Chapter 24

THE MORRíGAN

We don't need a bed. We don't want a bed.

This grove seems to have been made for us, and when I pull Ciara way from the tree, and go to lay her down, I notice clover covering the ground. A wave of a hand, and it's softer than clover has ever had the right to be. Perfect for my Ciara.

The atmosphere has shifted, and this is no longer frenzied, though I suspect that energy shall return. She sits up, and in one swift movement, pulls the small satin-y top up and over her head. She wears nothing beneath it and I am stunned into silence by her beauty.

Her breasts are not bountiful, but instead two perfect handfuls that I long to kiss and caress. Blushing, Ciara reaches for me, and I go to her.

"Red?" she asks.

"Yes?"

"Can you take your top off please? I'd like to be skin-to-skin with you."

I discard the garment she lent me and luxuriate in the way that her gaze skims my skin. I can almost feel the path that her eyes take, as if each glance and look were a touch in their own right.

And then I'm straddling her thighs and leaning down until I can cover her skin with my own, breasts touching, kissing as if they were lips. Her skin feels soft, and the feel of it against my own is almost too much to bear.

I bury my face in her shoulder, and this time I am not kissing and biting and licking, I am crying.

Her arms come about me, and she says in my ear, as sweet as can be. "Would you like to pause, Red? We don't need to?—"

"No," I say. "Pack Pack Pack. I want to continue. I… I just…" Tears overcome my words and she doesn't ask any more questions, just holds me and rocks me and strokes my hair until my sobbing ceases.

"You okay?" she asks, and her concern almost makes me cry again.

"Yes," I say. And I mean it. "You are so… so perfect. That is why I cried."

Ciara laughs. "Oh, I'm far from perfect," she says but I nip her shoulder and she squeaks.

"No arguing, Ciara mine. If I say you are perfect, then perfect you are."

That makes her smile. "And what would you do with this perfect girl?"

My hand traces a path to the top of her pants and I pause, waiting.

That makes her grin, and there is mischievousness in her smile. "Say please."

"Please," I growl, and slide my hand beneath the fabric because her heart is saying ‘Pack Pack Pack' and I can feel it in every particle of my being.

The sound she makes as I stroke her curls almost undoes me. It's halfway between a gasp and a moan, and she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back amongst the clover. Her hair spills out across the ground, and the red seems even more vivid with sunlight dappling it.

I urge her hips up and slide the material off, determined to see her in all her pleasure.

Her clit peeks out from behind red curls, pink and hard. I graze my thumb against it and she moans, eyes flying open and meeting mine.

"I want to make you come apart," I whisper. "Would you like that?"

She nods and keeps nodding as I move between her thighs, and spread her legs.

"Aren't you so pretty, all laid out before me like a feast?"

It's almost as if I've stolen her words with my touch, because she doesn't speak, just whimpers and nods.

Slowly, I stroke over her clit, up and down, and then round in circles that are slick with her own desire.

She is wet for me.

Dripping.

And if I thought she couldn't get any wetter, when I slide a finger inside her, I realize how wrong I am. She is tight and hot and so slick I add another finger almost immediately. Her pussy contracts around my fingers and my own pussy mirrors it, tightening in pleasure.

I kiss her as I move my fingers, in and out, slowly, carefully.

She gives me a look that's part pleasure, part frustration, and I almost laugh. "What are you doing?"

"I'm filling you up," I say, with a thrust on that final word.

Her mouth falls open and her eyes go all soft. "That. More of that please."

I slow right back down again, and her gaze sharpens. "Are you trying to tell me how to fuck you, Ciara?"

"Yes." The word sounds guttural, and I laugh and kiss her again, fucking her with firm, fast thrusts, just as she desires. I'd do anything for my Ciara, fuck her any which way she wants, for a chance to have her in my arms once more time.

She gasping now, and with my spare hand, I grab hers and move it to her clit. "Show me," I say. "Touch yourself whilst I fill you up, and show me how you come for me."

"Yes—" she gasps, and "—oh, Red!" And her cunt is tightening, and fuck, she's flooding my hand, coming in a soundless cry with her head thrown back.

I don't want to stop. I want wrest every last drop of pleasure I can from my girl, so I keep going, keep moving in and out, curling the tips of my fingers so that they brush against the slight bump inside her each time. She likes that, because her pussy doesn't loose its grip on me, instead it tightens, and I swear I might lose my fingers before we are done, and damn if that's not a sacrifice that I wouldn't happily make.

I prop myself up on my knees, and use my free hand to spread her legs open, revealing that pretty pink clit once more. Then I start to stroke it; firm insistent strokes that don't let up even as she comes again and again.

"Red," she gasps, almost sobbing the word out. "I don't think I have any more."

"No?" I ask. "Should I pause?"

But then she's coming again and whispering "Pack Pack Pack" over and over under her breath so I know to keep going.

As if I'd stop. Her pleasure is intoxicating; I'm almost drunk on it, and when she finally collapses back, each taut muscle finally relaxed, I fall next to her and pull her to me.

I love you, I think, as Ciara curls up next to me, holding on as if her life depends on it.