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“Look, Jane.”
It was still him, and yet, it wasn’t.
In the flickering torch fire, he looked impossible: his legs covered with fur, his feet, hooves. And between his legs…
The fire surged, intensified by a gust of wind or magic, and I could see him clearly in its light. He was so much more than what I had bargained for.
He was real.
Afraid to speak, afraid to even breathe, I tore my eyes away from his cock and looked up, not even flinching at the sight of long, sharp horns gracefully curving up and away from his head. Pan grinned at me with wild, savage joy.
“I will fill you with music.”
Chapter 3
Pan’s Flute
“Music…? Oh. Oh, damn.”
He gave me no time to react. One blink and he was on me, his large hands gentle on my skin, the touch of his fingers teased, fluttering like moth wings.
He ran his hands up my inner arms, caressing the insides of my elbows. My flesh broke out in goosebumps. A shiver that was at once cold and searing swam through me.
And then he was leaning over me, pushing my head back and to the side, baring my neck.
A frisson of alarm flew through me but it dissipated as soon as I felt his hot, wet mouth right over my pulse. He kissed my neck, hummed deeply in appreciation, and the world quieted but for my gasps, the deep rumble of his chest, and the blood rushing in my ears.
“Sing for me,” he said, lips moving against my skin, his voice vibrating through my ribcage.
And it felt as if someone unshackled my throat and poured molten honey down it. I gulped for breath and moaned.
The sound was unlike anything I had ever produced. It sounded unearthly, vulnerable… Fucking sexy.
Pan answered, a deep guttural groan coming from him. The sound entered me, not just through my ears, but through the pores of my skin, filling me with dark, sticky warmth.
I shivered, on the cusp of orgasm and he hadn’t so much as seen my clit.
“What… How…” I gasped as his mouth traveled up, and he nibbled on my earlobe, humming again a deep, masculine note that weakened my legs. I leaned against the hedge, barely noticing the prickly branches.
“I’m Pan,” he whispered into my ear, and I moaned in answer as his rough, insistent voice twisted its way into my lower belly and filled it with thrumming heat. “The god of music and fertility, at your service.”
His lips curved against my ear, and I could only half understand what he was saying.
I focused on relieving the pressure that was becoming unbearable. I raised my leg to hook it around his hip, and Pan grabbed it under my knee and pulled me closer.
I pressed myself to him fully now, my breasts squished against his bare chest, my calf rubbing against his coarse fur, my hands gripping his muscular, hard shoulders for dear life. The closeness made me giddy.
He was a stranger.
I rubbed myself against his bare cock, shameless, but it wasn’t enough. My panties were in the way, and I needed him against my bare skin. I needed to be filled with those magical vibrations and sounds.
Pan’s lips pressed to my ear again, and he sang a low song in a language I could not understand. The sounds bloomed within me like flowers painted in fire, and I was close, so close…
His hand dove between our bodies and found my clit. One small touch of his clever fingers, and I was exploding, my head lolling back, my heaving body gripped in his powerful arms, pressed so close he had to feel my every twitch and spasm, hear my every sound.
When I floated down from the heights of pleasure, I shivered in his embrace, my throat hoarse. I had screamed, I realized. In a public space, where everyone could hear me, where anyonecould have seen me, I had allowed a man to give me the best fucking orgasm of my life.
And he barely even touched me.
