“Tight fit,” he muttered, “but it’ll do.”
Dora’s heart raced as he settled on top of her. His body was bulky and massive—with his black chest hair and beard, he looked like an enormous Roman warrior. Maybe he
was
Zeus visiting in human form…
“Lowell?” she asked in quiet voice.
“Mmmm.” He gripped his erection and nudged it at her opening.
“You’re, like, a regular person, right? You’re not going to make love to me and then turn me into a swan or a cow or something with magical powers, are you?”
Lowell caught her eye and Dora saw something inscrutable pass over his face. “I, ah, promise not to turn you into any animals.”
She cried out when he eased the head of his cock inside her. “Slowly!” she said.
Lowell paused, just the tip of his shaft in her body, and found her breast with his mouth. Her nipple puckered on his tongue. Ripples of heat ran from her cunt outward, sending delicious shivers to her belly, her breasts, her mouth and even her toes. A warm sensation grew in her core and she thrust her hips against his. “Better,” she breathed as he eased deeper inside.
He released her breast and cupped her face in his broad hand. “Much better,” he growled.
Dora felt that she was in the midst of a heady war of sensations—a cloud of down beneath her back, a hardened muscle-bound man atop her, an oh-my-God tight stretch in her cunt and—most blissful of all—his adoring eyes looking down at her. Liquid, black and adoring, they promised everything, and his lips reinforced it without a word. He kissed her tenderly, touching his lips to hers with the sweetest of pressures, then pushed his tongue into her mouth, just as he slid his cock farther within her…
Dora whimpered and gripped his rear urgently. “Best,” she groaned. “Do it, Lowell, All the way.” He fucked her faster, stretching her with each stroke. She wrapped her legs around his upper thighs and panted. “Yeah… That’s good.”
“I’m not hurting you?” he asked in a strained voice.
“Nuh-uh. Don’t hold back.” Dora scraped her fingernails down his back and squeezed her inner muscles around his shaft.
Lowell slammed into her. The antique bed creaked and thumped against the wall—Dora wondered briefly if the guests had returned and were overhearing, then all rational thought escaped from her mind. There was just this man, this glorious man on top of her and inside her, pushing deeper with every stroke, and her own body, shuddering and on fire beneath him.
“There.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “There!” she shouted. “I’m coming, Lowell—don’t stop!” He bellowed, pumping faster, as she stiffened beneath him. The bed spun and the room tilted and every nerve in her body caught fire. Lowell slammed into her with all his might once, twice and the third time Dora felt a surge of energy leave his body and enter hers. He sank on top of her, breathing raggedly, and Dora cupped his rear as the last trembling spasms were spent.
Then she heard a tremendous crash from the direction of the kitchen.
“What in the world?” She rolled Lowell to the side of the mattress, slipped off the bed in a flash and scurried down the hall.
“Wait, wait!” Lowell bellowed, thundering after her.
“I’ll be damned,” Dora muttered. She raised her hand to the mess and then let it drop, limp, to her side. “What would possess a toad to get into my kitchen and knock over the flour and salt?”
“A toad?” roared Lowell. “Where is the damned thing? Show it to me and I’ll squash it like a grape.”
“Ugh, don’t be gruesome.” Dora shuddered. “I suppose I need to lock up the house more tightly. It must have hopped in through the window.”
“Enough is enough!” yelled Lowell. He marched to the back door and threw it open. “You leave us the hell alone!” he thundered. “I don’t know who you are or what your game is, but I swear by all that is holy that I’ll make you sorry for the day you tangled with Lowell Rossi!” The backyard was silent and peaceful in the pre-twilight gloaming. A swallowtail butterfly floated in front of Lowell’s face. He swatted it down to the grass with a growl and raised his fist to the sky. “Dammit, I’ll not take it anymore!”
“I beg your pardon, Lowell, but this is my house and my garden, and that was my butterfly you just mangled.” Dora grabbed his elbow and whipped him around to face her. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but it’s my stuff—my food, my plants, my trash, my laundry—that’s getting ruined around here, and I’m the one who has to deal with it. You fuss and carry on as if you’re the one offended, and then you run off and leave me to tidy the mess.” She widened her eyes and raised her voice. “They’re just dumb animals, Lowell! Screaming at them to be good isn’t going to do a single thing, but helping me clean up would certainly be appreciated.”
Lowell, breathing hard, ground his jaw and clenched his fists. “You don’t understand what’s going on here, Dora, and I”—he shook his head—“I just can’t tell you everything right now. I’m trying to do everything right with you but someone…” He ground his jaw in annoyance. “Someone is making it very difficult for me.”
He stormed out of the back door, called for Dax, and disappeared from sight. Dora looked around at the powdery white mess on her kitchen surfaces and floor. “Wouldn’t kill you to help me out, would it, Mr Rossi?” she complained.
Shaking her head, she dampened a couple of paper towels and approached the table first. “Dumb lug,” she grumbled. “Too handsome and too silly for your own good.” She spread the white stuff out on the wooden plane and licked one finger. She drew a plus sign in the flour, with the letters D and F on the top two sections and L and R on the bottom, then enclosed the whole thing in a curvy heart. “See there, Lowell, how nice that looks?” she whispered and added a diagonal arrow through the heart. “It could be just lovely, Mr Rossi.”
She stared at her powdery handiwork for a moment, then swept the paper towels over the letters, scooped up a dusty pile and dumped it into the waste bin. “But first, you’ve got to learn to roll with the punches, Lowell.” Dora lifted the plastic garbage can to the edge of the table and brushed the salt and flour mixture into it with determined strokes. “You’re great at getting me hot, but you’ve got to hang with me during the tough times if you want to keep this fire burning.”
* * * *
“Lowell, I understand your anger, I do.” Calvin Prescott popped the top off another frosted bottle of Sam Adams and rejoined his guest in the den of Prescott Manor. “But you seem to have forgotten that I am not one of the Fair Folk. There’s not a drop of magic in me, and I certainly don’t cast glamours.” He took a swallow of his own beer before continuing. “Moreover, I’m the last one to stand between you and Dora. Thanks to your sister…” He sighed. “I’ve come to learn that true love is the most valuable thing in this life, although it’s too late for me to do anything about it now.” He ran one liver-spotted hand over his balding scalp. “Besides, I’m fond of Dora Fontaine. I’d never want to cause her any trouble.”
“Of course I know you’re not one of the Fair Folk,” Lowell grumbled, “but I thought you might know something about what’s been happening. I’m at my wits’ end, I don’t mind saying. This madness has been going on for weeks now.” He glared at the grandfather clock—its ceaseless tick-ticking was infuriating. Lowell wanted to yank the pendulum off the thing, smash the clock’s face then tip it over onto the floor. Sure, it would be violent and destructive, but the elves could fix it all up tomorrow… He balled his hands into fists and curled his lips wickedly.
“I do wish I could help, but I’m afraid that I know nothing about it.” Calvin’s brows drew together and he stood. “I’ve had some frustrations of my own, you know, of the gardening variety.”
Lowell turned to him with a snap. “Somebody digging up your plants?” he asked sharply. “Knocking over your flowerpots? Spilling your fertiliser?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Calvin shook his head. “Poor Dora’s got the worse end of things, I’m afraid. The hooligans have left Prescott Manor alone, but…” He strode to the wide window that faced the woods and looked down at the moonlit gardens. “Maybe it’s hard to see in this light, but my gardens have been neglected a bit lately.” He laughed uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to say anything to your family, because, after all, it’s free labour from the gnomes, trolls and elves that made the manor and its gardens a reality. I don’t want to appear ungrateful. It’s just…”
Lowell rose and stood next to Calvin.
“Well, see there?” Calvin pointed. “That rose plant is covered in spent blooms, and there are a few dandelions in the irises. The wisteria is starting to look a little shaggy, too.”
Lowell grunted.
“I know, I know,” Calvin murmured. “It’s a bit silly. I’m just spoilt on an immaculate garden. It’s just that it’s so
unlike
Bufo to miss things like that.”
“Maybe we’re being too easy on them,” grumbled Lowell. “After that business with Mephita and Brock, damn gnomes think they have the run of the place. Using our family bathing cavern, sneaking about and eavesdropping, getting more underfoot and wilful day by day.”
“Now, now, I don’t want to cause a fuss.” Calvin turned from the window and sank back down into the leather sofa. “It’s springtime, after all, and it’s hard to keep up with all the growth in the gardens. The plants and animals both are a little wild this time of year. Maybe it’s the season of love for gnomes as well—who knows?” He propped his slippered feet up on the coffee table. “And that’s probably all that’s been happening at Bohemian Rhapsody, you know. A concentration of animals getting into trouble in the same place. Stranger things have happened.”
Lowell took a swig of his beer and stared out the window at the gardens, still spectacular in their quasi-neglected state, and at the depths of the woods beyond.
Perhaps,
he thought.
Perhaps.
He rejoined Calvin on the couch. “Many thanks, Calvin, for your hospitality, and I’ll take the gardening issues up with Bufo”—he rolled his eyes—“
gently
.” He drew a deep breath. “There’s something else I want to talk about with you. Something that would mean quite a bit of change, I’m afraid.”
“Yes?” Calvin prodded. “Go on. I’m intrigued.”
“Well, it’s about the manor. You do have quite a lot of room here for just one person…”
Chapter Eight
Dora propped herself up on one elbow and looked out of the open window. The sheer lacy curtain billowed in the afternoon breeze, carrying the scent of roses and kitchen herbs into her bedroom. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her new sateen sheets were cool and silky on her bare skin, and the birdsong that sparkled through the air was lovelier than any symphony. “Hear that?” she whispered. “Wood thrush. Henry David Thoreau said, ‘Whenever a man hears it he is young, and Nature is in her spring; whenever he hears it, it is a new world and a free country, and the gates of Heaven are not shut against him’.”
Lowell slid his roughened hands over her bare side. “My Danae,” he murmured. “Even Zeus could never stay away from you, my sweet.” He cupped one bare breast in his hand and smiled. “Who cares about a silly bird when I have you naked in my bed?”
Dora laughed lightly. “You mean
my
bed,” she corrected. “My bed, my house, my garden. We’ve made love everywhere there is to do it, Lowell, except at your place.” She spread her fingers over his chest and fluffed his dark chest hair. “Not that I’m complaining. Well, not exactly.” She traced the lines of his pectorals. “But it would be kind of nice to see where you live. In a little cabin in the woods, like Hansel and Gretel? Do you have a lab for your biology studies?”
Lowell swallowed and cleared his throat. “Sort of,” he mumbled. “But I want to talk to you about something, Dora, now that we’re on the topic of houses. It’s a bit radical, but it would allow us to see more of each other and perhaps, um, grow even closer.”
“Pray tell.” Dora rolled onto her stomach to look at him.
“Well, ah.” His face coloured. “You know how I feel about you…”
“Like I’m a hot human princess and you’re a sex-crazed immortal?” offered Dora.
Lowell’s chuckles dissolved into a coughing fit. He sat up as Dora thumped him on the back, then settled back onto the mattress. “Okay, here goes.” He took one of her hands between his work-worn ones. “You could move into Prescott Manor, Dora. You could run your bed and breakfast there. There’s plenty of room—Calvin has his own wing, there’s a wing just for you, and the six guest suites run down the middle of the house. You’d even have your own kitchen, separate from Calvin’s, on your side of the manor.”
Dora, baffled, scanned his face and pulled her hand away. “Why in the world would I want to do that?” she asked. “I love Bohemian Rhapsody. It may not be Prescott Manor, all fine and fancy, but I happen to like my little B&B. I certainly don’t want to move in with Calvin Prescott—I hardly know him!—and I can’t imagine that he wants me to. Have you lost your mind completely, Lowell Rossi?”
“No, no, I haven’t, just listen!” Lowell insisted. “You wouldn’t have to clean the house any more, or even garden when you didn’t want to. Calvin has his own team of gardeners, repairmen and cleaners. I know there are things you’d like to improve on at Bohemian Rhapsody, things you’d like to fix. If you moved to Prescott Manor, you could just focus on what you love—cooking and entertaining—and let the staff take care of the repairs and drudge work.” He took her hand once more and kissed her palm. “And you’d be closer to where I live.” He paused and continued in a whisper. “Maybe you’d even want to move in with me at some point…”
Dora yanked her hand away from him a second time. “I see you all the time,” she countered. “It’s not like your top-secret biologist Batcave is that far away from Charade—you find your way here at least every other day. And besides, you haven’t even taken me to see your cabin yet. It’s a bit premature to talk about me moving into it, don’t you think?”
“And those animals getting into your stuff!” Lowell added desperately. “That wouldn’t happen at the manor. I wouldn’t allow it. Aren’t you tired of all that?”
Dora climbed out of bed and wrapped a pink velour robe around her body. “I am not the one who has a tantrum every time an animal knocks over a sack of potting soil or a bin of flour,” she snapped. “I just clean it up and deal with it, unlike
some
people I know.” She yanked her belt around her waist and knotted it tightly. “I’m such an idiot.” She crammed her feet into her slippers and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Here I hoped you were going to ask to move in with me at Bohemian Rhapsody. I had no idea you thought it was such a dump.” She stormed to the bedroom door and glared at him over her shoulder. “You need to leave, Lowell. This mortal princess is not in the mood for a visit from a bearded god with his head up his ass.”