Visions (Cainsville #2)(75)

“What if I dodged in that direction?” I said, nodding toward the fairy-circle clearing.

“Thought you weren’t going to tease me about it.”

“Not teasing. Using every trick at my disposal.”

“Ah. Well, that one”—he hitched me higher on his hips—“is not going to work now. Focus, remember? When I want something . . .” He turned, putting my back toward the clearing. “. . . nothing gets in my way.”

He kissed me and took three steps, bringing us into the clearing. Then he lowered me down, on my back, in the middle of it, and I felt the fairy circle being crushed under my back.

“That’s gotta be bad luck,” I said as he shoved my jeans down my hips.

“Yep. I’m trapped now.” He grabbed my hips. “And that’s fine by me.”

He pushed into me, so hard I reared up, gasping. He did, too, his eyes opening wide. I gripped the ground, the damp earth under my fingers, and caught a scent on the air. Horses. I smelled horses. My fingers dug into the ground and I could feel it vibrating, the shocks rippling through me as Ricky thrust.

Then he stopped suddenly. Arched there, his eyes wider now.

“Fuck, no,” he said. “No, no, no.”

He held himself still, face screwed up, fighting climax as he panted.

“Hold on,” he said. “Fuck. Sorry. Just hold on.”

The ground kept shaking, the smell of horses stronger now, and his eyes opened as if he’d caught a whiff. I took his hands and pressed them against the ground. “Do you feel that?”

He stretched out his hands, braced on them, eyes widening. “Fuck, yes.” He shivered, pushing deeper into me, hands pressed to the ground. “No, no, no,” he whispered. “Fuck, no. Not yet—”

I wriggled. His eyes snapped open.

“No, I’m okay. Don’t—”

“I want to see it.” I pressed his hand to the ground again, mine on his, the vibrations rocking through us, and I had no idea what I was talking about, but I said it again: “I want to see it.”

I pulled away from him, rolled over, and ran from the clearing.





CHAPTER FORTY


Our earlier chase had been a playful game of hide-and-seek. This was a hunt. I tore through the forest, vines snagging my legs, branches whipping my arms, rocks biting into my soles, Ricky one step behind, his breath coming so hard I had to look back to be sure it was him, half expecting to find a hound on my heels instead. As for why I was running, or where I was running, I’m not sure I could have even articulated it. I felt . . . drunk isn’t the right word. But something like it. High on adrenaline, the hormone pounding through me, drowning out rational thought, telling me I wanted to see it, wanted to see it . . .

Wanted to see what?

Oh, I knew. I could say I didn’t, but deep down I did. The ground vibrated under my feet. The smell of horses wafted over on the breeze. And then I heard it: the baying of hounds. Everything I’d smelled and heard in that hallway at the charity dinner, but this time there was no urge to run away. I couldn’t imagine why I’d ever wanted to run away. Tonight I felt that and I heard it and I smelled it, and I ran toward it.

Then I saw it. The flicker of movement in the forest, the ground pounding so hard now I stumbled. Ricky caught me around the waist, keeping me upright. I looked into the forest and I saw fire, licking flames in the distance, and I heard the pounding of hooves and the panting of hounds. Ricky’s hands closed around my waist and he tried to turn me around, but I wouldn’t look away, kept straining to see. He pushed against me, hard and urgent, and said something, but his voice was too thick for me to pick up the words. I dropped to my knees, on all fours, Ricky dropping behind me.

I saw fire and shadows. Then I saw riders. Riders and hounds, and Ricky thrust into me, and after that I didn’t care what I saw, didn’t care at all.

—

What happened next? I wasn’t even sure. Oh, I remembered the first part just fine. Sex. Amazing, unforgettable sex. Then collapsing on the ground, Ricky shuddering and panting, “Shit, holy shit,” as he caught his breath, his arms around me, so warm it was like falling into that fire, the fire I could still smell on the breeze. And then . . . well, nothing. I could say I drifted off, but I don’t even remember hitting the ground.

The next thing I knew, I was alone in the forest, sitting naked on the ground, blinking into the darkness.

“Ricky?”

“Right here. Sorry.” He appeared through the trees, something gathered in his arms. “I thought I could make it back before you woke up.”

He took our jeans and stretched them over me, then paused and looked down at his work.

“Not much of a blanket,” he said.

I laughed softly. “I appreciate the effort. Very sweet.” I reached for his hand and tugged him down.

He stretched out beside me, pulling me against him, which was warmer than any blanket. As I snuggled in, he said, “That, um, that was . . .”

“Intense?”

“Hell, yeah.” He exhaled. “Intense.” He was silent for a moment. “Was it . . . ? I mean, that wasn’t quite . . . Is everything okay?”

In his eyes, I saw the real questions. Was it too intense? Did I frighten you? Did I hurt you?

I put my arms around his neck and kissed him, answering that way. After a moment he relaxed, the kiss deepening, his hands on my ass as he pulled me closer.