Page 48 of Casting Butterflies

Before I could collapse on my face, Misha hooked an arm around my waist, and next thing I knew, I sat in his lap, leaning against him, trying to capture my breath now that my lungs were working again.

“That was…” He seemed to lack the words, so I gave them to him. “Stupendous. Awesome. Ridiculously good.”

He chuckled. “Yes. But also surprising.”

“Surprising how?”

“You’re so different from the women I usually bed.”

“Because I’m not an elf?”

“Because you’re bold and unafraid to take what you want. You’re comfortable in your skin and give yourself fully to pleasure.”

“How could I not feel sexy and confident when you look at me with those smoldering eyes?”

Another chuckle emerged, and it came with a smile. “You are something else, Beavertail.”

“You did not seriously call me that after having the most epic sex, Twinkle Toes.”

His brow arched. “Exactly what is Twinkle Toes supposed to signify?”

“Isn’t that the name of one of Santa’s elves?”

He gaped at me. “You would compare me to those fictional serfs?”

“Says the guy likening me to a toothy, ugly animal that chews on wood.”

One half of his mouth tilted into a lopsided smile. “Wait, are you saying you don’t eat wood?”

With that kind of challenge, I showed just how well I could devour his wood, which then led to me discovering the man knew how to feast on a pussy.

Despite having two orgasms under our belt, we almost fucked again. However, according to my growling belly, we needed food. We left the cabin and headed to the dining car where we played footsies. We didn’t have the patience to sit and eat dessert, opting instead to bring the mousse-like dessert back to our cabin, where we put it to good use.

We spent the next few days mostly in bed. Talking about our lives—vastly different. Leaving only to feed ourselves. Cedric had an uncanny way of knowing when he could return to the cabin in between our sexual bouts. He didn’t say anything about the change in mine and Misha’s relationship, but I felt his judgment. Didn’t care.

Did I know where this thing with Misha would lead? Nope. Was I having fun? Very much so. A fun that got extended several hours when a problem on the track delayed our trip.

Alas, we couldn’t travel forever. We were two hours out of Moscow, snuggling after yet another epic round of sex, when Misha suddenly stiffened. “Get dressed.”

“Is Cedric back?” I dumbly asked, despite not having heard any scratching. I blamed the lack of blood to my brain caused by my naked lover hopping from the bed to find his pants. You’d think the fact I’d been exploring that body for the last two days would have given me some immunity. Nope. My girly parts ignited, despite being recently satisfied.

“It’s not the dryad. Trouble is brewing.” With that statement, the tender lover disappeared and the steely-eyed warrior took his place. A warrior who pulled out a very big knife from his bag.

18

Seeing Misha arming himself after his announcement about trouble wiped out my happy after-sex glow. Could Misha be mistaken? I’d not heard or sensed anything, but then again, I’d been somewhat distracted.

Still, best to not be caught in the buff if shit hit the fan. I scrambled from the bed and scrounged for my underpants—because they would totally protect me from danger.

“What makes you think we’re about to be attacked?” I asked, yanking them up before searching for my bra.

“My gut.”

“Could be indigestion?” I countered as I tucked my boobs away. I tackled my shirt next and got tangled in the fabric before managing to pop my head through. Good thing I wasn’t trying to be sexy.

“Can’t you sense it? Someone’s using magic, lots of it.” His head swiveled as if he could stare through the wall to the front of the train.

“Is it Rasputin?”