Sneak Peek: Little Goddess Snippet from Amy Lane
*pardon me while I flail around*
Have I mention that I LOVE LOVE LOVE Amy Lane’s Little Goddess series? Well, I do. And Amy was kind enough to share a wee snippet, set in the events of the 5th book in the series, QUICKENING with me the other day. (I’m not sure if this piece will actually BE in the book, or if this was an “outtake” type of scene.) It’s a piece originally posted on her yahoo group, MMarvelous.
**SPOILER WARNING** This gives details away, big details… if you have NOT read VULNERABLE, WOUNDED, BOUND, and RAMPANT… go… now… read!!!
If you have… here’s a treat for you!! (oh… this is NSFW… sweet & smexy scenes ahead!)
Cory–on Elves and Dreams
I was trying not to be bitter.
“Why can’t I see him?” I complained to Green, and Green’s look at me was no less unhappy.
“I don’t know, luv. It must have something to do with your pregnancy.”
“But…” Oh fuck. Tears? Do I really need to cry now? Didn’t matter. My wishes apparently didn’t matter for shit. “But… how am I going to get through this, Green? How am I going to get through the next nine–”
“Ten,” Bracken supplied helpfully.
“Fuck you. How am I going to get through the next ten fuck you months without fuck you seeing aw fuck…” I swallowed. “Adrian. Ten months? C’mon, Green. Tell me it’s a first trimester thing. All sorts of freaky shit’s happening in there. I’m like a walking ball of chaos here–please?”
Bracken’s angry snort pulled me up from a full-on melt-down on Green, and I glared at him. He wasn’t mad at me… per se. I would have felt it, thanks to a really badly matched blood transfusion. But he was irritated. I took a deep breath, remembered who he was and that he loved me, and sighed.
“You can’t be mad at him,” I said sternly, and then I shivered as Bracken turned his formidable ire on me, like a spigot.
“I can’t be mad at you,” he snapped. “You shiver, I feel like crap, and then I get madder. I’ll be mad at him if I like.”
“Why do you have to be mad at anyone?” I asked peevishly. “Why can’t you just be happy? Why do you have to obsess over what could happen, when I’m strong and–”
“And miserable, and longing for our dead lover so strongly I can almost smell his skin!” Bracken snapped, and I deflated.
“Green?” I asked softly, my voice falling damply in the foggy garden, “I’m so tired. I… can I at least dream of him?”
“Of course, beloved,” Green said gently, and he opened his arm so I could pillow my head on his chest. Bracken grunted and sat at my feet, placing his big warm hand on my calf. The cushions on the marble bench bearing Adrian’s likeness were a muted green with some pink and blue accents, and they matched my mood if not the season. “Is there any particular moment you’d like to dream?”
I sighed. “Something with you and him,” I said. “The two of you together. That makes me so happy.”
Bracken grunted. “You know, Adrian and I were pretty hot too.”
I laughed and dropped my hand by my side. He took it in his massive paw and I squeezed tightly. “Yes, beloved. But I always think of you as mine. Green was Adrian’s first. I can’t explain it, but both things comfort me.”
Again, that particular Bracken grunt. “Well, if you’re going to be disgustingly sweet about it…”
I might have laughed, but I don’t remember. School, and work and… and I was done. My quickening body had betrayed me, and I would take the comfort of my two men and dream of the one I couldn’t see, couldn’t touch, could only remember, and, for this particular moment, remember through Green.
The house–Green’s great house, three stories, with a garage and an underground darkling and a wraparound porch, the house that took up an entire hill, was one cabin, with a basement. That was all.
Green looked exhausted in my dream, and looking around at the things he saw, I could see why. He’d spent all day crafting a bed frame from wood, and then, using that preternatural speed I so often admired, it seemed he had sewn a mattress using one of the tarps from the wagon he and Adrian had ridden up here to this (then) remote area in the Sierra Foothills. He’d covered it with linens and then swept the plank floor clean, and I watched as he looked outside, looking upset.
The sun was going down.
It was a gorgeous sunset, but I could see his dilemma. He was exhausted. He must have spent the entire day crafting that bed–and doing a good job of it, since it was the same plain wood bed, sanded with linseed oil, that I had slept on with Green and Bracken the night before. (Nicky had slept with Erik, who was in for a visit, which was both convenient and a terrible relief–I could not pay enough attention to Nicky, and I didn’t want to see him neglected.) But in the dream, Green was tired, and he was filthy–and he’d so obviously wanted to greet his lover with a surprise.
The last of the red light faded to purple and there was a soft sound behind Green. He turned, and Adrian emerged from beneath the trap door, slender and pale, from his hair to his fingertips–and clean. Green took a few steps toward him and Adrian smiled, flashing a little fang–and as I slept,my heart stuttered painfully in my chest. It was that smile–the one that said it was no big thing, that everything was manageable, that the world was really at our feet.
“Look at what you did!” he said, the excitement clear. “No more…” He stopped and gave a sly, embarrassed look at Green. “Well, it was awkward, wasn’t it?”
Green grinned back, and pushed the wisps of long, butter-colored hair back behind his pointed ears. It had freed up from his impossibly long braid, a thing I had rarely seen. “Not that you need it to sleep,” he said with one of his mild smiles. Adrian was having none of the modesty though–he bounded about, almost like a puppy, feeling the ticking of the mattress and the fine linens that Green had pulled out of one of the four trunks that were stashed in the corner.
“It’s perfect! You stuffed it with rushes? And what else?”
Green’s fair cheeks colored a little. “I traded with the shape-shifters–they brought me cleaned, dried feathers.”
“For what?” Adrian stopped, and now Green’s throat flushed.
“I do have certain… assets, beloved.”
Adrian stopped and turned to him, taking those fine, long-fingered hands in his own. Adrian still had the scars from his life–his hands had been rough, covered in scars and pockmarks–but the touch of his hands on Green’s was one of the most graceful things I’d ever seen.
“You’re wonderful,” he breathed, and then those sky-spangled eyes grew sober. “And you’re done in. Here. Sit.” He pushed Green to one of two chairs in the room. There was a small table too, and Adrian looked around. “Have you eaten?”
Green shook his head, and Adrian grunted and went to the hearth. There appeared to be a vegetable and potato stew there in a tin pot–no cold iron or steel, not for Green–and Adrian dished it up for him in a wooden bowl. “Here. Here–I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t worry, right? I remember where we are.”
He disappeared, and for a moment the dream/memory was so very ordinary. Green ate, tired but happy, and I got to watch him in a rare moment of stillness. He took care of so many people these days–here was a rare, perfect moment in which he was being taken care of, and I savored the watching as much as he must have savored the reliving.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed in real life, but in dreamland it was just a few heartbeats. There was a sound at the door and Adrian came in, carrying a tin bucket. He was wearing a red union suit under denim dungarees, and he looked… much like he had during our few brief weeks together. He was even pink.
Green looked up. “You fed!” he said, surprised, and Adrian nodded.
“The shape shifters were happy to do it. Apparently you fuck well enough for two!” He grinned and put the bucket close to the hearth–not close enough to melt, should the fire have been too hot, but close enough for the water to grow warm.
“Did you fly all the way to the river?” Green asked, and Adrian nodded, smiling. He moved to one of the trunks on the top of the stack and reached in, coming out with a square of linen that had been used until the linen was softened, and a square of fine milled soap.
“Right then. Are you done with your meal, oh mighty elf-god?”
Green rolled his eyes and scraped the bottom of the bowl with the spoon, and then set it down. “Are you doing dishes?”
Adrian laughed. “God no! Did I eat? I’m doing you. Now off with your clothes, right? We can soak them overnight and hang them on the tree to dry–you won’t need them now.”
Green was wearing a woven cotton shirt, buttoned at the cuffs and at the throat, that had once been white. He’d apparently worn it almost to death as he and Adrian built their home, because it was frayed and stained–but I knew Green. He would soak it for a day, using whatever laundry soaps he had, to make it clean for the next time he wore it. It was the man, and that was all. He stood and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall back from his clean, narrow chest and stomach. He was even leaner in this memory than he was in real life, and you could count all fifteen of his ribs. Adrian’s hands fumbled with the bronze and leather of his belt, and then his denim trousers fell to the floor too, and Green leaned on Adrian’s shoulders as Adrian helped him with the leather boots.
And then, there he was, as elves are meant to be, long and lean and naked, his skin the color of roses and honey, and his hair falling out in satin lengths behind him.
Adrian dipped the square of linen in the bucket with the soap, and came back and wiped a long swath from Green’s waist, down his flank, to the side of his knee, and then dipped the cloth again and wiped another swath from the front of his hip, down the crease of his thigh, and down to the front of his knee. Green gasped as the cloth grazed his groin, impressive cock starting to fill with blood as it rested against his upper thigh. But Adrian’s next pass with the cloth missed his groin entirely, and the next pass after that too. Green frowned at him and Adrian grinned back up.
“Yes, I’m missing it on purpose!” he said, and then stood up and proceeded to wipe Green’s face, taking care of the smudges on his cheeks, and his neck, and behind his ears, and down his shoulders and under his arms. He lingered on Green’s ribs, the crease of his elbow, the delicate inside of his wrist. At one point he held that pale, clean flesh to his mouth and grazed a green-tinted vein with a fang. Green gasped and tilted his head back, in anticipation, and Adrian, full of teasing, simply pulled the flesh into his mouth and let it go with a pop, unpunctured and pristine.
Green made a needing sound and shifted his hips uncomfortably–his erection was complete now, and he wanted, and Adrian was not helping. Adrian chuckled wickedly and resumed his gentle, thorough cleaning, finally, finally, washed Green’s chest, taking special care to abrade his sand-colored nipples, and then his groin, taking great delight as Green tilted his head back and grunted, pushing his cock forward, needing, and finally, his backside, apparently getting as much in as he got out, and leaving Green a trembling, wanting wreck.
Adrian stood again, still clothed, and levitated just a tiny bit, just until he was a few inches taller than Green, and captured his mouth in a kiss. Green groaned, wrapping his arms around Adrian’s waist–which was obviously not where he expected it to be–and allowing himself to be pushed backward, backward, until he fell back into that rush and down filled, bouncy, clean, perfectly new bed. Adrian dropped his clothes even as he hovered, and then fell to the floor on padded feet, grasping Green’s thighs in his hands and shoving them up, until Green wrapped his own fingers around them and spread his legs in the air, while Adrian fell to his knees on the floor and began to lick. He licked everything–crease, balls, long swipes up Green’s tender taint, and then he parted Green’s fine backside and licked his tender arse, while Green made luxe, begging sounds into the candlelit cabin.
Adrian took his time–and Green was begging before he rose, quickly placing the head of his own erection at Green’s entrance and driving in, without fear of hurt, or of blood, or of anything. It was the action of a man who knew his lover, knew what he wanted, could tolerate, would welcome, and Green’s long, long legs wrapped around Adrian’s very human waist and urged him on.
Their naked bodies in the yellow candlelight were lovely, moving with urgency but not brutality, slipping and thrusting against each other with pure need. When the climax came, it was for both of them, and I looked not at Adrian’s clenching ass or Green’s spewing cock, but at their faces, Green’s head tilted back, his neck purposefully exposed, and Adrian, his face buried against Green’s neck and his incisor tracing the vein but never thrusting.
They shuddered together replete, and Green laughed and held his hands to cup Adrian’s cheeks. “You could have fed, you know.”
“I know,” Adrian smiled, and my heart broke just a little, to see it again, as whole as it ever was before I healed him completely. “But sometimes, you need to be given to.”
I awoke with Bracken, in our bed. I must have really been asleep, because I didn’t remember being carried down the granite staircase or into mine and Bracken’s room. Not, I sighed, in Green’s room in that wonderful bed (with a modern mattress now). Green must have had other appointments in the morning.
Bracken grunted as I opened my eyes and I clasped the hand under my T-shirt over my stomach, even tighter.
“Morning, beloved,” I whispered.
“Morning,” he rumbled, tucking me more securely against him.
“Did you dream too?”
He grunted–his “Bracken is unhappy” grunt, for those who had the complete lexicon of Bracken sounds.
“Adrian never did that for me.”
I blinked, pretty sure that was untrue. “Topped?” Bracken was huge–but that didn’t mean that sometimes he didn’t get his secret wished to be fucked into the mattress either.
“No,” he said with a certain amount of disgust at my obtuseness. “Tended. He never… tended to me.”
I rolled to my side and held my hand to his cheek. Oh, Bracken. It was so easy to forget he was almost as young as I was, in elf years, and that these people–Green and Adrian–that I had loved as men, he had spent a great deal of his life revering as heroes.
I said, “That’s because even then, he knew it was my job. He may not have known he’d love me first, or that Green would love me too, but he knew somewhere out there, was someone who would tend to you.”
My gruff, dark sidhe lover, the gruff one with granite head and the perpetual scowl, smiled like the dawn, and took my mouth with his. Gently–and slowly, because I was already bigger–I shed our clothes and tended to my beloved.
You can check out all of Amy’s writing on her website, GreensHill.com