to explore further. She moaned, a needy sound of ecstasy and want. Zev kissed her at the juncture of her thighs, then spread her legs until she was open and waiting. There, just as he’d fantasized. Pink, pouting lips, the dew-touched center, her little clit standing at attention, awaiting his kiss. He sighed and touched her with his tongue. She cried out and clutched his head with her thighs. “Fern,” he said, rising up to look her in the eye. “Control yourself.” She giggled and loosened her thighs. Zev went back to her crotch. Ambrosia. She was sweet and salty, life and love in a flavor. He laved her with his tongue, suckled her with his lips. She cried out and arched her back when he stabbed into her new vagina, licking deeply, tasting the moisture that gathered there at his demand. Finally, when he could stand it no longer, Zev raised up over her and rested his swollen cock at her entrance. Fern smiled at him, a lost, dreamy, lust-filled smile that pulled him into its depths. He fought the urge to drive into her, to release the frustration and need that had beleaguered him for the better part of a week. Instead he touched her softly, lightly, rubbing his swollen cock against her equally swollen flesh. She moaned and thrust her hips into the air. Zev teased her, resting the rounded head just at her warm center, then dragging it up and over her swollen clit. Again she cried out, but this time she grabbed his hips and pressed herself against him. He found her new opening, and drove slowly but inexorably in. There was a barrier that held him. He stopped at the virginal membrane, but at her silent plea, pressed on. She cried out, an exclamation of pain that ended on a sigh, but he was in. Deep. So deep and hot. He tried to keep it slow, to take her easily this first time, but she bucked her hips against him, demanding more, challenging him. With a tortured cry he gave into lust. Thrusting, his hips driving away the week’s pain and frustration, the need and the passion compelling him higher, harder, he filled her. So good. The heat, the tight, surrounding heat of her stole his breath.

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With a cry, she claimed him. He lost it completely, there within her molten depths. Lost the last shreds of control he’d maintained for the past few days, lost the sense of isolation, of need, of wanting that had been so much a part of his life for so long. He found himself within her soul. Found peace and love and the fulfillment of all he’d ever wanted. Found it deep in the heart of a woodland sprite. Plunging deeper, harder, Zev found love. He cried out, a long, sobbing moan that escalated into the keening howl of a wolf. Cried out his love, his need, his promise to the woodland sprite who claimed his heart.

***** She wanted, she needed, she feared his taking. Trillium had warned her. She’d told Fern it would be painful and frightening, a link unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It was. It was also the most enervating, enthralling, ennobling event she’d ever known. Zev was part of her! She felt him there, testing the barriers of her flesh, crying out for entrance. All it took was the lifting of her hips, the slight thrust to draw him in and he was there. A part of her. Loving her, mating with her. It was all she’d hoped for. More than she’d expected. Yes there was blood, a primal libation to love and lust. There was also pain and a connection beyond words. Not just love, not possession, but more. She cried out, clasping his strong shoulders, holding him close, drawing his very essence into her body and soul. He was huge, so much bigger than she’d realized, filling her over and over again, driving against that new part Trillium had told her about, a womb, a place where babies might grow. So much had changed, so much of what she’d known and accepted was no longer true. Something was happening, something like the orgasm she’d had when he’d touched her days ago. Trillium hadn’t said it would… No one had told her she could… The cry started low in her throat. Borne of lust and pain and love, it built and grew until it encompassed her entire being, until it became a part of the new body, the new reality she shared with Zev. She knew he was coming, felt his lust and passion and most of all, his love, as he poured his hot seed into her. Felt it and knew she was ready, knew she was capable of meeting and holding whatever he offered.

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Crying out, her scream of climax reaching out into a long, low howl of pleasure, Fern felt herself begin to change.

***** It had never, ever felt so good. Zev’s climax exploded from his loins. His balls ached, his cock, that poor organ that had spent an entire week in a state of suspended arousal, finally had the freedom to release. Right there, just at the moment of climax, he felt the shift coming over him. No! He didn’t want to shift! Where was his control? He wanted to make love to Fern, to let her know with the claiming of her body she was his forever. Not the wolf! Not now! Zev whined, a long, low doggy whimper of pain and embarrassment. How could this have happened? His cock, long and hot and still aroused, was still embedded—and trapped!— someplace warm and welcoming. He opened his eyes, taking a moment to adjust to his new perception, and realized he grasped Fern’s back with his front legs. He thought it was Fern. Yeah. It was definitely Fern…but she’d never looked quite like this. She turned and barked at him, her doggy grin teasing, her bushy tail swaying just to one side. She’d shifted. His woodsprite had obviously found a new side to her basic nature. Zev raised his nose into the air and howled. Fern’s voice joined with his, an earsplitting crescendo of joy and fulfillment. Her body, in lupine form, held his cock trapped deep within her heat, where he throbbed and pulsed in steady cadence with her rhythmic palpitations. The howl died to a soft, satisfied whimper. Damn. Life was good.

***** Zev chewed and swallowed the perfectly sweet grape Fern popped into his mouth. He tightened his embrace on his lovely woodsprite. Candlelight flickered in the small parlor just next to the room where Verbena and Petunia worked diligently at a long blackboard. He knew Fern thought it was a bit excessive, Trillium’s punishment for her precocious daughters, but Zev thought they’d gotten off easy. Still, he couldn’t imagine writing, I will not meddle in the lives of others, a million times across a blackboard. At least they got to divide the punishment. He sighed as Fern popped another grape into his mouth. It should keep the two out of trouble for a while. He was right, though. Life was good.

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Trillium passed each of them a glass of clear, sparkling wine. “To new lives, new beginnings, and a love that will last forever.” Their crystal glasses clinked in the age old ritual of confirmation. “I still don’t understand,” Zev said. Fern tilted her head and kissed his chin. “You don’t have to understand to enjoy,” she said. “Besides, according to your aura, you’re perfectly content.” That was probably true. How could he possibly have known what his greatest desire would be? Somehow, thank goodness, the leprechaun understood. “It’s really quite simple,” Trillium said. She sipped her wine and smiled benevolently at the two of them. This morning, her gown was sunshine and fields of sweet-smelling flowers. Zev had discovered, if he listened carefully enough, he could hear bees buzzing and the soft song of birds. “It all comes down to basic nature.” Trillium waved one fine-boned hand, as if the answer were perfectly obvious. “Though Fern was a woodsprite, which by nature are asexual, and you are a werewolf, by nature a very sensual, sexual being, you are both one with the forest, an integral part of the land of Faerie. That oneness is your most basic nature. I merely nudged Fern, with one of my better spells, I might add, a bit closer to the bestial side of her own nature.” Trillium patted Fern’s very human looking knee. “I wasn’t sure, though, if you’d be able to shift, my dear. I am so pleased with your success. It says a lot about your strength of spirit.” Trillium smiled at Zev. “She makes a beautiful wolf, don’t you agree?” “Perfect.” Zev tilted Fern’s chin up and kissed her. He breathed in the soft brush of her sigh and felt his own, immediate response. “Absolutely perfect.” “It’s agreed, then? You’ll stay?” Trillium smiled as if she had known all along what Zev’s answer would be. “You can maintain contact with your more mundane world, should you wish. The portals between Faerie and the temporal world are easy enough to spot, once you know what to look for. We really need you, Zev. There’s much work for you to do here.” For the first time in his entire life, Zev felt complete. The powers ruling the land of Faerie wanted to upgrade their computer system. It was the perfect match for him. Life with his beautiful Fern, an entire society in need of his services, and a totally unique computer operating system. No more dealing with…suddenly Fern’s lips captured his and all thoughts but those of his sexy little woodsprite flew out the proverbial window. He sighed and kissed her back. Life was getting even better.

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The Public Eye Chris Tanglen

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Chapter One

Orlando, Florida. Greg Tennerson yawned, stretched, and rolled over onto his side, his face very nearly striking a large, beautiful, yet quite unfamiliar pair of breasts. That's weird, he thought, staring at them for a moment. Greg wasn't a morning person and he was definitely groggy, but there was simply no mistaking this for anything but a pair of breasts. They were, for that matter, perhaps the finest breasts he'd ever seen. He had no complaints whatsoever about their quality. Nevertheless, he hadn't expected to find them in his bed. He tilted his head. The breasts were attached to a breathtakingly gorgeous woman. In fact, if Greg had been asked to describe his perfect physical specimen of a woman, she would fit the checklist exactly. Long, auburn hair. Green eyes. Full lips. Smooth, creamy white skin. She winked at him. "Hi." Greg considered possible explanations for this. If he'd been intoxicated last night, it was remotely possible that he had somehow brought this beautiful redhead home with him without remembering anything about it, but he hadn't had anything to drink, not even NyQuil. He'd watched some morally bankrupt television program and then fallen asleep reading the latest issue of Newsweek. Therefore, the only plausible explanation was that she was some escaped lunatic who snuck into the beds of strange men in the middle of the night, and that she planned to stab him to death within the next few seconds. Shit! He sat up. "Who are you?" he demanded. "You don't remember?" Was it possible that he'd been drinking so heavily last night that he had no memory of even taking the first sip or leaving his apartment? Since Greg was only a light social drinker and didn't keep booze in the house, this would imply that he'd been swigging Listerine, which seemed unlikely. He quickly glanced at his left hand in case there was something else he didn't remember from last night. No wedding ring, thank God. "I don't remember anything," he admitted, scooting away from her in the bed and preparing to deflect any attacks against his genitalia should it become necessary. "Nothing?" she asked. "Not the leprechaun, the wish…?" "The leprechaun? Yeah, I remember the leprechaun, but that was just…it couldn't really…that little green shit drugged me, didn't he?" Greg had awakened alone in the woods, somewhat dazed and confused, and made his way back to Tami's wedding reception as it was winding down. He'd asked around about the other two guys, but had finally given up, deciding that it had obviously been a joke played on him by the nanny-lover. He'd flown back from Ireland yesterday, and

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had planned to spend all of today just relaxing. Finding a strange woman in his bed had not been part of the schedule. The woman shook her head. "Of course you weren't drugged, silly. You made your wish, and so I'm here to grant your greatest desire." She smiled. Greg gaped. She did fit his criteria for the perfect woman, and it was remarkably unusual that she was currently in his bed without clothing, but there had to be some other explanation besides the whole leprechaun wish thing. Clearly the other guys had somehow found out the physical description of his ideal woman, hired a prostitute with those exact characteristics and excellent lock picking abilities, and paid her to sneak into bed with him and pretend to be the result of his wish. It seemed like a fairly expensive and elaborate practical joke to play on somebody they'd only met briefly a couple of days ago in a foreign country, but maybe they were really desperate for entertainment. Her smile broadened, creating an adorable little crinkle next to her left eye. Janet, a girl he'd dated in high school, had a little crinkle exactly like that, and he'd never forgotten it. In fact, it was an element he'd probably include when describing his perfect woman. This was just way too weird. Greg realized he was still gaping. He stopped gaping and spoke. "I'm confused." "Well, I guess that's understandable," she said. "By the way, I'm Vivian." "That's my favorite name," said Greg with amazement. "I know. It's because of Vivian March, your first-grade sweetheart and the lost love of your life. If only you hadn't smeared that paste in her hair, who knows where your relationship might have gone?" Vivian grinned, but then looked concerned. "I'm sorry, I wasn't supposed to let on that I know things like that. It creeps guys out. You won't say anything, right?" "I'm guessing that won't be a problem." "Good. Do you like my tits?" Greg had never been asked that question so blatantly. Was it rude to say yes? To say no? He decided to play it safe and err on the complimentary side. He nodded. "Perfect, aren't they? I can say that without being egotistical because I know they're exactly what you would consider perfect tits." She cupped one of her breasts and tweaked the nipple. "You have good taste. Last wish I granted, the guy was into these juggernauts. Very uncomfortable, especially for somebody who prides herself on excellent posture." "I guess they…uh, would be," said Greg.

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"Do you want to touch them, or do you need a few more minutes to recover from the shock?" she asked, removing her hand. "I can give you a few minutes if you need it, no problem. I'm not trying to pressure anybody here." Greg hesitated, but then decided that the best way to determine whether or not this was really happening was to grab a boob. He reached out and pressed his palm against her, feeling the nipple harden. It felt…well, perfect. "I can't believe this," he said. "Wait'll you see my ass." She tossed the blankets aside and quickly bounced onto her hands and knees, wiggling her butt. It was, yes, a most perfect ass. Smooth, tight, and with only the vaguest hint of a tan line, as if the sun had just briefly touched her creamy white skin as she strolled outside in extremely skimpy bathing attire. Despite his overall sense of confusion and disbelief, Greg felt himself starting to get hard. "Like it?" Vivian asked. "Yeah," he said, barely able to speak. "Yeah, I do." "Good." She wiggled her butt one more time and then rolled onto her back and spread her legs, keeping her right hand demurely over her crotch. "Like my legs?" "Yes." "Me too. Again, you've got good taste. Wanna see what's under my hand?" Greg nodded. "You sure?" "Uh-huh." "Okay." She lifted her hand, revealing the most aesthetically appealing pussy Greg had ever seen. A nice thick patch of red pubic hair at the top, shaved on the sides, and it even looked wet. His boxer shorts were suddenly feeling very constricting. This was no practical joke. That leprechaun had been for real. "So," said Greg, whose mouth had gone dry, "you're here to fulfill my every desire, huh?" "No." "No?" "Not every desire, your biggest desire." "Oh. Well, that's still pretty good." "Most men would think so." "Did the other guys wake up with somebody like you in their bed?"

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"I'm not sure, to be completely honest," said Vivian. "It works differently for everybody. I think I heard something about one of them being tied to a table and anally penetrated by twin witches, but don't quote me." "Ah. So, I don't think I'm being too forward in assuming that I get to…uh, have sex with you, am I?" "Not at all. Believe me, we're gonna fuck." "Cool. That sounds like it'll be…pleasant." "I think so too. You're cute." Greg grinned, knowing that women liked his dimples. Though he wasn't exactly Playgirl material, his looks had always served him well, most notably his deep blue eyes. He kept his thick brown hair cut short, his face clean-shaven, and the rest of his body in decent shape from weekly trips to the gym. Yeah, he would have liked to add a couple of inches to his five-foot-nine height, but a guy couldn't have everything. He scooted closer to her, heart racing. His erection was threatening to damage his expensive silk boxer shorts, and he didn't think he'd been this excited since his very first sexual experience at his junior prom. She closed her legs. "Not here, though." "Are you sure? I just changed the sheets yesterday." "I'm sure. You get to fuck me any way you can, lots of times, but not here." "Where?" "Somewhere in public. And only if there's real danger of getting caught." Greg blinked. "I beg your pardon?" "That's your greatest desire, to have sex with your ultimate fantasy woman in a public place." "I don't think it is." "Yep. It is. Trust me." Greg considered that for a very long moment. "That doesn't sound much like me." "Sure it does. What about that time in college when you were feeling up that blonde whose name you can't remember? You knew that your roommate would be back from class at any minute, and that made it even more exciting, and you kept trying to get her to have sex with you but she wouldn't because you were supposed to be studying for your biology test." "I wanted to have sex with her because she was hot! It had nothing to do with getting caught by my roommate. And her name was Lisa." "Laura." "Laura, whatever. All I'm saying is that sex in public is not my greatest desire." "I'm afraid you're wrong," said Vivian. "No, no, I'm sure I'm not. The leprechaun obviously messed up somewhere along the way, got his wishes crossed or something like that. No big deal. He got the fantasy

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woman part right, but my desire is to have sex right here in this comfortable bed." Greg patted the mattress. Vivian sat up. "Okay, let's just say for the sake of argument that your greatest desire isn't to have sex with me in public, which it is. Here I am, the most perfect woman you've ever seen, all naked and stuff, offering to fuck the living daylights out of you if we do it in public. Why wouldn't you jump at the chance?" "I just can't do it." "Why not?" "Because I'd be putting my reputation at stake. People know me in this city. I'm a prosecuting attorney…one of the best. I tried the Rankin case last fall. I can't get caught having sex in public; there'd be a huge scandal. Hell, I'm even planning to run for city council next year!" "Really?" "Yes, really. You didn't know that?" Vivian shook her head. "I'm not omniscient. I just know things that directly relate to your greatest woman-related desire. I thought you were happy being a lawyer." "I am happy, but my dream has always been to get into politics. So obviously I have to watch my public behavior. I can't put my career at risk." "That is a bit of a pickle, I have to agree," said Vivian. "Can't we just have sex here?" "Nope." "Why not?" "Because I'm here to fulfill your greatest desire. Now, if the deal was for me to fulfill one of your greatest desires, you'd be in me as we speak, but I've got to go with the exact terms, and your greatest desire is to fuck me in public. I'm sorry." Greg sighed. "Can't you talk to the leprechaun or something? Explain the situation to him?" "No." "Does he have a cell phone? I'll give him a call." "Sorry. Unless you fly back to Ireland and manage to do another catch-and-release, you're stuck with the original wish." "That sucks." "Yeah." Greg gazed longingly at her breasts, but then extended his hand. "Well, I guess this is goodbye, then." "Oh, I'm not leaving." "I told you, I can't do this."

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"I have to fulfill your greatest desire. That was the wish. Those who return without granting wishes are cast into the Pits of Flaming Anguish, where their flesh is horrifically sizzled from their bones as they shriek in eternal despair." "Are you serious?" "No. I'll just be reprimanded." "Oh. Good." "Not good. I don't like being reprimanded." Greg nervously tugged at his boxer shorts. "Okay, well, I'm sorry, but as much as I'd like to go through with this, it's not worth risking my career for. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." "Uh-uh." "What do you mean, 'uh-uh'?" "I mean, uh-uh. It's a fairly inarticulate way of saying that I'm going to stick around until you agree to fuck me in public." "Yes, but we've already established very clearly that I'm not going to fuck you in public," Greg explained. "Therefore, our arrangement is over, and it's time for you to go." "Nope." "So, what, you're going to tie me up, drag me out of the house, and force me to have sex?" "No. That's only your fourth greatest desire." "I could call the police." "You certainly could. But I'd vanish after they arrived, and you'd have to explain to them that a gorgeous naked redhead magically appeared in your bed and offered to grant you a leprechaun wish, and I'd reappear as soon as they left. Nobody will believe your story. You'll be like the boy who cried pussy." "Okay, then…then…then I'll just throw you out!" "I'd kick your ass." "I don't believe you. No, wait, I take that back." He sighed. "This isn't fair. How am I supposed to compete with supernatural peer pressure?" "Just give in," said Vivian, circling one of her nipples with her index finger. "It's your greatest desire." "I refuse." Vivian smiled. "Well then, we have a bit of a challenge before us."

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Chapter Two Greg's luxurious third-floor apartment was exquisitely furnished with a tropical flavor. He had a wide-screen television and an entertainment system that was the envy of everybody he knew, along with thousands of CDs and hundreds of DVDs. He was also an avid reader, particularly of mysteries, and an entire wall of his living room was taken up by an enormous bookshelf. Not to mention his state-of-the-art computer system with all the trimmings, and a home office as well stocked as any office supply store. Yet despite the numerous distractions available in the apartment, he simply couldn't keep his eyes off Vivian. "Oh dear," she said. "I seem to have dropped something upon your floor. I have no choice but to retrieve it." She bent over, and the sight of her glorious ass nearly made Greg bite through his palm in frustration. This was cruel. Unbelievably cruel. Satanstyle cruel. But he was strong. He'd put himself through law school. He'd once rescued a remarkably ungrateful Doberman from a burning automobile (and still had the scars on his arm to prove it). Several months ago he'd passed a kidney stone. He could darn well handle a beautiful naked woman wandering around his apartment. And he'd bedded plenty of attractive women during his past fifteen years of non-virginity. So she could flash her pristine ass all she wanted, but it wasn't going to change Greg's mind. "Oh, silly me, my first attempt to retrieve the dropped object was unsuccessful. I shall be forced to try again." She bent over a second time, this time giving him a glimpse of her pussy from behind. Greg hoped that she didn't hear him whimper. "You know what really turns me on?" asked Greg. "A nice heavy coat. I've still got a parka from my trip to Minnesota this winter, so why don't I grab that for you? Oooh, baby, shake those multiple layers of clothing." "Nah. I'll stay nekkid. Wanna see me do a handstand?" "No." "Cartwheel?" "No." "The splits?" "No." "C'mon," said Vivian, putting her hands on her hips. "Why make this difficult? You know you want my mouth on your cock. You're just minutes away from tongueswirling ecstasy."

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"Okay, how about this? We do it with the windows open." "No good. None of your neighbors have telescopes. Anyway, that's not technically in public. Mind if I touch myself?" "I'd rather you didn't." "I think I will." Vivian's left hand slowly slid down over her thigh. "You don't have to watch." "I won't." "Yet you are." He was. Greg could barely take his eyes off her. God, she was absolutely stunning. Of course, she had an unfair advantage being a shapeshifter and all (at least he thought she was a shapeshifter; something supernatural like that, anyway), but still, the woman was astounding. Her index finger moved across the top of her pubic hair. Fuck it. He'd watch. If he wasn't going to actually score, he might as well get one hell of a show out of this whole leprechaun thing. He sat down on the couch. "I'm ready." "You think you can take it?" "It'll give me something to do until Judge Judy comes on." Vivian parted her legs some more, and with excruciating slowness traced her finger down her vagina. She held it up to show him that her finger was glistening, then closed her eyes and gradually worked it up and down over her pussy, moaning with pleasure as she did so. Greg realized he was gripping the seat cushion way too tightly, and forced himself to relax. Long, deep breaths…inner peace…you're doing fine… She moved her finger like that for at least another minute, and then slid it inside. "Oh, Christ," Greg whispered, entranced. "What was that?" "I said, oh, Christ, I'm bored shitless." Vivian slid her finger in deeper as she stroked her clitoris with her thumb, and her moaning grew louder. A trickle of sweat slid down the side of Greg's face. Be strong…be strong…heart of steel…ice in the veins…eye of the tiger…fuck, I need a cold shower… "Oh…oh, my, I think I'm gonna come," Vivian announced. Greg involuntarily leaned forward in his seat. "It's on its way…it's gonna be a doozy…oh, I sure wish your cock was inside me to enjoy this one." Greg bit his lip. Vivian threw her head back and howled as the orgasm hit.

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She kept going for nearly thirty seconds, breasts heaving, entire body quaking. Greg was so hypnotized by the sight that he didn't even worry about what the neighbors would think. Finally she finished, dropping to her knees. "That was a nice one," she informed him. "I got that distinct impression," Greg tried to say, but the best response he could actually vocalize was "uh-huh." "Well, I guess I'll be off now." "No!" Greg almost shouted. "No?" "Uh, I mean, good. I'm glad you're leaving. Go." "That bulge in your pants says you'd like me to stick around. It's a nice bulge, by the way." She placed her hand on her forehead in melodramatic despair. "Oh, if only I could taste it, my life would be a banquet of endless joy." Greg couldn't take any more of this. Fuck inner strength. Fuck his bravery with the kidney stone. He needed her. He needed her bad. "Fine!" he said. "I'll do it!" "Do what, lover?" "I'll follow the rules. I'll have sex with you in public. Where do you want to go?" "How about a nice restaurant? You up for an early lunch?" "Yes. Yes, I am. An early lunch sounds good." Greg's heart was racing. "You should probably wear something besides your naked skin." Vivian touched her nipple, and suddenly she was wearing a tight fitting but elegant red blouse and skirt. "Not quite the same as twitching your nose, is it?" Greg asked. "Ah, that was just for show. Let's get out of here. Orgasms always make me hungry."

***** "Your menu, sir," said the middle-aged, balding waiter, placing it on the table in front of Greg. The waiter handed a menu to Vivian as well. "May I start you off with something to drink?" "Just water," said Greg. "Do you have anything minty?" asked Vivian. "I'm afraid not." "How about an iced tea then?" "Very good, ma'am." The waiter left. Since it was only eleven, the Italian restaurant was almost empty. There was an elderly couple on the other side of the room, and a party of four two tables away. Greg

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wondered if he should have found someplace more crowded, so people would be less likely to notice any sensual activity. "So what's good here?" asked Vivian, opening her menu. "I'm not sure. I've never been here before." "Ah, picking a place where you won't be recognized as easily, huh? Good idea. I think I'll have the eleven-layer lasagna. What about you?" "I'm not sure." "You're thinking about sex instead of food, aren't you?" Greg shrugged. "That's okay, I don't blame you." "So, are we, I don't know, meeting in the bathroom or something?" "Oh, no, no, no. We're doing it right here, lover." She leaned over and whispered into his ear. "How about a blow job?" "That sounds…more than acceptable." "Good." Vivian pushed back her chair, winked at him, and then slid under the table. Greg frantically glanced around to see if anybody else in the restaurant had noticed, but they all seemed to be occupied with their own conversations. The tablecloth didn't seem nearly long enough to cover everything. Would the waiter see her under there when he returned? What if somebody came around to sweep the floors? What if she knelt down on a dropped fork? He felt her hand on his crotch, and then she slowly unbuttoned his slacks. When she unzipped him, he was positive that the sound echoed throughout the restaurant like cannon thunder, alerting everyone present to the unwholesome activities about to occur. He was completely hard. Vivian freed his penis and gently stroked it. The waiter arrived with their drinks. "Are you ready to order, or should I come back when she returns?" "Uh, that's okay, we're ready to order. She'll have the…" Greg sucked in a deep breath as her warm mouth enveloped his cock, "…eleven layer lasagna." "Excellent. Would she care for soup or salad with that?" "I beg your pardon?" asked Greg, straining to keep his voice steady. Vivian's mouth slid all the way down his shaft. "Soup or salad?" "Ah…soup." He could feel her shaking her head with his cock in her mouth. "I mean salad." She nodded. "What kind of dressing?"

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"What kind do you have?" "We have ranch, thousand island, French, bleu cheese, creamy Italian, and a wine vinaigrette." Greg let out a gasp as her tongue swirled over the head of his penis. "How about ranch?" Vivian shook her head again. "Make that thousand island." She continued shaking her head. "Or French." She still shook her head. The waiter gave Greg a curious stare. "Are you feeling all right, sir?" "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." "Should I wait for the lady to return?" "No, no, she'll have bleu cheese." Vivian shook her head. "Or…shit, what were the last choices?" "Creamy Italian or wine vinaigrette, sir." "Creamy Italian…no, wine vinaigrette." Vivian nodded and sucked him more vigorously. "Are you certain?" "Yes. Wine vinaigrette. That's what she wants on her salad." Greg wiped some sweat from his forehead. "And for you sir?" "Same thing." "Wine vinaigrette on your salad as well?" "Yes. Exact same thing." He gritted his teeth. This was the best blowjob he'd received in his entire life, and it was taking an amazing degree of self-control to stay quiet. "Very good, sir." The waiter glanced at the table, frowned, and left. Greg exhaled deeply and leaned back in his seat. Now he could see Vivian's head bobbing over his waist. "That feels incredible," he whispered. The hostess showed a well-dressed party of three to the table right next to them. One of them, a pretty blonde in her early twenties, smiled at Greg as she sat down. Vivian sucked on him with a level of enthusiasm that he'd never experienced before. He was almost worried that she was going to hit her head, but obviously as a supernatural creature she wouldn't do something like that.

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She hit her head. Loudly. The people at the next table turned to look. Vivian giggled. "Smacked my leg," Greg explained to the other restaurant patrons, face burning with embarrassment. Vivian pulled her mouth away from his cock, ran her tongue down the shaft, and began to lick his balls. This was one of Greg's biggest turn-ons, and he closed his eyes, just allowing himself to enjoy the experience. After she'd licked them thoroughly, Vivian returned her attention to his penis, stroking it with one hand as she licked the tip. Greg opened his eyes and realized that the blonde was staring at him. He also realized that he was only a few mouth strokes away from a really sensational orgasm. What was the pre-ejaculation etiquette with somebody sent by a leprechaun to grant his greatest desire? She'd definitely swallow, right? He decided to play it safe and leaned down. "I'm gonna come," he whispered. "Good," she replied, and then began to suck with even more vigor. Greg smiled at the blonde, who no doubt thought he was having a heartfelt conversation with his dick. But he quickly forgot all about her and where he was as he shot toward his release. He came so hard that he nearly fell backwards in his chair. He could practically feel the other people in the restaurant watching him, and he didn't even care. His entire body was tingling. Her mouth kept moving back and forth over his cock as he continued spurting. Greg was practically dizzy by the time he finished. This was better than anything he'd ever felt; better than anything he'd even imagined that he'd feel. And knowing that other people were right there in the restaurant made it even more pleasurable. Shit! She'd been right! He was an exhibitionist pervert! Shit! Vivian crawled out from under the table, daintily wiping her mouth. "Now that was enjoyable," she said. "Wouldn't you agree?" The blonde hurriedly turned her attention to her menu. "It was…I can't even describe how that was," said Greg. "I hope this restaurant doesn't have hidden security cameras." Greg sat upright and hurriedly looked at the corners of the ceiling. "You think it might? Oh, crap. Is that one?" "No, that's a fan." "I think it's a camera!"

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"It's a fan." "Thank God." "You really need to be less uptight. But the blowjob you just received should help." "So, was that my wish? You're not leaving, are you?" "Oh, no, lover. There's plenty more in our future. But first, eleven layer lasagna." It was delicious.

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Chapter Three "So now where do you want to go?" asked Greg as they walked out of the restaurant. He had a bit of a spring in his step. "I've always been partial to libraries," Vivian said. Greg considered that. Tall protective bookshelves, squeaky floors to alert them when somebody was approaching, plenty of reading material afterwards…it was the perfect spot. "Sure. Let's go." He was almost giddy as they got in his car and drove toward one of the smaller branches of the Orlando public library system. He tried to convince himself that his feelings were ridiculous, that this was just standard-issue sex and nothing to get all worked up over, but he was wildly unsuccessful. Just calm down. You've been laid before. But never like this! Don't be stupid about it. Yeah, she's your dream woman, at least in a physical sense, but she's definitely not worth putting your career at risk. Don't get busted. Maybe the publicity would boost my chances for winning an election! After all, I'd vote for somebody who gets to fuck people like Vivian. Shut up. Okay. He had to admit, this new side of him was a little bit scary. He'd never used illegal drugs in his life; he'd never stolen anything apart from a pack of grape bubble gum when he was four; hell, he rarely even exceeded the speed limit, and yet here he was on his way to purposely violate the local ordinances against lewd and lascivious behavior. But that was okay. He'd get this "fantasy woman" thing out of his system, and then resume his straight-laced life of future political glory. They arrived at the library (where Greg, of course, had no overdue fees) and wandered toward the back of one of the rows of shelves. "How about this?" asked Vivian, taking his hand and firmly placing it on her breast. Greg looked around and shook his head. "Too much traffic. People could show up on either side. The second floor is more isolated." They walked over to the elevator. Just as Greg began to entertain thoughts of a heavy make-out session between floors, a man in a business suit stepped around the corner and waited for the elevator with them. Bastard.

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On the second floor, they immediately walked past several people seated at tables as they headed toward the back corner of the room to the psychology section. "What do you think?" Greg whispered. "Seems pretty isolated, right?" "Looks safe to me." "Do you think anybody will be able to hear us?" "Depends on your volume control. I can be quiet if you can." "I'll try my best," said Greg. He looked into her brown eyes. It was hard to believe she wasn't a real person; or if she was a real person, that she didn't really look like this. There was a spark in her eyes, something lively and wicked, that made it difficult to accept her as simply a creature conjured up to fulfill his fantasy. She put her arms around him and they kissed. It started out tender, but quickly grew in intensity. Only seconds later her tongue slipped into his mouth as they clutched at each other, kissing passionately. And loudly. Too loudly. Greg pulled away. "We need to tone it down." "That's no fun." "I know, but we can't get caught." "Just listen for footsteps. It'll be fine." "You don't have, perhaps, psychic ability or Spider-Sense or something like that, do you?" asked Greg. "That would sure help me relax." "I know something else that will help you relax," Vivian said, dropping to her knees. Ah, yes. Blowjobs were definitely relaxing, at least to the recipient. Superb idea. Using the skills she'd practiced at the restaurant, Vivian unzipped his fly and took out his penis. She slid her fingers down its length. "Has your cock ever felt fresh air in such an educational environment before?" she asked in a whisper. "Never." "Does it turn you on?" "Oh yeah." "What about this?" She extended her tongue and gently ran the tip along the underside of his rapidly growing erection. "Is this a turn-on?" "It is indeed." "Good. Enough of the cutesy stuff. I wanna suck on you." She began to do just that, moving her lips back and forth in a slow but firm motion. Greg gasped with pleasure as he carefully listened for the sounds of somebody approaching. It felt so incredible that Greg's knees began to buckle. He closed his eyes and just let the ecstasy overtake him. Eyes open at all times, dumb ass!

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He opened his eyes and continued watching for unwanted company. He couldn't believe how good Vivian was. She knew exactly the right pace and the right spots to focus on with her tongue. If he hadn't already known that she possessed magical abilities, her oral sex technique alone would have been reason to suspect that there was something superhuman about her. He ran his hand through her hair and kept his moans as quiet as possible. Were those footsteps? He froze and listened. Vivian kept going. No. False alarm. She sucked on him for at least another minute, reaching around to tightly cup his ass through his pants with both hands. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. He felt sorry for those poor students who were probably doing miserable research for school papers when the library had much more exciting things to offer. Vivian pulled her mouth away from him and wiped it off on her sleeve. She grinned. "You are one erect gentleman, Greg Tennerson." "Thanks." "Of course, I'm feeling the female equivalent of that. Wanna taste my wet pussy?" Greg nodded. "Then I'll just have to let you do that." She stood up. "I'm going to show you a trick that teenage boys who have problems with bra straps would kill to learn." She snapped her fingers and her clothing vanished. Completely. She stood in front of him, every bit as naked as she'd been when he woke up this morning. A thin trickle of moisture ran down her leg. "Wow, that is a good trick." "One of my most popular. Well, except for becoming twins, but that's a completely different fantasy. On your knees, big boy." Greg crouched down in front of her and gazed at that beautiful pussy. Absolutely sensational. And there was no reason to believe that going down on her wouldn't be the best oral sex performing experience of his life. He gently licked her, bottom to top. He loved the taste of a woman, and she beat them all. Vivian quivered. He ran his tongue all over her vagina, moving in a quick spiral. Vivian whimpered softly and gently pushed herself against him. Could she actually feel this, or was her reaction exclusively for his benefit? He desperately hoped that she was enjoying this every bit as much as he loved doing it. "You taste so good," he said. "Perfect, I'll bet."

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Greg quickly moved his tongue from side to side, and her whimpers grew louder. He didn't care. He licked her all over, tongue lashing frantically against her, completely losing himself in her taste and scent and heat. She was so wet. Greg wanted to be inside her, right now, but that would mean stopping what he was doing, which simply wasn't an option at the present time. Vivian moved her legs apart even wider. He slid his hands up and down her thighs as he licked, his nose pressed into her tuft of pubic hair. "Squeeze my ass," she said. More than happy to oblige, Greg slid his hands over her firm buttocks, squeezing them and pulling her even closer to his mouth. He traced his index finger between the cheeks as he licked her with more energy than he'd ever— "Is there a book I can help you find?" inquired the icy female voice behind him. Greg's tongue stopped moving. He removed his index finger from Vivian's butt crack. He cleared his throat. "Isn't this your sex education section?" asked Vivian. No! Not jokes! This is no time for bad jokes! This is a time for sincere, heartfelt apologies! Greg started to move, but quickly realized that the librarian would be less likely to provide a good description of him to the authorities if he kept his face pressed against Vivian's pussy. "I'm really sorry," he said, voice muffled. "There are children in this library!" the librarian informed them. "What if one of them saw you? How would you explain this? Did you even think of that?" "I'm really, truly sorry," Greg repeated. His erection had made a hasty retreat, and he tucked his penis back into his pants, keeping his face where it was. "I'm going to call security," said the librarian. "No, no, don't do that," Greg said. He'd never tried to carry on a conversation this close to a vagina before. "We'll get dressed and leave." "The least you could do is stop that while I'm here!" "I'm not doing anything," Greg insisted. "I swear." "He's not," Vivian confirmed. "Trust me, I'd know if he was." "You're both disgusting!" said the librarian. "You should be ashamed of yourselves!" Greg was starting to think that a new tactic was appropriate. If he did get busted, he didn't want the librarian explaining to the police that he'd been on his knees talking into a pussy. Summoning as much dignity as he could muster but still keeping his back to the librarian, he stood up. Then he grabbed Vivian by the hand and ran like hell. She slipped out of his grasp. Or disappeared from it; he wasn't sure. Greg kept running and didn't look back. Fleeing the scene of a sexual encounter and leaving a naked woman behind was far from the most chivalrous thing he had ever done, but he

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had a pretty good idea that Vivian could take care of herself. If she could make her clothing disappear with a snap of the fingers, she could evade an offended librarian. Greg sped around the corner, lost his balance, twisted his ankle, bashed into one of the bookshelves, and pitched face-first onto the tile floor. It hurt. He quickly got back up and staggered toward the front of the room. "No running in the library, please," said an elderly male librarian who was shelving books. Greg could just see the headlines: Local lawyer arrested for cunnilingus, running in library. He reached the elevator and pressed the "down" button approximately eighty-three times as he desperately waited for the doors to slide open. He couldn't hear anybody chasing him, but didn't want to turn around to see if that was actually the case. The doors opened and he hurried into the elevator. He pressed the "close door" button approximately forty-seven times before the doors closed. Finally they did and the elevator headed downward. This series of events did not rank high on his list of personal accomplishments. When the doors opened again, he quickly made his way to the library exit and back to his car. Vivian was in the passenger seat, fully clothed, waiting for him. "I can't believe you let me go unfulfilled like that," she said as Greg started the engine. "Why were you chatting with the librarian instead of licking like you were supposed to?" "Very funny," he said. "That was way too close. I can't believe I did that." "Oh, come on, you had fun." Greg pulled his car out of the parking space, closely watching the front doors of the library to make sure that no armed security guards burst through them. "Yes, I had large amounts of fun until we got caught. But the fun stopped when it occurred to me that I was a thirty-two year-old professional male running from a librarian. Maturity was not on my side." "It could've been worse." "How?" "You could have been completely naked. I could have been sitting on your face. She could have had a shotgun. You could have broken your leg. The floor could have collapsed underneath us. The bookshelf could have burst into flames. We could have had a tragic fellatio accident." "I guess you're right. I should count my blessings." "So where to next? Know any other good libraries?" Greg chuckled as they drove out of the parking lot. "I think that maybe the librarian catching us in the act was a sign that this isn't such a good idea." "But your brave escape was a sign that it's a great idea!"

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"It was a cowardly escape." "But it was a cute cowardly escape." "Yeah, I'm sure it was. At least my dick was put away before I fled." "Wanna go to the movies?" Vivian asked. "Nah." "I'll fuck you in the theater." "I understood that." "So let's go." "No." "Why?" "Why do you think?" "I can't think of any good reason that you'd pass up the chance to fuck me in a movie theater." "I can think of lots of them." "Please?" "No." "Please?" "Okay."

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Chapter Four Greg was beginning to seriously question this relationship. It just seemed like the kind of relationship that he should seriously question. He knew men often did stupid things for sex, but he wasn't that kind of man. He wasn't a mega-prude or anything, but he was certainly a responsible, cautious adult, and if he ruined his chances for a political career, would it really be worth it to look back and say, "Well, it was one hell of a blow job!" No. Of course not. Not a chance. Turn the car around. He kept driving toward the movie theater. Stop driving toward the movie theater. He kept driving toward the movie theater. Cross into the right lane, apply the brake, turn at the next light, and drive back home. He kept driving toward the movie theater. You're a fucking idiot. He acknowledged that and kept driving toward the movie theater. Really, what were the chances that he'd get caught? After all, he'd made it through the library experience with his reputation unscathed (unless they were dusting for prints at this very moment), and a movie theater was nice and dark. He'd be fine. But then what? Sex on the hood of his car in the middle of rush hour traffic? A lengthy fuck on the courthouse steps? A bisexual threesome in Epcot Center? Where did he draw the line? Obviously not the movie theater. He pulled into the parking lot, found a space, and shut off the engine. "What're we gonna see?" asked Vivian as they got out of the car. Greg squinted and looked at the marquee. Twelve choices. What was the crappiest movie playing there? No, no, that wouldn't guarantee low attendance. What had been out the longest? Was there something with subtitles? They walked up to one of the open ticket cashiers. Greg scanned the list of starting times. Trusting Sasha started in five minutes, and from what he could remember its box office had been extremely low. It seemed like the best choice, so he bought two tickets. "Want anything at the concession stand?" he asked.

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"Yeah, some Raisinets," said Vivian. They went to one of the two open concession lines. A college-aged girl smiled and greeted them. "A box of Raisinets, please," said Vivian. The girl retrieved the box of candy and set it on the counter. "Anything else?" "Do you have any cinnamon flavored body oil?" "Excuse me?" asked the girl. Greg felt his stomach drop. "She's just kidding." "How about cherry?" asked Vivian. "Do you have cherry?" "Really, she's just kidding," said Greg, gently taking Vivian by the elbow and pulling her away from the counter. "She likes to kid," he told the girl. "We do have some cherry Icee syrup," the girl said. "I could put some of that in a small cup." "Just the Raisinets, please. She was only kidding." "Are you sure? It wouldn't be a—" "Raisinets only." Greg paid, handed Vivian the box of candy, and headed for theater nine. "What the hell was that all about?" he demanded. "Do you have some sort of an aversion to cinnamon flavored body oil?" "Don't be cute." "Seriously, Greg, what's she going to do? Call a press conference? It was a joke." "I know it was a joke. It was even kind of a funny joke. But don't do it again. I mean it." "Okay." "Promise?" "I promise that I will never ask that specific concession cashier if they have cinnamon flavored body oil again." Greg stopped. "Promise me that you'll behave." "I thought the whole point of coming here was to not behave." "You know what I mean." "Sorry, but I can't promise that I won't do more little things like that just to mess with your fragile mind. I can't even promise that I won't ask the usher standing in front of our theater which row he would recommend for fornication." "Please don't do that." "I possibly won't." Greg glanced at the bored-looking, pimply-faced usher. "We're not going into that theater unless you promise not to say anything to him."

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"I promise nothing, lover." Greg wanted to scream with frustration. "How in the world can this be part of my wish? You can't tell me that when you gazed into my mind and saw that my greatest desire was for sex in public that it also included a sub-desire for humiliation beforehand." "Okay, Greg, I won't say anything to the usher. I won't make any promises about what I'll do after we walk by him, but I promise that I won't say anything to him." "You can't turn around and pinch his ass." "I possibly won't." "That's the most I'm going to get out of you, isn't it?" "I'm afraid so." Greg sighed and walked with her into the theater. She didn't say anything to the usher, nor did she pinch his ass. Trusting Sasha had been an excellent choice. The theater was empty as they entered and took their seats in the very back row, and nobody else had come in by the time the lights dimmed and the previews started. Greg put his hand on Vivian's leg, leaned over, and began to gently kiss her neck. He did this for several seconds, but stopped when he realized that she wasn't responding. "What's wrong?" he asked, pulling away. She gave him a sad smile. "You're going to kill me." "Why?" "This theater doesn't count." "What do you mean, it doesn't count? This is a public place." "But there's nobody else around. There's no danger of getting caught." Greg just gaped at her in a stunned silence. "Sorry," she said. "But…but an usher could come in. They always come in to check on things, right?" "That's not enough." "We could be surprised by latecomers. People always come in late to movies. It pisses me off." "Still not enough. We'll have to change screens." "You're not really supposed to do that." "Well, we can't fuck here." Greg ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "My greatest desire, huh? I'll bet you anything that if I made that wish right now, my greatest desire would be for a therapist."

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Vivian stared deeply into his eyes for a long moment. "No, actually, your greatest desire is still to have sex in public. Go figure." "Okay, you were right back at my place, stuff like that is kind of creepy." "Sorry." "I guess we'll find a different screen. Something that hasn't started yet, though. I hate people who interrupt movies." They stood up. Just as they did so, two men and a woman, all in their twenties, entered the theater and found a seat in the middle row, center. Greg and Vivian happily sat back down. The lights dimmed all the way and the feature started. The opening shot took place at night. Perfect. Greg placed his hand on Vivian's leg and began to kiss her neck again. This time she responded, tilting her head back to make it easier. He kissed her neck, her throat, her chin. When he kissed her on the mouth, she parted her lips and teased him with her tongue. Greg glanced at the other moviegoers out of the corner of his eye. They were all still facing forward. He kissed Vivian passionately, his tongue sliding over hers, adoring the feel of her soft, warm lips. He closed his eyes and just let himself fully enjoy the sensation. There go the eyes again, dumb ass. Ah, screw it. It's dark. They kissed through the first two scenes of the movie, presumably causing Greg to miss crucial details of the plot setup, but he could always catch it on DVD. He put his hand on her breast, feeling her erect nipple through the fabric, and then began to unbutton her blouse. He pulled it open, exposing her red lacy bra. At least he thought it was red; he couldn't be quite certain in the dark theater. They kissed some more. Greg reached around her back and slid his fingers over the clasp to her bra. It fell open as soon as he touched it. "Did I do that?" he whispered. Vivian nodded. "You're lying." Vivian nodded again. "I do know how those things work," he said. "Just making sure. I realize that you're in a stressful situation." Greg grinned and pulled away her bra, then leaned forward and licked a slow circle around her right nipple. Vivian sighed and ran her fingers through his hair.

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He licked for a while, alternating breasts, and then gently sucked on each nipple in turn. She began to squirm. The more she squirmed, the harder he sucked, until he suddenly worried that her moans were getting kind of loud. They really should have gone to an action movie with lots of gunfire, explosions, and car chases. Oh well. Something to consider for next time. "Want me to go down on you?" she asked, as he licked the underside of her breast. "No way. I never got to finish my previous task." "Oh, that's right. Thank you so much for reminding me." Vivian stood up, causing Greg to wince as her seat let out a loud squeak. The three people in the center row were obviously engrossed in the movie and didn't look back. "Relax," Vivian whispered. "Getting too relaxed is what caused the issue in the library," Greg pointed out. Vivian unbuttoned her pants and slid them off. She wasn't wearing any panties. "Want me to lie on the floor?" "A movie theater floor? God, no." "Good. That was a test. Should I just sit back in the seat or would you like me to bend over it?" Greg's mouth went dry. Obviously the correct answer was: a) that she should sit back in the seat. But the thought of licking that wonderful pussy from behind… No. They couldn't be that blatant. Of course, she could bend over the back of the seat in front of them. It wouldn't be as safe as just having her sit normally, but it wouldn't be quite as obvious as having her face the back wall. Oddly enough, when he went to bed last night he'd never expected to be contending with such decisions as which way a woman should be facing when he licked her in a movie theater. Caution or joy? Caution or joy? "Just sit normally," he said. Good boy. Vivian sat down, then scooted further down in the narrow seat, allowing her to spread her legs wide. Greg crouched down in front of her, figuring he could afford a new pair of pants, and put his head between her legs. He ran his tongue over her pussy. Pure bliss. She put her legs on his shoulders as he went down on her, pleasuring her with long, slow licks. He wondered again if he was really pleasuring her, but cast that out of his mind. For now, he'd just lose himself in the fantasy. He moved his tongue all over her, swirling it around her clitoris, and then almost all the way down. She twitched and trembled but kept her moans at an acceptable volume.

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"Do you need me to describe what's happening on the screen?" she asked. He pulled away for a moment. "Nah, I'll be okay," he said, before diving back in. He pressed his entire mouth against her, kissing, licking, and sucking. He reached up and caressed each of her breasts. "Mmmmmm, that feels wonderful," she said. He pulled away again. "You're keeping an eye on the people in front of us, right?" "Of course. I think they're a threesome, by the way." "What makes you say that?" "She was leaning on one guy's shoulder, and now she's leaning on the other's. Also, she has one hand on each of their cocks. And last night she did both of them in the same bed, doggy-style." "I thought you weren't omniscient." Vivian smiled. "I'm not. I was joking. But did that turn you on?" "A little, actually." "Good. Keep licking." Greg returned his attention to her pussy. He couldn't even hear the movie over his own wet licking sounds, his heavy breathing, and Vivian's soft moans. He squeezed each of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, making her coo with excitement. If anybody interrupted this, he was going to have a nervous breakdown. He licked her until he started to lose feeling in his tongue, not even missing a beat when she opened the pack of Raisinets. "Chocolate and sex," she whispered. "My own wish has just been granted." He kept licking, turning down her offer of some of the chocolate covered raisins. "We need to fuck," she finally said. "Uh-huh," said Greg, his face still buried between her legs. "How do you want to do this?" He wanted to bend her over the seat and thrust away, but that seemed kind of dangerous. "On my lap," he said. "Okay." Greg sat back down in his seat. He quietly unfastened his pants and slid them down to his knees, along with his underwear. It felt good to free his erection. "Do I need protection?" he asked. "I've got a condom in my wallet." "Don't worry about it. I'm supernatural. You won't catch anything and I won't get pregnant." "That's what I figured. But it was only polite to offer." "You're a good man." On-screen, the hero and heroine were yelling at each other about something pretentious. Their shouting covered the sound as Vivian rubbed her ass against his

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tremendously hard cock, and then sat down on his lap, facing the screen. He slid deep into her wet vagina, confident that his eyes were bugging out of his head. She was so tight. And warm. "Oooohhhhh God," he moaned, unable to keep from vocalizing how good this felt. She began to gently bounce on his lap. The chair was squeaking. Greg raised himself just a bit, and the squeaking diminished but didn't stop altogether. Don't turn around, people, don't turn around, please don't turn around, just watch the movie, enjoy the Oscar-caliber performances, engross yourselves in the fine writing… He reached around and cupped her breasts as they fucked in the seat. But he also tilted his body to the right just a bit, so he could watch the other people in the theater. Vivian couldn't necessarily be counted on to raise the proper alarm. She placed her hands on the armrests, bracing herself, and bounced against him more rapidly. It felt sensational. Too sensational. Greg rarely had this problem, but he could feel his orgasm approaching much more quickly than he'd anticipated. "I'm gonna come," he whispered. Vivian pushed against him harder. "Me too." He thrust up harder to meet her. Don't make the seat squeak. Don't make the seat squeak. Don't make the seat squeak. Greg bit his lower lip. He was only seconds away. "I'm almost there," Vivian told him. "I'm almost—" She pitched forward and slapped her hands over her mouth as she started to cry out. Greg thrust into her as hard as he could, biting down on his own hand to keep from howling as he came inside that wet, hot pussy. He was coming so hard that he didn't even care if the people turned around and caught them in the act, and having Vivian thrash against him in her own orgasm only made the experience that much more intense. The seat squeaked like crazy. When it was finally over, Greg collapsed back in the seat, completely spent. Vivian twisted around in his lap, kissed him on the lips, and then got off him. Her ass looked fantastic in the dim light from the movie screen. Greg pulled on his underwear and pants. Vivian, cheating, snapped her fingers and was suddenly fully dressed. She sat down next to him and nibbled on his ear. "Have fun?" she asked. "Oh yeah. Did anybody see us?" "I'm not sure. Did they turn around?" "Not that I saw."

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Chapter Five They returned to Greg's apartment, talked for a while, and then decided to take a nap. Vivian fell asleep right away and Greg lay naked in bed, spooning her while he thought about the situation. The sex was fantastic. No doubt about that. Physically, Vivian was absolutely perfect. Of course, that was the whole point of her existence. She was fun to be around. Frustrating, yeah, even maddening and insanity-causing, but definitely fun. Yet as he kissed her shoulder, he suddenly kept thinking about the fact that he didn't love her. This was an unexpected psychological twist. Love should not have even been a consideration. After all, she was part of a leprechaun wish. He wasn't supposed to love her. He was supposed to have as much wild sex as he possibly could before the wish expired. When a woman mysteriously appeared in his bed and pressured him into a public fuck, it was safe to say that love was never meant to be part of the equation. He understood that, and couldn't figure out why it bothered him all of a sudden. It wasn't like he was some hopeless romantic, staring moon-faced out the window waiting for his one true love. He'd slept with plenty of women he didn't love, and one that he didn't even like just because she had such great tits, although he did feel guilty about it afterwards. So after having great sex in the movie theater, why was he lying here worrying about his lack of emotional attachment? You got laid, and you're gonna get laid some more. Enjoy it while you can. Stop being such a weenie. Why was he being such a weenie? Why, in the one sexual relationship of his life where love should be the least important, was it worrying him? He thought about that as he lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Then he figured it out. Here he was, with his perfect woman, and he didn't love her. They didn't stand a chance of living happily ever after. After being with Vivian, how could any other woman compare? How could he have a real relationship with anybody else after this? What a stupid-ass thing to worry about. This is your time to fuck. Fuck as much as you can. You should be fucking right now instead of lying here in bed being all whiny and soul-searchy. You need a good solid kick in the ass. Most guys would give up their favorite testicle to be in your situation.

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He kissed Vivian's shoulder again. It was a pretty dumb thing to worry about. He didn't need to worry about love; he needed to worry about the fact that he was so obsessed with the sexual element that he was willing to risk everything for it. If he kept going like this, he was certain to get caught in a situation where the solution wasn't just to run from a cranky librarian. Actually, the lack of love was a good thing, because it would make it that much easier to put this demented relationship behind him! He spooned her for about an hour, but never did fall asleep.

***** Greg staggered into the office of Hansen, Tennerson & Hansen the next morning, bleary eyed and exhausted. He'd had sex with Vivian in a park, another restaurant, a Laundromat, and almost in the dairy section of a grocery store. In the Laundromat, he'd taken her from behind against a dryer, missing getting caught by seconds. This was completely nuts. "You look like crap," said Harold Hansen, Jr. Harold was in his early thirties like Greg, and they'd opened the firm with the elder Harold Hansen two years ago. He added a third packet of sugar to his coffee and took a sip. "Rough night?" "You could say that." "Get any?" "Yeah, actually." "No kidding? The wife gave me some last night, too. Surprised the living shit out of me. Must be something in the air. Anybody I know?" Greg shook his head and poured himself a cup of coffee. "One night stand?" "Not exactly. She's from out of town." "How hot is she? Scale of one to ten." "Ten, without a doubt." "Bullshit. You scored with a ten?" "Yep." Greg took a sip. The coffee burned his tongue, but that made him feel a bit more alert. "Was she good? Do anything freaky?" Greg shrugged. "Nah." "You hesitated before you denied it. You did freaky stuff, didn't you? What was it? Food? Restraints? Toys?" "Nothing freaky." "Special guest appearances?" "No." "You're holding back. You videotaped it, didn't you?"

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"I certainly did not." "I can tell when you're lying. You videotaped it. You probably edited it, added a soundtrack, and dubbed it into different languages for the foreign market, you kinky bastard." "No, nothing like that." "Aha!" said Harry, adding yet another sugar to his coffee. "So it was like something else. There was role-playing involved, wasn't there? You wore a gladiator outfit, didn't you?" "No." "Then you dressed up like a cartoon character." "No." "Well, shit, you did something. Narrow it down for me. You did it in this office, didn't you?" "No." "Somewhere else public?" "No." "You're lying. I can tell when you're lying. You did her in public. I must say, I am shocked." He tore open another packet. "We really need to get stronger sugar in this place. Where'd you do her?" "None of your business." "Aha! Confirmation! Where was it?" "Nowhere." "Where?" "A movie theater," said Greg, lowering his voice even though there was nobody else in the room. "Which movie?" "Trusting Sasha." "I hear that sucked." "The ending wasn't bad." "Wow. So she's pretty much corrupted you, huh?" "No. Well…no." Greg lowered his voice some more. "Okay, let's speak hypothetically. You've met the most beautiful woman in the world, the absolute perfect woman—" "Buffy the Vampire Slayer?" "Buffy's your perfect woman?" "Hell yeah. Have you watched that girl kick?"

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"Anyway, it doesn't matter who it is, but let's say that you've met your perfect woman. She'll have sex with you anytime you want, but only in public, and only if there's danger of getting caught." "That doesn't sound like Buffy." "It doesn't have to be Buffy. What would you do?" Harry thought for a moment. "That's kind of a weird kink. She'll only do it in public?" "Only in public, yeah." "If she looked like Buffy, I'd do it on a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade." "What if you had political aspirations?" "I don't." "But this is hypothetical." Harry sighed. "Why is it that every conversation about my having sex with Buffy has to be hypothetical?" "I just don't think it's worth the risk of getting caught. And I don't love her." "Uh, so?" "That's exactly what I was trying to tell myself: 'Uh, so?' But it's not working." Harry shook his head and chuckled. "Greg, buddy, love has nothing to do with this. She's a freaky exhibitionist chick. Get what you can get while the getting is good." "I know." "Is she really a ten?" "Eleven, probably." "Damn. Your life is awesome."

***** "I'm home," Greg announced as he opened the door of his apartment just after seven in the evening. "In here, lover," Vivian called out from the bathroom. Greg tossed his briefcase on the sofa and glanced in the bathroom. Vivian was lying in the tub, enjoying a bubble bath. She gathered a handful of suds and blew them at him. "How was your day?" "Filled with lots of boring lawyer stuff. How was yours?" "Not too bad. I touched myself quite a bit." "Sounds productive." "Well, you know, just keeping myself frisky for you." She sat up and pushed some of the suds out of the way, exposing her breasts. "Remember these?" "Oh yeah."

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"Would you like to make use of them?" "Here?" Greg asked, excitedly. "Of course not. How about a dance club?" "You know, I have to say, as much as I enjoyed yesterday, I'm still very uncomfortable with this whole setup. There are only so many times we can do this before I end up in jail." "So we're back to protesting, huh?" "Yeah. I think so." "That's just silly," said Vivian. "No, actually, it's extremely practical," Greg insisted. "Every time we do it increases the chances that we'll get caught the next time." "That's incorrect. Overall, yes, if you do it fifty times, your odds are much higher for getting caught than if you only to do it five times; however, that doesn't increase your chances of any individual session resulting in getting caught. So, for example, your thirty-seventh public fuck is no more likely to get you caught than your thirty-eighth. It's like flipping a coin. The odds of getting heads ten times in a row are quite remote, but if you get heads nine times in a row, your chances of flipping heads on the next try are still fifty-fifty." "Oh," said Greg. "So let's go fuck." "Yeah, but the odds are still…ah, screw it. Let's go."

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Chapter Six Greg liked to go out and have a good time, but he really wasn't one for crowded, noisy dance clubs. However, this one was cranking out some really great 80's tunes, and even though Greg wasn't much of a dancer, the energy on the dance floor was contagious and he found himself getting astonishingly funky. Vivian, of course, moved flawlessly in her black skirt, and even seemed to know all of the correct lyrics. Greg noticed several guys staring at her, and had to admit that he enjoyed the waves of jealousy that were clearly emanating from the unfortunate souls who had probably never even seen a leprechaun, much less caught one. In the middle of something by the Go-Go’s, Vivian put her arms around his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist. She gave him a passionate kiss on the lips, but Greg was too shocked to return it. "You barely weigh anything!" he said. "Just making it easy for you." "Well, it's weird." "What about this?" She pushed herself up so that her legs were resting on his shoulders and her crotch was in his face. Greg quickly placed his hands on her ass to keep her steady, even though she seemed to be perfectly balanced. "Don't do that!" he said. "People are staring!" "Just keep dancing. Don't lose your groove." "Vivian, I mean it. Get down." "I'm not wearing any panties." "I can see that!" She tossed her skirt over his head. Greg tried to pull her down, but she was firmly locked onto him and clearly not going anywhere. He could feel the heat from her pussy, smell its musky scent, but there was absolutely no way in hell that he was going to partake of it right here on a crowded dance floor. Around him, people were whistling and applauding. Greg released Vivian's ass and tried to get his head out from underneath her skirt. The cloth was sticking to his head as if by vacuum power. Oh my God, she's trying to suffocate me! He stumbled around the dance floor, miraculously not crashing into anybody. The other club patrons were now clapping in a rhythm and chanting, "Go for it! Go for it! Go for it!"

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The song ended. Vivian jumped off of him as the crowd's rhythmic clapping turned into enthusiastic applause. Greg stared at the floor, cheeks burning, and followed Vivian as she gracefully moved to a corner table. He sat down next to her. "You hate me, don't you?" "No. I like you. I was expecting a little bit of tongue action, though. I guess I should have scooted closer." "Listen to me," said Greg, keeping his voice as stern as he could manage. "Don't ever, ever do something like that again." "You can't tell me you didn't have fun." "I can, actually. I can tell you in no uncertain terms that I didn't have fun. That kind of behavior is best left to drunken idiots." "A drunken idiot wouldn't have had the grace or balance necessary to pull off something like that. He would've fallen on his ass. Watch…that drunken idiot over there looks like he's going to try it with his girlfriend. His ass will be on the floor in ten seconds." Greg slammed his fist on the table. "I mean it, Vivian. You have to knock this shit off." "It's not my fault you made the wish." "Hey, all I did was nod when the leprechaun said he was going to grant my greatest desire. I know damn well that I didn't wish for some lunatic lady to show up and destroy my life." Vivian looked genuinely hurt. "You think I'm destroying your life?" "Yes! From my point of view, it looks like a full-on, dedicated assault." "I just wanted you to have fun." "Well, I'm not." "Okay. I understand. I need to use the ladies' room. If you'll promise not to run off and leave me, I promise I'll behave from now on. Deal?" She looked so deeply hurt that for a moment Greg was almost ready to offer to go back out on the dance floor and lick her pussy. But he didn't. Instead, he extended his hand. "Deal." Vivian shook his hand, grinned, and headed off to the restroom. Greg wondered if she needed to use the restroom when she was in her natural form, whatever that was. Then he decided that he probably shouldn't be thinking about such matters. He had to put an end to this, once and for all. Whatever it took to complete this wish, he needed to do it. This thing with Vivian was headed for disaster, and as a formerly responsible adult, he needed to avert that disaster before it was too late.

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He looked around the club. Nobody seemed to be paying any further attention to him, except for an adorable brunette seated alone three tables away. She was a bit overweight but not in any way unattractive, and Greg wondered how she could be alone in a place like this. Her boyfriend was probably in the restroom or getting drinks. She gave him a shy wave. Greg waved back. Was it considered cheating to flirt with somebody if the person you were currently with wasn't of human origin? Go over and talk to her. Yeah, right, let's piss off Vivian, why don't we? She's probably got all kinds of curses and death spells and flesh-disintegrating powers. The brunette held his stare. Greg looked away. He had to focus on the current problem. Vivian couldn't be his public love slave forever, could she? There had to be a point at which the wish was officially granted. Or maybe there was a way to get rid of a leprechaun wish. He didn't know much about leprechauns or Irish tales…you had the pot of gold, of course, and the blarney stone that you were supposed to kiss or something like that, and the four-leaf clover, but what else? He needed to do research. Not in a library, though. He glanced back at the brunette. She was watching the dance floor, looking lonely. Greg jumped when he realized that Vivian was standing next to him. He hadn't even seen her approach. "Ready to go?" she asked. "Yeah." "Got another place picked out?" asked Vivian, taking his hand as they stepped out of the club and walked along the sidewalk toward the parking garage. "I don't think so. We should just go home." "Oooooh, does somebody have the grumpies? I told you I was sorry." "I know you're sorry. I'm sorry I snapped at you. But I can't do this anymore, I mean it." "You don't mean it." "I do. I one-hundred-percent mean it." Vivian stopped walking. "Okay, Greg. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you never want to have sex with me ever again, and that you want me to leave and never return." Greg fixed her with a steely-eyed stare. "I never want to have…" He trailed off, unable to finish. "Dammit!"

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Vivian resumed walking. "See?" "No, no, I can do this! Let me look in your eyes again!" He followed her along the sidewalk, cursing himself. He'd never had any sympathy for people who were too stupid to get out of dysfunctional relationships, and now here he was in the mother of all dysfunctional relationships, being just as stupid. Christ, he should tell her he never wanted to see her again and then go back and talk to the brunette. "No, really," he said, tugging on her arm. Vivian turned to face him and he stared into her eyes again. "I truly do not want to…aw, fuck!" "Gotta work on that willpower." Greg couldn't believe that he was letting this happen. He was weak. He was a weak, weak person. No…he was pussy whipped! Just like his brother! Take control of your life. Be strong. I am man, hear me roar! "I'm going to have a seat in the lobby of that very nice hotel up ahead," Vivian informed him. "If you wish to accompany me, you're more than welcome." "I don't want to," said Greg, knowing perfectly well that he'd be accompanying her to the hotel lobby. He watched her go. The gentle sway of her ass as she walked made his mouth water, and he felt himself start to get hard. There were worse things in life than being pussy whipped. After all, he could be a severed head living in a jar. He hurried after her.

***** The lobby of the hotel was well lit, opulent, and certainly the type of establishment that did not take kindly to visible intercourse. Vivian walked through the doors, nodded politely to the doorman, and took a seat on a couch directly across the lobby from the registration desk. Greg sat down next to her. "Here?" he asked. "Yes." "Right here? In plain sight?" "Under this blanket," she said, handing him a folded pink blanket that he was sure hadn't been there before. "Does it have to be pink?" he asked. "Yes. It does." Greg scooted closer to her, unfolded the blanket, and draped it over both of their laps. As with most places in Florida, the lobby had the air conditioner running full blast, so it was a bit chilly, but the blanket still seemed out of place. One of the desk clerks, a cheerful-looking woman in her forties, smiled at them.

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Greg bunched up the blanket a bit so that it wouldn't be immediately obvious what his hand was doing underneath, and then moved his hand over Vivian's knee. She spread her legs without pretense. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he told her. "I'm a bit surprised myself, to be completely honest," Vivian admitted. Doing his best to maintain a casual demeanor, Greg moved his hand between Vivian's legs. He stroked her pussy with the tip of his index finger. Completely wet. "So do you have total moisture control?" he asked. "Maybe. Trade secret." He stroked her some more, and then slid his finger inside. He half-expected her to arch her back and moan or do something else to call attention to them, but thankfully she did nothing but wink at him. He worked his finger in deeper. It felt so smooth, soft, and warm. The desk clerk looked up from her book and smiled at them again. Greg smiled back. "That feels so good," Vivian told him. "You like being this naughty, don't you?" Greg didn't respond, but began to stroke her wet clitoris with his thumb. She sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes. As he stroked her more rapidly, she moved her hand onto his crotch, and then unbuttoned his fly. A bellboy walked past them, pushing a full luggage cart. He nodded politely as he passed. "I did mention how good this feels, didn't I?" asked Vivian. "I wouldn't want to withhold such crucial information." By now she'd freed his cock. She slid two of her own fingers into her pussy, gasping as she did so, and then withdrew them and wrapped her wet fingers around his penis. They sat there, stroking each other, breathing heavily. The desk clerk regarded them closely, frowned, and then returned her attention to her book. Greg was fully erect. He wanted her so badly. "We have to find someplace else," he said. "What for?" "So I can fuck you." "Oh, that sounds good. Keep your cock out. Just cover yourself with the blanket." Vivian wiped her hand on the underside of the blanket and stood up. She adjusted her skirt and walked away from the sofa. Greg followed her, feeling ridiculous with a pink blanket wrapped around his waist, but eagerly looking forward to the next activity.

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"Nice blankey," said an obvious tourist wearing a Universal Studios t-shirt, a fanny pack, and a camera around his neck. "Thanks." Greg and Vivian walked around the corner into a long hallway. They proceeded past the restrooms, and Greg stopped at a broom closet. "How about in there?" Vivian pushed open the door and peeked inside. "I don't know. It seems kind of secure." "Not if we left the door ajar. Somebody could barge in at any second." "Yeah, but I'm not sure that's gonna cut it." "I could go back into the lobby and spill a drink. They'd have to come here eventually." Vivian laughed. "Okay, I'll give you this one. Let's go."

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Chapter Seven They ducked into the broom closet and Greg pulled the door almost all the way shut. He dropped the pink blanket. Their arms were immediately around each other in a tight embrace, kissing passionately, tongues exploring. Though he knew it was true that somebody could barge in at any second, the broom closet did seem relatively safe, and he felt like he could let himself go. He continued kissing her, his hands moving over her arms and sides. She seemed able to anticipate his movements, and their kisses were hungry, intense. He moved his hands over her firm breasts, then leaned down and kissed them through the fabric…which suddenly vanished. She stood there, topless. Greg considered making some sort of comment about her stealing jobs from local sex participants, but couldn't come up with a sufficiently amusing way to phrase it. Instead he locked his mouth on her breast. "Ooooh, you do that so good," she said. "Suck it. Lick it all over." Greg did as he was told, running his tongue completely over each of her breasts, not missing a single spot and doing multiple passes over certain key areas. He realized that he was making primate-style grunting noises and tried to tone it down. He kneeled down and kissed her tight belly. Her skirt fell away as soon as he touched it. It was too dark to see much, but he had a good memory. "Are you up for some sixty-nine?" she asked. Greg chuckled. "Always. But I don't think there's room." "Sure there is. Remember, I can be very light, or even weightless." She squatted down and put her hands on the floor, then walked up the shelves behind her until she was doing a full handstand. She did a quick turn, and suddenly her pussy was right up against Greg's face. "Your talent knows no bounds," he said. "I know." She pushed herself into the air, wrapped her arms around Greg's waist, and took his penis into her mouth. Greg wasted no time in darting his tongue over her pussy and the inside of her thighs. Vivian sucked on him rapidly and noisily. Giving her pleasure while he was receiving such exquisite pleasure himself was such an overpowering sensation that Greg worried he might drop her. But, hey, he wasn't really holding her anyway. He rolled his tongue (a genetic trait he'd always been proud of) and licked the center of her pussy, almost probing it. He ran his hands over her ass as he did so,

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thrilling to its perfection. He parted her buttocks and kneaded them deeply, picking up his pace as she began to suck more rapidly on his cock. He could feel sweat trickling down his forehead as he licked her. He just couldn't get enough. They could get locked in this closet for the next month and he'd be perfectly happy to just stand here, engulfed between her flawless legs. Vivian kept on sucking him, not relenting for an instant. Greg pulled away, taking a few moments to catch his breath, which was hard to do with Vivian sucking on him with such vigor. He almost cried out but caught himself in time. Vivian released her grip on his waist and placed her hands against the floor again. She did an upside-down hop backward, spun in a 180-degree turn, and then walked back down the shelf into a crouching position. She stood back up, put her arms around Greg, and kissed him deeply. "I want you inside me," she said. "I can do that." She kissed him once more, then let go of him and turned around. She reached for the shelf, bracing herself against it, parted her legs, and bent over slightly. Greg stepped forward and reached around her, cupping her breasts with each hand. She was so wet that he didn't need any assistance guiding himself in, and slowly slid his cock all the way into her, biting down on the side of his mouth to keep from moaning with pleasure. "Ooooooh…" she said. "You feel huge." He began a steady pace of thrusting in and out. He tweaked her nipples with his fingers as he fucked her, his waist slapping against her ass with each stroke. He gritted his teeth and struggled to stay in control. "Oh, fuck me," she whispered. "Fuck me hard. Put it in me deep." Dirty talk like that, though somewhat lacking in creativity, was always a tremendous turn-on for Greg. He didn't even care if somebody burst in on them. It'd be worth it. Any price would be a fair one for this experience. He could lose his job, lose his chances for a political career, wind up homeless in a gutter, and it wouldn't matter, because he'd always have the memory of this excruciatingly pleasurable sexual experience. He fucked her harder. "Yeah, just like that," Vivian said. "You're a stud, you know that?" Greg didn't respond. It seemed kind of egotistical to agree that he was a stud, even if right now he felt like the Ultimate Stud Warlord. He squeezed her breasts and kissed her back as he thrust into her, harder and harder. "You're trying to make me come, aren't you?" she gasped. "You naughty boy."

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Greg gave her breasts one last squeeze, slid his hands down her sides, and tightly gripped Vivian's butt as he kept thrusting. "Have you ever fucked in water?" she asked. "A couple of times," Greg replied, not slowing his pace. "Fun, isn't it?" Greg had a pretty good idea where she was going with this. "You want to find a hot tub?" "No, this'll do." As he kept fucking her, he realized that the front of her body was starting to lift up, as if she were floating in liquid. He held her down and fucked some more, then guided her away from him and easily turned her around to face him. She spread her legs wide, pussy glistening. "This is really cool," Greg observed. With his hands on her waist, he pulled her floating body toward him, impaling her on his far from weightless but gravity-defying cock. He stood in place, pulling her back and forth, getting the best visual angle of himself fucking that he'd ever had in his life. "What do you think?" she asked. "Very acrobatic." He almost wanted to spin her in a circle, but since that would have caused her to smack her head on the floor, he refrained. Greg pulled her toward him with more and more force, making Vivian squeal. "Can you make me weightless, too?" he asked, panting. "No mid-air sex, sorry." "Damn." He put his hands on her ass as he continued to ram her into him, feeling himself get closer and closer to his release. "I'm gonna come," Vivian whispered. Her words were enough. Greg felt his own orgasm approach, and knew that there was no way in hell he was going to stop this one. "Oooooohhhh…oh God I'm gonna come…" said Vivian with a gasp. Greg slammed her into him as hard as he possibly could, over and over. Vivian closed her eyes, put her hand over her mouth, and let out a muffled cry just as Greg spurted into her, putting his head back and groaning with intense pleasure. He came so hard that Vivian slipped off of his cock and floated a few inches away from him as he continued to spray on her. They both said "Oh God!" simultaneously. Vivian said something that was incoherent but a definite expression of how good she was feeling at the moment.

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Greg stumbled backwards, nearly hitting the wall. He didn't think he'd ever come this much in his life. She was a goddess. He was going back to Ireland to round up every goddamn leprechaun in sight. "Oh, that was…" he said. "That was just…" "I know. I had fun, too." "I mean, I can't even…" The door opened. It was the tourist who'd complimented him on his pink blankey. "I knew it!" the tourist said, beaming. Then he snapped a photograph and ran off. "Shit!" Greg exclaimed. "Frozen shit on a stick!" He stood there for a split second, wondering when he'd become the kind of hillbilly who said something like "frozen shit on a stick", and then frantically struggled to get his clothes back on. "Son of a bitch! Mother of fuck! Damn, damn, damn!" "You should let him go," said Vivian. "I'm sure he's harmless." "Harmless? He practically got a fuckin' come shot!" Greg pulled up his pants and rushed out of the broom closet. He was screwed. He was so screwed. He saw the tourist disappear around the corner, toward the lobby, and took off after him. Maybe he wasn't screwed. Maybe the pervert was just going to put the picture in his photo album: "Here's me shaking hands with a Harpo Marx look-alike at Universal Studios, and here's me giving bunny ears to Mickey Mouse, and here's a post-coital couple in the broom closet at my hotel, and here's Aunt Margaret accidentally sitting on the cat." Greg tore across the tile floor, ignoring the stares of the other people in the lobby. The tourist pushed past the doorman and ran out onto the street. Greg did the same, and promptly collided with a young woman, knocking both of them to the ground. Greg smacked his head on the sidewalk and everything went black.

***** When Greg opened his eyes, he was lying on the same couch that he and Vivian had used to fondle each other. Vivian was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the adorable brunette from the dance club was crouched down next to him, looking concerned and holding an ice pack to his head. The doorman stood behind her. "Ow," Greg said. "Do you feel okay?" asked the brunette. "You hit your head pretty hard." "I'm fine," he said, sitting up. "How long have I been out?" "Just a couple of minutes. The hotel is getting you a doctor in case you have a concussion." "No need. I'm fine." He pushed himself to his feet and promptly collapsed back onto the couch. "You were at the club, right?"

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She nodded. "I'm Kimberly." "I'm Greg." He noticed that her arm was scratched up. "Oh, jeez, you're the one I crashed into! Are you okay? I'm so sorry!" "Don't worry about it; it's just a scratch. I'm a big girl." "Did you see what happened to the lady I was with?" "No. I didn't see her walk by. Maybe she went back up to your room." "Nah, we're not guests." Greg got back up to his feet and this time managed to stay upright. He shakily headed for the door. "I've got to go." "Sir, you really should stay where you are," said the doorman uncomfortably. "It's okay, I'm fine." "Sir, I'm going to have to insist." "No need to insist. I'll be going now." Kimberly followed him. "He's right, you really should lie back down." "It's okay. I hit my head all the time." Greg walked across the lobby, pushed open the door, and stepped out of the hotel. "He got away with your camera," said Kimberly. "I would have tried to get a description of him but I was lying on the ground." "It wasn't actually my…I mean, thanks." "Are you sure you're okay? Can I buy you a coffee or something?" Greg stopped walking. "Yeah, actually. That would be nice."

***** Greg and Kimberly sat down at a table with their coffee. Greg had tried to pay for it, using the argument that he'd been the jackass who caused both of them to get hurt, but Kimberly had insisted. "You know what's funny?" she asked. "I was kind of hoping I'd see you again. I didn't expect it to be quite so violent, of course, but I was hoping." "Really?" "Yeah. When I saw you at the club I just felt this amazing…" She trailed off. "Sorry." "Sorry why?" "I mean, you're obviously taken. I just thought it was really cool what you did on the dance floor. I wish I had that kind of courage." "Courage had nothing to do with it." "She's very pretty. How long have you been together?" "Not long." Kimberly looked into his eyes, then turned away, smiling and blushing. "I'm sorry. This is completely unlike me. I don't go to places like that, ever. And I don't offer to buy coffee for strange guys, and I definitely don't offer to buy coffee for strange guys with

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beautiful girlfriends. I should be at home right now, reading a romance novel and mentally superimposing my picture in the heroine's description." She frowned. "I really wish I hadn't told you that. That just makes me sound beyond pathetic. But at least you're getting a free coffee out of socializing with me." "You're not pathetic at all," said Greg. "You want to hear about pathetic? For the past couple of days I've—" Ix-nay on the ish-way, umbass-day. "—I've just been really pathetic." "Well, your kind of pathetic looks like fun." "It has its moments, but overall, kinda pathetic." Kimberly's cell phone rang. She gave Greg an apologetic look and answered. "Hello? Just getting coffee. Again? All right, I'll be right over." She sighed and hung up. "My sister is going through a nasty divorce, and she's locked herself in the bathroom for the third time this week. I have to go." "Oh, okay. I, uh, hope she lets you in." Kimberly smiled and stood up. "I'll be seeing you, hopefully. Bye." She left the coffee shop. Greg sat there for a moment, finishing his drink. Kimberly seemed really nice, definitely the kind of woman he'd want to date, even with the selfesteem problem. And he had to break off the wish thing with Vivian before it destroyed his life…if it hadn't already. The sex was practically life-altering, but there was no future, and he got way too obsessed and careless when he was around her. Maybe he should give Kimberly a call sometime. Easier said than done, considering that he hadn't gotten her phone number. Or her last name. He threw out the rest of his coffee and went home.

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Chapter Eight "Have a nice evening, lover?" asked Vivian as Greg walked into his apartment. She was wearing the sexiest blue lace bra and panties he had ever seen. "Could you change into something…Victorian? We need to talk and I don't want to be distracted." "Distracted by little ol' me? How could such a thing be possible?" "I'm serious! I can't do this anymore." Vivian yawned. "Heard it." "No, really. This was the last straw. That asshole has pictures of us! Who knows what he'll do with them?" "Oh, yeah, that," said Vivian, biting her lip nervously. "I'm not sure if what I have to say will make you feel better or worse." "What?" "I don't show up in photographs. Which is good, because there won't be a picture of us having sex, but bad, because it will look like you were in the closet playing with yourself." Greg stared at her. "Sorry," she said. "Oh, this is nice. This is just wonderful. Happy, happy day for me!" Greg began to pace around the apartment. "This is like 'The Monkey's Paw', isn't it? Where the family gets three wishes, and they wish for money and it kills their son, and they wish him back from the dead but he's all gnarly and stuff, and the whole point is that wishes really fuckin' suck." "Technically, you never see that he's all gnarly and stuff," Vivian corrected. "It's implied, but never shown." "What I'm saying is that my wish is like that. Oh, sure, a few public fucks with the woman of my dreams sounds like the ultimate joy ride, but instead it's a complete nightmare!" "You can't tell me you didn't have fun. I heard you making happy sounds during our closet tryst." "I did have fun. But I can sure as hell say that the consequences aren't worth it. Oh, I can't wait for that picture to show up on the Internet. Maybe people will give me a fun new nickname, like Masturbation Man or Wanker Lad or something like that." "You seem upset. Maybe we should talk later." "Look me in the eyes," Greg said.

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Vivian folded her arms across her chest and looked him in the eyes. "Yes?" "I want you to leave," he said, holding her gaze. She stared back at him for a long moment. "No." "No?" "No. Request denied." "What the hell do you mean, request denied? I looked you in the eyes and said that I wanted you to leave!" "Yes, you did. But I choose not to. Sorry." "What?" "Wanna fuck?" "I want you out of here! You know what I'm like? I'm like a cocaine addict, snorting up a line of pure uncut Vivian. So I'm going cold turkey." "You can't. Your wish hasn't been granted yet." "Yes, it has! You say I wanted sex in public. We had plenty of sex in public!" "And we'll have plenty more." "When does it end?" Greg demanded. "When I feel that you're satisfied." "Okay, I'm satisfied. I came really hard. Now leave." "Nope. And I'm not dressing Victorian, either. Victoria's Secret, I can do." "I just can't believe this." "Well, next time you catch a little green leprechaun, you'll make sure that you have a slightly different greatest desire in your heart, now won't you?" "I can't get rid of you, can I? I'm stuck with you forever. I'll be ninety-eight years old, having sex with you in the TV room of my nursing home." "Maybe. Viagra opens a lot of doors." "I'm going to bed." "Me too." "Then I'm sleeping on the couch." "Suit yourself. I'll be sleeping naked, possibly on my hands and knees." She snapped her fingers and the bra and panties disappeared. "You're free to look, but don't touch." Vivian wandered into his bedroom, glancing at him over her shoulder and giving him a wicked smile as she vanished from sight. Greg flopped down onto his couch. You're doomed.

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"Doomed" seemed like a harsh word. Vivian was sexy as hell, after all. Maybe he'd dump the whole career thing and just be a drifter, roaming from city to city, fucking Vivian across the nation. The fact that he'd considered that for even a split second was incredibly depressing. He had to get rid of her somehow. There had to be some sort of antidote to leprechaun wishes. Whatever it took, he'd find it and get his life back.

***** "You look really tired," Harry observed as Greg sat zombie-like in front of his desk. "Too busy for sleep last night, huh?" "Something like that." "Hey, you won't believe the picture I've got." Greg turned around so quickly that he almost hurt his neck. "What picture?" he demanded. "Jeez, chill out. It's a picture of Lucy Maven whacking the crap out of her exhusband's Mercedes with a bowling pin. A neighbor heard the commotion and snapped a photo. I don't know why she even had a bowling pin in the house, but it'll make our case go a hell of a lot more smoothly." "Oh. Good." "You seem kind of out of it this morning. Anything to do with all of the frantic sex?" Greg turned around in his chair. "Harry, what do you know about magic?" "You mean David Copperfield or the spark of true love or what?" "Spells. Curses." "Not much. When my wife's sister flew down for a visit we went to this place downtown…The Gargling Gargoyle or something like that. It had all kinds of freaky magic-type stuff. No, the name couldn't have been The Gargling Gargoyle, that's too stupid, but it was something close to that. Why?" "Just wondering." "Your girlfriend wants to have sex in a magic shop, doesn't she?" "Yep. That's it."

***** After looking up the place in the yellow pages, Greg took an early lunch. As he walked to his car, he saw Kimberly across the street. "Hey!" he shouted. "Hey, Kimberly!" She looked around to see who was calling out to her, noticed Greg, and waved. "Hold on a second!" he shouted, hurrying over to the crosswalk. When the light changed he ran across the street to her.

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"Wow, I can't believe this," said Kimberly. "Are you following me?" "No, I just left for lunch." "That's so weird. I never get out to this part of town. I took the day off work so I could get my parents an anniversary present. Where're you headed for lunch?" "Well, first I'm going to this place called The Glass Gargoyle. Have you ever been there?" "I've passed by it a couple of times, I think. Downtown, right?" "Yeah. Are you busy? We could get something to eat afterwards, if you wanted to tag along." "What about your girlfriend?" "This wouldn't be a date or anything. Besides, it's not really working out. I slept on the couch last night." "Oh. Yeah, sure, I'd be happy to come with you."

***** "That's just so weird, us meeting again like this," said Kimberly as they drove along the highway. "I was thinking about you all last night." "Really?" "I can't believe I said that. I sound like a stalker, don't I? I never stalk. Never in my life have I stalked, I swear." "I believe you." "But I thought we made a connection last night. Even though we only talked for a few minutes and you knocked me to the ground, I just felt like there was something there, which again is completely freaky because I never get these electric spark kinds of feelings." "Never?" "Never. I don't believe in love at first sight. I'm very practical. But seeing you and your girlfriend last night, I guess it just tapped into one of my fantasies…again, something I can't believe I just told you." "What fantasy?" "Nothing. It's too embarrassing." "Tell me." "It's just my exhibitionist side speaking, which is bizarre since I am such an introvert it isn't even funny. But being out in public, doing stuff like that with people watching…why the hell am I telling you this? Oh, by the way, you're drifting." Greg swerved the automobile back into the proper lane. Holy shit, Vivian's possessed a human host!

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No, no, that couldn't be it, but this was getting way too weird. Not that normalcy had been a major part of this life these past couple of days.

***** The shelves of The Glass Gargoyle were piled high with…crap. Crap galore. More crap than any crap collector could handle. Greg was certain that this had been a wasted trip. "May I help you?" asked the thirty-something guy behind the front counter. He was wearing blue jeans and a polo shirt. You'd think he'd at least wear a pointy hat with stars. "Hi," said Greg, walking over to the counter as Kimberly browsed the crap. "What can you tell me about leprechauns?" "Ummmm…they wear green, they have pots of gold, I think they have red hair, and they speak with an Irish accent." "What about their magic? Specifically, wish-granting abilities." "To be honest, we handle a lot of Wicca and voodoo here, but not so much leprechaun magic." "I understand. I'm an attorney, and I have a client who claims to have captured a leprechaun and been granted a wish. My client is, of course, mentally deranged, but as a good attorney it's my job to help him if at all possible." "What'd he wish for?" "His greatest desire. Actually, if you want to get really picky, he didn't even make that wish, the leprechaun did it for him. Is that even proper leprechaun etiquette? Anyway, he claims that his wish was granted, but now he's changed his mind. How could he get rid of the woman?" "I guess he could fart in bed." Actually, that didn't sound like such a bad idea. If this didn't pan out, maybe he'd try it. "But let's say that he wanted to try a non-flatulent approach. What could he do?" "You say that the guy is mentally deranged, right? I'll just sell you a five-buck brass trinket. Tell him it has the power of the King Leprechaun and blocks all wishes." "Okay, I could do that," Greg admitted. "But let's say he really, truly believes in this leprechaun, and would know if the trinket was a fake." "How would he know that? I'll get you one that looks good. It'll have a crystal in the center and everything." "Fine, but let's say, for argument's sake, that it needed to have magical powers. Not real magical powers, of course, since I don't believe in that stuff, but the kind of magical powers that you would believe in." The guy behind the counter smiled. "You're the mentally deranged client with the leprechaun, aren't you?"

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Greg glanced around to see if Kimberly had heard, but she'd disappeared behind one of the shelves. He leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. "You've gotta help me. I caught a leprechaun in Ireland and he offered to grant my greatest desire if we'd let him keep his gold and when I got back my perfect woman showed up and offered me all the sex I could handle but said that it had to be in public and so help me God I did it a few times and some asshole took my picture but it's going to look like I'm jerking off because she claims not to photograph and I just want my life back and you've gotta help me, please!" "Your greatest desire was for sex in public?" "Yes, apparently." "Did you do it anyplace cool?" "It doesn't matter. Can you help me?" "I think I can." The guy made a sweeping gesture around the store. "See everything on those shelves? That's junk we sell the tourists. What you need is something from this shelf." He turned around and began to peruse the well-stocked shelf behind him. "Like I said, we don't have any specific anti-leprechaun magic, but your spell is sexual in nature. Now, if you'd said that a witch had done this to you, I'd have counter-spells out the wazoo, but as it stands I'm going to have to go with something a bit more general." He lifted a small but extremely ornate golden box from the bottom shelf and carefully set it on the counter. It was carved with hundreds of small symbols that Greg didn't recognize but that looked sufficiently mystical. The guy took a set of keys out of his pocket, selected a tiny golden one, and unlocked the box. He raised the lid with a flourish. Inside was a thin golden bracelet, also marked with similar symbols. "What's that?" asked Kimberly, making Greg jump. "This is an incredibly powerful charm," said the guy. "If you feel that somebody has used sex magic against you, all you have to do is touch them with the bracelet while you're wearing it, and the spell will be broken." "How much?" asked Greg. "To buy it? One million dollars plus sales tax." "You're joking, right?" The guy shook his head. "I'm guessing you'll be interested in our rental plan." "Yes. How much to rent it?" "Five thousand dollars a day." "How do I know you aren't just trying to rent me some worthless junk?" "I'll show you what we can do here in The Glass Gargoyle." He dipped his finger in a small tin of powder and touched Kimberly on the arm.

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Her eyes widened and she turned to Greg. "Fuck me with that hard, fat cock of yours! I need you to fuck my wet pussy before I—" She immediately stopped and returned her attention to the guy behind the counter as if nothing had happened. "I'll take it," said Greg. "Do you accept credit cards?" "Sure, if you have ID." "And how much for that powder? No, no, forget I said anything." Greg took out his Visa and his driver's license. The guy swiped his credit card and removed the bracelet from the box. "You need to have this back by this time tomorrow, or make arrangements to pay for an extra day. If it's not back at the scheduled time, your balls will fall off." "I understand," said Greg, slipping the bracelet around his wrist. The guy pointed to the shelf behind him. "See that purple vial? That's the antidote for if your balls fall off. It costs ten thousand dollars. Don't forget to return the bracelet." "I won't."

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Chapter Nine "You may be wondering why I just spent five thousand dollars to rent a bracelet that breaks sex magic spells," said Greg after he and Kimberly got back in his car. "I am, but I figured it was probably none of my business." "It's a very long story. No, actually, it's not all that long, but it's a very odd story. You wouldn't believe me even if I told you." "I might," said Kimberly. "A lot of strange things have been happening to me lately." "As strange as having a defective wish granted by a leprechaun?" "Uh, no." "Let's change the subject. I owe you a lunch, don't I? Tell me a little about yourself."

***** As they sat in the deli having enormous sandwiches, Greg realized that he really, really liked Kimberly. No, she wasn't his physical ideal like Vivian. And he didn't feel like it was love at first sight, as if he were gazing upon his soul mate, the one woman in the universe that was right for him. But he felt like Kimberly was somebody who could be a friend and a lover, and… That was it. That was why he couldn't feel anything more than obsessive lust for Vivian. Because there was no friendship involved! Well, the fact that she was a supernatural creature might have contributed to it, but mostly it was because he couldn't love somebody who wasn't also a friend. Wow. Kimberly felt the same connection, and said it often. But he truly got the sense that she was telling the truth, that this genuinely wasn't the kind of thing that happened to her, and that she was simultaneously confused and delighted by the turn of events. Greg had to wonder if there was supernatural intervention at work, maybe wishresidue or something. "When do you have to get back to work?" Kimberly asked. Greg checked his watch. They'd been talking for nearly forty-five minutes. "I'll just say I'm going through some documents at home." "Cool."

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Then he remembered Vivian. "However, I really should be getting back to my apartment. I've got something to take care of." "Oh, okay," said Kimberly, looking a bit disappointed. "I'm not blowing you off," Greg insisted. "I really do have something I need to finish before it's too late." "No, I understand." She smiled. "Will you call me tomorrow?" "I'll call you tonight." Then he thought about it. Maybe if he brought Kimberly home with him, he wouldn't need to touch Vivian with the bracelet. Maybe she'd see that he found somebody else and leave, sparing him the unpleasantness of destroying her magical spell. The guy at The Glass Gargoyle hadn't said if it hurt the spell caster or not. What if it sent her to some oblivion dimension or something? "Want to come back to my apartment?" he asked. "Not for sex," he hurriedly amended. "Just for company." "Sure, I'd love to." "Great. Let's go."

***** Greg slipped on the bracelet as he approached the front door of his apartment. "The woman from last night might be here, and it might be unpleasant," he warned. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Kimberly decided. "It'll be fine, though." "I don't want to get involved in a domestic dispute. You can just invite me back later. I guess I'll need a ride back to my car, though." "No, no, it's okay. If it gets ugly we'll leave. I promise." Kimberly didn't much look like she wanted to go into the apartment, but she also didn't look like she wanted to leave his side. Finally she nodded. "All right." He unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Vivian?" he called out. Silence. He walked inside. "Please, have a seat," he said to Kimberly, gesturing to the sofa. "Can I get you something to drink?" "Anything with caffeine and sugar." "Mountain Dew?" "Perfect." Greg did a quick walkthrough of the apartment, checking in each room. No sign of Vivian. He returned to the kitchen and got some glasses from the cupboard.

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Perhaps she was gone for good. Taking Kimberly home might have been the solution to all of his problems. That didn't seem so difficult. He could've saved five thousand bucks. He returned to the living room with two glasses of Mountain Dew and sat down on the couch next to Kimberly. "She's not around." "Do you live with her?" "No, she was just staying here for a couple of days." "She won't go psycho if she comes back and I'm here, will she?" Greg hadn't even considered that. But, no, Vivian was a bit controlling but she was anything but violent. "Nah. It'll be cool." "You have a very nice apartment," said Kimberly. "Thanks." "How long have you lived here?" "About eight months." "Do you bring a lot of women back here?" Greg shook his head. Kimberly shifted uncomfortably on the cushion. "I haven't had a date in over a year." "Seriously? Why not?" She shrugged. "Nobody asks me out." "That's twisted." "It's true. The guys I know, they all want the gorgeous model types with the perfect bodies. I'm not quite like that. Of course, I also have a tendency to forget how to talk when guys are around. That could have something to do with it." "You're beautiful." "You're just saying that." "No, I'm not." She looked deeply into his eyes. "You know, I don't think you are just saying that to be nice. That's really sweet. Thank you." "You're welcome. Feel free to compliment my looks if you want." "That would be too easy." "Well, not all of life has to be a challenge." Kimberly scooted closer to him on the couch. She set her drink on the coffee table, then took his glass and did the same with it. "I've never asked a guy this before," she said, "but can I kiss you?" "Yes." He put his arms around her, leaned in close, and gave her a tender kiss on the lips.

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"I was supposed to kiss you," she said. "Oh. My mistake. Carry on." Kimberly gave him a kiss that was every bit as tender and loving as the one he'd given her. Then she gave him another one, and tenderness wasn't involved. Moments later their bodies were a flurry of action. They kissed, groped, and squirmed on the couch like ravenous animals who'd spent the past few years locked in a cage on a vegetarian diet. Kimberly's kisses were completely unrestrained, as if she was scared that she might lose him and wanted to squeeze a lifetime of passion into about forty-seven seconds. But they kept kissing well past the forty-seven second mark. Kimberly reclined back on the cushions and Greg climbed on top of her, their lips and tongues never breaking contact. Vivian had the physical skills and timing down perfectly, but in terms of raw intensity, his experience with her just couldn't compare to this. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever been kissed like this before. He liked it. Greg wasn't sure how long they kissed before the first article of clothing (his right shoe) was shed. Ten minutes? Twenty? It didn't matter. His left shoe followed, and then Kimberly pulled off her shirt, leaving her own shoes on. She had large, full breasts and wore a faded tan bra. She also had a pierced navel. "Did that hurt?" Greg asked, hooking his pinky through the ring. "It's fake," said Kimberly, popping it off. "It makes me feel sexy and rebellious without really puncturing my stomach." Greg ran his hands over her stomach and kissed her navel. "Definitely sexy." "It is not." "You have no say in the matter," Greg said, before covering her stomach with dozens of kisses. Greg's socks and Kimberly's shoes went next. Then he slowly removed her socks, kissing her feet all over as he did so. Despite his total lack of a foot fetish, he had to admit that she had beautiful feet. He gently massaged them for a few minutes, then climbed back on top of her and returned to the passionate kissing, during which his own shirt made its way onto the floor. Kimberly planted numerous kisses on his chest, then moved her tongue in slow circles around his nipple, teasing it with her teeth. She gave the other nipple the same treatment as she ran her fingers all over his chest. His pants left the scene shortly thereafter. His full erection showed no mercy to his boxers. Kimberly's jeans followed the trend. The two of them lay on the couch in their underwear, hands exploring, mouths roaming, legs wrapped around each other. He cupped one of her breasts in his palm and kissed the other one through the fabric of her bra. Though not as blatant as his erection, her stiffened nipples were clearly visible, and they felt wonderful beneath his fingers and between his lips.

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He kissed her neck and nibbled her earlobes. "I feel like I'm in a fantasy," she said, softly. "It's been so long for me that it's almost surreal." "Fantasy or not, we're not going out in public dressed like this," said Greg. She giggled. "Nah, that's not my biggest fantasy." "What is?" "You don't want to know." "Yes, I do." "It's silly." "That's okay." "It's embarrassing." "I promise I won't laugh." "You'll think I'm weird." "I promise I won't think you're weird." Kimberly was silent for a moment, as if debating whether or not she should tell him, and then spoke. "Bubble wrap." "Excuse me?" "I've always wanted to have sex on bubble wrap. Sometimes I'll buy a sheet of it from an office supply store and just sit at home and pop every single one of them." "Big bubbles or little ones?" "It doesn't matter. Both are good." She grinned sheepishly. "I know, you're wondering how you ever got involved with a chick with a bubble wrap fetish." "I've got bubble wrap." "Don't tease me." "I've got bubble wrap in my office. A bunch of it. I mail lots of packages." Kimberly giggled, tried to say something, then giggled again. "I could go get it." "No, you don't have to do that for me." "It would be no problem. I mean this. The bubble wrap is in my office for the taking. I have no qualms whatsoever about not using it as packing material." "Go get it," she whispered. "I will." Greg climbed off of her and got off the couch, a bit embarrassed by the protruding front of his boxers now that they weren't actively making out. He hurried into his office, opened the closet door, and retrieved the large roll of bubble wrap from the top shelf. He popped one of the tiny bubbles in the corner, feeling a sense of childish glee.

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Before returning to the living room, he went to his bedroom and took a box of condoms out of his nightstand drawer. "Bubble wrap delivery!" he announced, entering the living room and holding it up with a flourish. He set the box of condoms on the couch armrest and tossed the bubble wrap to Kimberly. "Does it meet with your satisfaction?" She popped one of them. "Oh, yes." "Here, give me a hand with this," he said, taking one end of the coffee table. They quickly moved it out of the way, and then Kimberly knelt down on the floor and gave the roll an enthusiastic push. "How much should we use?" she asked. "Oh, hell, the whole roll." "I love you." They tore the bubble wrap into strips and covered a bed-sized area on the living room carpet with multiple layers. Kimberly put her arms around Greg and gave him a long, deep kiss. Then she unfastened her bra and tossed it aside. She had great breasts. Not quite as… She's not Vivian. She's real. The presence of the bubble wrap seemed to have reduced some of Kimberly's shyness, and she removed her panties as well. Greg hadn't seen a truly hairy pussy in quite some time…the women he'd been with recently were shaved or mostly trimmed…and the erotic sight was enough to make Greg just stand there staring. She sat down on the bubble wrap. Some of them popped beneath her ass, and her face lit up into a grin. "Join me?" "I think I will." "Join me naked?" "That works, too." He stripped off the boxer shorts and sat down next to her on the floor. They both slowly leaned backward as if reclining into a too-hot whirlpool, moving inch by inch, listening to the bubbles pop beneath them. Once they were completely prone, Kimberly reached over and petted his cock with one hand and squeezed bubbles with the other. "Which is better?" Greg asked. "I'll plead the fifth." She giggled and rolled over on top of him. They kissed, squirming and shifting as bubbles popped beneath them. Kimberly grabbed a strip and pulled it on top of them, then rolled onto her back, popping bubbles as Greg licked her breasts. She arched her back and exhaled deeply. After he'd given each nipple ample attention, he kissed a path between her breasts, down her belly, and down her left leg. Pop. Pop. Pop.

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He kissed his way back up the leg, across her waist, and all the way down her left leg. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. As he made his way upward again, he gently pushed her legs apart and kissed her inner thigh. Then he put his head between her legs and touched his tongue to her pussy. The effect on Kimberly was so great that she stopped popping the bubbles for nearly eight seconds. She tasted wonderful. He licked away. "Oh, God, that's good," Kimberly said, parting her legs wider. "I need this so much." Greg licked her with more fervor as she wrapped her legs around him. She was actually doing it a bit too tightly for maximum comfort, but since she was so clearly enjoying herself, he didn't want to say anything that might spoil the mood. His tongue thrashed to the sound of soft moans and bubbles popping. He pulled away momentarily and gazed up at her. She had one hand over her face, looking almost as if she was in a state of disbelief. He loved knowing how much she was enjoying this, and returned to his licking duties. "Oh, you're so good, you're so sweet," she moaned. "Please don't stop. Please don't stop. Stop." "Why?" "You need a condom. Now." He got up and walked over to the box of condoms. Kimberly rolled onto her side to pop some more bubbles as he tore open the foil wrapper and pulled the condom over his extremely firm erection. She lay on her back again as he returned, then pulled one of the strips of bubble wrap so that it covered her chest. Greg climbed on top of her in a push-up position. He gave her a kiss, and then another, and then she helped ease him inside. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a pleasured gasp. He carefully lowered himself onto her, and then began to very slowly thrust into her. Bubble wrap popped between their bodies. Kimberly opened her eyes and kissed him, breaking into sexy giggles as she did so. They made gentle love for several minutes. As Greg picked up the pace, Kimberly stretched her arms above her head and moaned. She grabbed a double handful of bubble wrap and squeezed it in her fists. He thrust into her harder and harder, faster and faster. Kimberly got more and more into it, thrusting up to meet him and moaning and laughing and popping bubble wrap like crazy. "Do me on my knees," she said, right before slipping her tongue into his ear.

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Greg pulled out of her and scooted back as she rolled onto her belly and then got onto her hands and knees. He wasted no time in putting his hands on her ass and fucking her from behind, gently at first, but increasing the power with each thrust until he was slamming into her as hard as he could. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Poppoppoppoppoppoppoppop… Kimberly cried out in the throes of her orgasm. Greg wanted to give her another one, two more, a dozen, a thousand, but the sight of her thrashing body was more than he could take, and he continued thrusting, not trying to hold back. He came seconds after her, pleasure exploding through him. They both made enough noise to get him evicted. Finally, they collapsed onto the bubble wrap. Greg removed the condom and tucked it into some bubble wrap, and then rolled onto his back, and Kimberly nuzzled against his chest, breathing heavily. They lay there in silence for a long, long time. Pop. Greg grinned at her. "Sorry," said Kimberly. "That's okay." "I guess you won't be mailing any important packages with this." "I guess not." They lay there for a while longer, just soaking in each other's company. Finally Kimberly sat up. "Can I use your bathroom?" "Of course. It's the door at the end of the hallway." "Thanks." She stood up, blew him a kiss, and then walked out of the living room. Greg enjoyed the way her ass moved. He popped one of the bubbles himself. Life was good. "Hello, lover," said Vivian, her voice coming from behind him.

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Chapter Ten Greg stood up and faced her. Vivian was wearing a hot pink bra and panties. "Busy, busy," she said. "I can't leave you alone for a second, can I?" "Listen, Vivian, it's exactly what it looks like, but I can explain." "No need to explain. How come you never fucked me on bubble wrap? Aren't I cute enough for you?" Greg looked at her carefully, trying to figure out her current mood. He couldn't tell if she was hurt or furious or ambivalent about the whole situation. "It's just…I just…I can't do the wish thing anymore." "I know." Vivian smiled. "You're off the hook, lover. As much as I'll miss that delicious cock of yours, my work here is done." She stepped forward. Greg stepped back, warily. "I'm not going to hurt you," she insisted. "Really. I'm happy for you. More happy than you can imagine." "Are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure. C'mere, you!" She stepped forward and gave him a tight hug. Her arm brushed against his bracelet. Vivian stepped back as if she'd been burned with a hot poker. "What was that? What the hell was that?" Kimberly stepped into the living room, looking concerned and then scared as she saw Vivian. She watched in horror as Vivian dropped to her knees and wailed. "It's okay, Kimberly," said Greg, panic rising in his chest. "Just…just stay where you are!" Vivian clutched at her arm. "What have you done?" "I didn't…I wasn't going to…you weren't supposed to…" Greg tore off the bracelet and tossed it aside. "I'm sorry, Vivian!" She screamed so loudly that the furniture shook and bits of plaster fell from the ceiling. Her body darkened, reddened, and her eyes began to glow with an eerie green light. Her arms lengthened. Her hands transformed into claws. She continued shrieking, revealing sharp, wet fangs. Her body continued shifting, ripping the hell out of her bra and panties. Greg stared at her, paralyzed with fear. In some distant corner of his mind, he wondered if having sex with her had been bestiality.

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Kimberly screamed and ran into the kitchen. When the transformation was complete seconds later, a huge, scaly, demoniclooking creature stood before Greg. He wanted to rush for the door, but he couldn't leave Kimberly behind, and he couldn't get his legs to work anyway. "Vivian? Are you in there?" he asked, voice trembling. "Fool!" the creature said, its voice booming and echoing throughout the apartment, causing books and CDs to fall off the shelves. "You will pay the price for your infernal ignorance!" There was a knock at the door. "Uh, Greg? You okay in there?" asked Larry, his neighbor. Kimberly rushed out of the kitchen, a frying pan in her hand. She proceeded to whack it against the creature's back, until it struck her with its taloned hand and knocked her across the room. Greg curled his hands into fists. He immediately felt really stupid for curling his hands into fists, considering what he was up against, but you never knew. The creature could have a glass jaw. "I'm, uh, gonna call the cops," Larry announced through the door. "Hope everything is hunky-dory." The creature stepped forward. Greg braced himself. At least if he died in these next few moments, he'd gotten to have sex on bubble wrap. Then the creature abruptly transformed back into Vivian and slapped him across the face. "You asshole!" she said. "Don't you realize what you did?" "You were out of control," Greg insisted. "I had to get rid of you somehow, and I couldn't think of any other way!" "You've ruined everything! Your greatest desire, it was never for sex in public!" "It wasn't?" "No! When you were granted your heart's greatest desire, what you really wanted was a woman to truly love you. Well, that's all sweet and adorable, but true love magic is tricky. You can't just snap your fingers and make it happen. It's complicated. I had to use magic to bring you two together, but it had to be indirect. I had to work with both of your desires, and set off a ridiculously elaborate chain of events and a bit of mind control and all kinds of stuff that would melt your non-magical brains if I tried to explain it in detail." "I knew my number one fantasy wasn't sex in public," said Greg. "Don't kid yourself, pervo. It was still number three on your list." "What was number two?" "The one about being tied up and dragged out of the house that I said was number four."

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"Oh. How disturbing." Greg looked over at Kimberly, who was shakily getting to her feet. "So, she and I are truly meant for each other?" "You were." "Were? I mean, I know I screwed up with the bracelet and all, but we're still together, right?" Vivian shook her head sadly. "You fucked with magic. Now that you've destroyed the wish, nothing can bring you two together. If you try, the consequences will be dire. You'll go on a date, and she'll get a phone call saying that her house is on fire. Try again, maybe you'll find out that your parents were killed in a car crash. Keep pushing it, and one of you is dead." "Oh, Christ," said Greg in a soft voice. "I'm sorry," said Vivian. "I really am." "There has to be a way to reverse this," Greg insisted. "I mean, it's true love. That conquers all, right?" "It conquers all when you don't zap me with a fucking magic bracelet, yeah!" Vivian rubbed her arm. "It still hurts." "Sorry." She continued rubbing her arm. "But it shouldn't hurt. Actually, I should have been summoned back already. What the hell is going on?" She closed her eyes and appeared to be concentrating deeply. Greg glanced over at Kimberly, who was giving him a questioning look. Greg shrugged and gave her a questioning look right back. Vivian's eyes flew open. "Holy shit!" "Holy shit what?" "You only brushed against me!" Vivian said, her voice filled with excitement. "It wasn't enough to destroy the wish! You messed it up, but you didn't destroy it completely! There's still a chance, but you don't have much time! I'll be summoned back any minute now!" "What do we have to do?" asked Greg. "You and Kimberly have to fuck in public." "What?" "Everything got cross-wired. To fulfill your true greatest desire, you have to fulfill the desire that I was tapping into with the woman who will be fulfilling your greatest desire." "I'm not sure I—" "Get out there and fuck, asshole!" Greg and Kimberly looked at each other, and then ran for the door, still completely naked. "Good luck!" Vivian called after them as they hurried down the flight of stairs.

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***** They rushed out of the apartment building and got into Greg's car. He pulled out of the apartment complex and drove down the street. A police car passed them in the opposite lane. In the rear-view mirror, Greg watched it turn into his complex. "Where do we go?" Greg asked. "The closest place you can find!" "And you definitely want to do this?" "For true love? Of course!" "And you believe everything she said, right?" "Greg, the woman transformed into a hideous demonic monster. I think that boosted the credibility of her story." "Just making sure." Greg pulled his car over to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. They were in front of another apartment complex. "This is public, right? I mean, anybody could see us. Anybody could drive by." "Looks good to me." Greg put the car in "park" and they got out. "On the hood?" Kimberly asked. "That'll work." Kimberly sat up on the hood and spread her legs. Greg stood between them and stroked his limp penis. "Hurry," she said. "I know, I know. It's just been a stressful past few minutes." He kept stroking. A car drove past them, not even slowing down. Nothing was happening. "Should I suck you?" "Yeah, I think so." Greg stepped back and Kimberly crouched down in front of him. She took him into her mouth and sucked vigorously. His body wasn't responding. After about thirty seconds, Kimberly took her mouth away. "Greg, this is for true love." "Don't pressure me! I'll never get hard if you pressure me!" Kimberly resumed sucking. Greg closed his eyes and tried to think peaceful thoughts. C'mon, you can do this. Think of the repository of sexual images you've acquired these past couple of days. Get horny! Now! It wasn't working. "Mmmpph mmmunnn." "What?" She pulled her mouth away. "Cop's coming."

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Greg turned around. A second police car was approaching. "Shit! Get back in the car!" They hurried back into the car. Greg sat behind the wheel and tried to look casual, while Kimberly folded her arms over her chest to conceal her naked breasts. The police car pulled up alongside them and came to a stop. The red-and-blue flashers turned on. Greg put the car into "drive" and slammed his foot on the gas pedal. They sped off. The police car did a U-turn and followed them. "This is bad," Greg observed. "This is really getting bad." "Do you think it's too late?" asked Kimberly, her voice panicked. "Maybe she's already been summoned?" "I'm still here," said Vivian from the back seat, scaring the shit out of both of them. Greg saw in the rear-view mirror that she was still naked. "May I be so bold as to ask why you haven't fucked yet?" "You try getting an erection under these conditions!" "Kimberly, suck his cock while he's driving! Do I have to think of everything?" Kimberly leaned over and resumed sucking Greg's penis. It felt great, but it wasn't having the necessary effect. The cop was speeding behind them, siren blaring. "Can't you magically harden me or something?" Greg pleaded. "Come on, Greg, you can do this!" Vivian said. "I have faith in you." Then she winced. "Oh, crap, I'm being summoned…" "No!" "I'll fight it. Just get a fucking boner, will you?" Kimberly lifted her head from Greg's lap. "Is there anything else I can do? Any places I should rub?" "Oh, shit! Shit!" Greg slammed his fist against the steering wheel. Traffic ahead was stopped at a red light, and there was nowhere to turn. He applied the brakes. "Get out and run!" said Vivian. Kimberly sat up and opened the passenger door. She got out of the car and Greg scooted after her. They'd stopped beside a strip mall, and several people in the parking lot turned to stare at the naked couple running towards them. Greg stepped on a jagged rock, twisted his ankle, and nearly lost his balance. But as he flailed his arms to keep from falling, he accidentally struck Kimberly in the side. She tripped and hit the ground. "Freeze!" shouted the officer. Greg turned around. It was a big guy, gun unholstered and pointed at him. "Get on the ground!" Vivian had gotten out of the car and was staggering toward them. Greg almost made a move to run, but then realized that getting his dick shot off was no solution to his dilemma.

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It was over. He'd lost his true love, and his reputation was in shreds. He knelt on the ground. The officer hurried over to him, gun still extended. "On your stomach! Now!" Greg did as he was told. Kimberly was crouched on the ground, tears pouring down her face. Vivian stood next to her, swaying in a non-existent breeze, looking ready to collapse at any moment. Realizing that there was nothing he could do, Greg let the officer handcuff him. He'd never know what it felt like to have Kimberly slap the cuffs on him. It was certainly an arousing thought. Work with that! Lose yourself in a bondage fantasy! The officer pulled him to his feet. He was starting to get a hint of an erection, but even if he'd been free to fornicate, it wasn't nearly enough to get the job done. Kimberly watched him, frantic. She stood up. "You! Stay on the ground!" the officer shouted. Greg desperately tried to picture himself tied to a bed, Kimberly writhing on his lap, but it wasn't doing any good. What little erection he'd achieved was fading. Kimberly stared at Greg, as if trying to see deep within his soul. As if trying to find the one pressure point, the one thing that could spark his penis back to life, the one fantasy that was so powerful that it could burst through the barriers of worry, regret, and fear. Then she turned, put one hand on Vivian's pussy, one hand on Vivian's breast, and gave her a long, sensuous kiss. Everybody in the parking lot stared. The police officer stared. Greg stared. His penis began to quiver and harden. Vivian returned the kiss, putting her own hand between Kimberly's legs. They began to rub their breasts together as their tongues visibly connected. The officer lowered his gun. The women broke the embrace. With perhaps the single naughtiest look Greg had ever seen in his entire life, Kimberly began to walk toward him and his rapidly growing cock. Then she impaled herself upon him. Many of the people in the parking lot cheered and applauded. As the officer pulled Kimberly away, Vivian began to glow with a bright orange light. She smiled, gave Greg a "thumbs-up" sign, and then vanished from sight as the crowd in the parking lot gasped.

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"What the hell?" asked the officer, hurrying over to the spot where Vivian had stood. "Where did the pussy…I mean, where did the woman go?" Greg looked at his true love. They kissed.

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Epilogue "You know what one of my biggest fantasies is?" asked Kimberly, nuzzling against Greg as they lay in his bed, basking in the afterglow of a really great lovemaking session. "What?" "Leaving the city behind. Just going out and living in a cabin out in the forest." "That's a pretty good one," said Greg. "Considering that my chances of a political career are history and my partners at the firm are probably scratching my name off the sign as we speak." "Oh, don't be silly. Yeah, your political career probably isn't gonna happen, but your partner was kind enough to post bail." Greg chuckled. There was very little chance of his case going to trial, considering that an important element of it was a naked woman who vanished in an orange light. Worst case, they could plea bargain down to a fine, maybe a bit of community service, but it was very unlikely that the officer would actually want to testify against them, despite the presence of dozens of witnesses. "Can I ask you a very serious question?" "Sure," said Kimberly. "Would you still love me if a picture of me turned up somewhere that looked like I was masturbating in a broom closet, even if I really wasn't?" "I might love you even more." "Good." They snuggled happily in the privacy of Greg's bed. So what if his future was uncertain, his political aspirations in tatters? He'd found his one true love. Nothing else mattered. With Kimberly in his arms, Greg Tennerson had nothing to worry about. Moments later, he had something to worry about.

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EPILOGUE II "You got distracted, didn't you?" asked the guy behind the counter. "Shut the fuck up and give me the purple vial."

- The End -

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Also at Ellora's Cave

SEX MAGIC By Jennifer Dunne LIONHEART By Kate Douglas A THIRD PARTY By Chris Tanglen

Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc. www.ellorascave.com

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