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Cursed

 

 
BY

Beth Harrison

 

EXCERPT 

 

 

 

She was in the woods, wearing a brightly-embroidered dress fastened with a golden brooch intricately shaped to look like a burning fire. She was with a young man, a handsome young man, with thick, black hair hanging down his neck and eyes like sapphires. The man was tall, and his rough-woven linen tunic and tartan trousers did little to conceal his rippling muscles and the tell-tale bulge of his eager cock.

 

She knew it was a special day. It had something to do with the handsome young man. And fire. So many fires. Such brilliant cascades of sparks shooting into the air. And a drink that tasted like honey on her tongue and warmed her down to her toes.

 

The young man reached out to loosen her chestnut hair. He was stroking her hair, slowly running his strong fingers through it. Touching her face with a rough-callused but so gentle hand. He was leaning over. Kissing her. Tenderly at first, and then with greater force. His tongue was in her mouth, burning her with the intensity of his desire. His hand was on her breast. She was so nervous, but so aroused. Her nipples had stiffened, chafing against the rough weave of her dress, and the secret spot between her legs was sizzling with a heat she’d only dreamed about.

Cuinn. The young man’s name was Cuinn.

Make a wish, my lovely Ena.

Ena. Her name was Ena. Where were they? Why were they in the woods? 

“Oh, please don’t stop.” Kate was talking in her sleep. “I love you.”

She sighed, mumbled, and turned over, still deeply asleep.

Aidan watched and listened. He had made his escape from the party and located the guest room. He was sitting on the bed observing the woman he loved as she tossed and turned. 

The nearness of her after so long was exhilarating. He reached out to touch her and realized with surprise that his hand was trembling. He was so hungry for her. He stroked her hair gently, devouring her face with famished eyes.  

His face grew soft as he watched her sleep, just as he had watched her sleeping beside him so many times. Then he reached into the pocket of his jacket. He drew out a Swiss army knife and a small velvet pouch, strung with a thin, golden chain. After he had opened the knife and readied the tiny pair of scissors it contained, he pinched the end of Kate’s braid between his thumb and forefinger. Barely moving, he snipped off a small lock of her hair and deposited it carefully into the black velvet bag. Chanting a few words in an ancient language, he drew the gold chain closed and replaced the pouch and knife in his pocket.

Kate moaned deeply, but didn’t awake. Aidan’s breath caught in his throat. He remembered that sensual moan so well. Rising from the edge of the bed, he stooped to caress her breasts. Still deeply asleep, Kate writhed suggestively as he squeezed each erect nipple.

“Harder,” she murmured. “Harder. . .”

He withdrew his hand and watched her shudder to orgasm. Was she dreaming about him? About their time together? It was imperative that she have no recollection of their pasts, but part of him wanted her to be sharing his memories of how much they had loved each other. 

 

Breathing hard, as though he’d just completed his ten-mile run, Aidan More collected himself and returned to the party. 

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