“The fabric of time is as old as time,” I said.
“But I wouldn’t use the word in the riddle if that was the answer. That’s sloppy.”
“It’s a riddle, how am I supposed to know? This dream is turning into a Monty Python skit, god.”
“Maybe you should stop complaining and start guessing,” the troll said.
“It’s the fabric of life, isn’t it?”
“Wrong.”
“How is that wrong? It’s as old as time. Definitely fragile. And everyone wears the fabric of life.”
The troll glowered at me and stepped aside. “I suppose that does work.”
“Well, what was the answer?”
“Can’t say.” The troll clambered back down the bridge, and I was left feeling very perplexed and quite sure I was on the fringes of the magical realm and not just in my own dream. This was the kind of weird shit that happens there. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I kept running toward Byron, struggling not to slip on the jagged rocks and patches of mud that bordered the steadily flowing river. His body rested in the shadow of the troll’s stone bridge, but I didn’t see that thing anymore, at least.
He was as hot as you would hope an unconscious man by a river could be. His white shirt was wet and half-open. His hair was tousled across his brow. It was hard not to stop and linger over the physical perfection of his full lips and muscular arms with the white cotton clinging to them, but I had a job to do.
“Byron?” I lifted his hand and felt that his skin was still warm.
“Helena…”
“You look so weak!”
“How embarrassing,” he said. “But worth it. I’m weak because I protected you.”
“Sure, you sweet talker. I know you really just want to protect Fiore’s magic thing.”
“That’s not true. I find you quite attractive and watching you tackle that house is…well, I’m not sure why you aren’t fighting off suitors with a shovel.”
“I’m too busy for suitors.”
“I wish I was still alive. I would not just make sweet love to you. I would help you with the house, and we would work well together. And then I would make sweet love to you.”
Sweet love? That was as silly as “angel”. I had to remember that he died in the 1970s. And I kind of liked that my sexy demon ghost was a little cheesy now and then. It seemed sort of pure.
“Well…I guess I came here to do one thing, didn’t I?” I said to him, before giving in to what my body had been craving. I leaned down and kissed him, feeling like Snow White in reverse. He immediately sank into that kiss and I could practically feel him feeding on me, but becoming putty in the hands of an incubus is never a bad feeling, although it can seem like a bad idea. Only in hindsight. I had certainly been warned about this extensively during my school years. In 7th grade we actually had a seminar called ‘Say Don’t to Demons’.
I also knew that incubi had normal human feelings and could make genuinely good husbands. One of my brother’s old friends—and now bond-brothers—was an incubus. They had always gotten along well, but my mom wouldn’t allow Alec in our house, not with six daughters. I thought it must be a real bummer for Alec that he could never come over for a sleepover when his other two friends were hanging out, but I didn’t dare try to plead his case. My sisters would have teased me mercilessly.
No denying that they were dangerous. With his tongue slipping into my mouth and his hands lifting up my skirt to caress the sensitive skin of my bare bottom… I mean, I couldn’t even recall that I had ever enjoyed such a nice ass squeeze in my entire adult life.
“I’m feeling better already,” he murmured, with a smile so gorgeous it melted me on the spot. I ran my fingers through his hair as we kissed, playing with the messy strands that had been in his eyes as my legs moved to straddle him almost of their own accord, my pussy feeling the hard urgency in his pants.
“Mm…you look better.” I tore open his shirt and stroked my hands across his chest. Now, I knew for sure I had never caressed such a good-looking chest in my adult life.
There seemed no reason to hold back.
Oh, wait. Maybe one reason.
“Um…the troll that lives under that bridge…” I lifted my head just long enough to feel that my lips already seemed bruised. “I don’t want him to watch.”
“You’re not into trolls watching? You’re clearly not a Sinistral,” he teased. “Just let me feel you up until I get a little more strength back and then I’ll get us out of here.” His hands slipped down my thighs and stroked under the edge of the boots.
I made an embarrassingly pent-up sound of need and then his hands moved up to my hair, and started a new journey down my body, exploring the skin of my neck and back before ending up at the thighs again. He could have just done that for a while and I might eventually orgasm. His touch was so warm, so attuned to every spot on my body that was especially sensitive. He knew where to linger, where to tease his fingertips. Then he knew where to work his hands deep into the muscle and grip me roughly until I was thinking, Rougher, rougher…show me what a demon can really do!
“Your wish is my command,” he said.
“I said that out loud!?”
“Oh yes.”
“Oh no…”
“Hang on tight,” he said, and he moved my arms behind his neck before holding me tight and getting to his feet. He hitched my knees up and spread his wings.
“Ohmigod,” I panted, as he jumped at the same time as his wings pumped the air, and suddenly, defying all laws of the human world, we were flying.
“Have you…what is it called? The Mile High Club.”
“What? No! Is that even possible?”
“It’s a
