The Sleeping Beauty's Tale (3 page)

Her legs slid off his shoulders into the water.

Hale raised his head. “What?”

“Hale,” she whispered again. She was smiling.

“Yes, Poll? Did that help? How do you feel?”

The curve of her mouth was his only answer.

More. She needed more.

He did, too. He scooped her off the blanket and lowered her into the pool. Wading deeper gave them buoyancy. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she tucked her face into his shoulder. She seemed boneless, weightless, as if she were floating away from him.

There was no friction between their bodies, no resistance. Slippery warm water cushioned each brush of their bodies. Polly wrapped her legs around his waist. Hale swayed from foot to foot, moving the water, stroked by the resultant current. His fingers searched for the end of her spine.

There. There it was.

She slid down over him.

They fit. The same as every other time. Different from every other time.

She was hotter than the water. She was the pressure he'd been craving. She was so wet everywhere, there was no resistance. Only welcome. Her tight grip spurred relief so intense it bowed his spine. His hands flexed instinctively. He felt her bones beneath the skin, beneath the muscle. He felt the rest as well, the heartbeat that connected him to the world.

“Polly…” He tethered her with his body—cock, arms, hands.

He couldn't feel her, separate from him, without moving. He lifted, rocked. She curled, dropped.

“Do you…feel that?”

The water moved with them, rippling and tugging, touching everything, connecting their bodies, connecting their movements. In her. In the water. In the world.

In. In. In.

It flashed through him, another kind of wave, drowning his senses. The pulses ran together in one long plateau of feeling so good it hurt. He opened his mouth but couldn't scream. Polly's fingers were tight in his hair. Her mouth near his ear. He didn't want that to change.

He didn't want it to ever change.

She bent back sharply, following him across the threshold. Warm water rushed between them, covering his chest. His tongue may have felt her pulses more strongly, but his cock magnified every tremor until his entire body shivered from it.

He gathered her to him. They floated in a cave outside of time.

Exhaustion followed the calm.

Together, they drifted to the edge of the pool. Hale carried her out. He lay down beside his wife on their palette of blankets and closed his eyes. When he finally woke, he didn't know if it was day or night. The fire was a shrouded glow.

He was cold.

Polly would be cold.

He sat up, looking for clothes and wood to throw on the fire.

He turned to check on Polly. Her eyes were closed.

Hale knew immediately, she wasn't sleeping.

She was gone, and he would never be warm again….

 

“What? No!
”
Maeve turned her face into her pillow to wipe her eyes on the bedsheet. There was no hiding the sniff. “You can't be serious.”

“Yes. She died. ‘The end.'” He kissed the back of her neck and resettled a heavy hand across her body, as if he were as calm and satisfied as any dreamer. But Maeve felt his heart pounding so hard it echoed in the space between her clavicles.

Fight or fuck. He was ready.

Maybe she could organize a serving of each.

“That's not how the story ends.”

Devlin threw his thigh over her, locking her tightly to him. He felt larger and hotter than usual. Everywhere. His voice had an edge to it. “What do you mean ‘that's not how it ends'? It's my story. I'll end it as I like.”

She snuggled, resisting the stiffness of his hold on her. “I don't think you like that ending at all.”

“No?”

“I think you want something else to happen.”

“Such as?”

“See if you can figure it out.” She carried his hand to her face and, using it like a handkerchief, dried the last of the tears on her cheeks. “When I tell you how the story really ends…”

 

When Hale finally woke, he didn't know if it was day or night. The fire was a shrouded glow.

But he was warm.

His wife was draped over him, radiating heat.

“There you are,” Polly whispered. “I've missed you.” Her eyes were wide open, clear and bright, full of life.

Somewhere in their swim, her braid had unraveled. He pushed her hair back behind her ear to better see her face. “Polly?” He could hardly believe what he was seeing. “How do you feel?”

She smiled. “I feel wonderful.” She glanced around at their cave of wonders. “Where are we? I hope it isn't far from home. We have to come back. Often.”

He laughed. Before he could sit up, Polly threw herself on top of him in a full chest hug.

“What exactly—” he rushed the rest of the question “—do you remember?”

“Everything you do, I'd imagine.” She appeared to be assessing his rested and ready cock. “If we get in the water, will it happen again?”

“It will happen again. Even if we don't.” He wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could, his chin pressed against the top of her head. Not having to look her in the eyes made the words easier to say. “We have no time to waste, Polly. There will never be enough time for you and me.”

Polly lifted her knee and straddled his body. “I was hoping you'd say that!” She hitched up her hips, notched him at the warm entrance to her body and insisted he come inside. “Shall I show you what I've learned about how to wake someone you love?”

“Educate me, my dear.”

 

Devlin turned away. He put his hands behind his head, elbows bent at sharp angle to force her back from him. “You think that's how it ends? He fucks her back to life?”

Maeve let the crudity hang in the air a moment. They both knew the reason for it.

“Which story do you want to believe?” she asked, rising to her knees. “The one where fucking doesn't matter? Or the one where it does?”

With his hands busy in his tough-guy pose, Maeve had unusual access to some of her favorite parts. She tapped her finger in a scold on his chest. “He loved her back to life.” Then, she traced her own loops and orbits down his body. “Fucking is only part of it. A good part. A necessary part. But it's hardly simple mechanics.”

“I never said it was simple.”

Her cool fingers took hold of him where he felt most neglected. She stroked him, a slow, dragging embrace that let her fingers bump across the sensitive ridge.

“Like this?” she asked, taking her cue from his story.

He closed his eyes, but couldn't hide the smile. “So you were listening.”

“I listened to everything you said—and everything you didn't.”

Stroking downward, she uncurled one fingertip between his legs and massaged little spirals where the hidden root of his erection pulled tight. She made a target, a focus, a white-hot glow that drove away all darkness. Devlin groaned. It was even better than the morning sun that had begun to fill the room.

“It was just a dream. I'm not going anywhere, silly devil. Not for a long time. And neither are you.”

She lifted her knee, straddling him. Her hand organized their introduction and she thrust him inside with the full weight of her regard. He gasped.

“Look at me, Dev. Open your eyes…. Yes.”

She leaned down and kissed him. Slowly.

And he lived.

If you liked this story, look for these other Maeve and Devlin stories from Spice Briefs, available now wherever ebooks are sold!

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