Night of the Fae

She's tall, pale, and willowy, with jet-black curls falling to her ankles and eyes green like the sea. I see her in the hills somewhere in Scotland. To this day I can't remember exactly where. She's naked, her hair covering her body in soft ripples, but I can see the moonlight shining on her pale skin as she lifts an ivory hand, and I seem to have lost control of my feet.

In my head, I'm thinking, no, this is crazy, you don't know her. But the deepest part of me, the part that people call your subconscious brain, that part knows she won't hurt me. I stop just in front of her, confused on how I even got there. Just a minute ago, it seems, I was somewhere else, my hotel, maybe, and grabbing my room key from the grumpy-looking hotel clerk who spoke with an unbelievably thick Scottish accent. Now I'm standing here, in front of the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, completely unaware of how I got here.

"Isabel."

The musical voice shocks me, and then I realize it's coming from the vision in front of me.

She reaches out her hand and lifts my chin.

"I have noticed you," she says, gently.

"It is not everyone who cares about protecting the history of these lands."

"I—I'm a historian," I say, lowering my eyes.

"That's what I do."

The woman laughs, a high, tinkly laugh.

"Oh, yes, a historian. What would you say if I told you we were about to have a night of history in the making?"

"I—I don't understand," I say, still not looking at her.

Those green eyes captivate me, and I'm afraid that if I look into them again, I may never look away.

"Erotic history, mo chridhe," she says, and the Gaelic words make me shiver somewhere deep in my soul.

She lifts my chin, stares into my eyes.

"You have been an advocate for Scottish history for so long, you must be rewarded, yes?"

"I suppose," I say, now unable to look away from those beautiful eyes.

"Dinna fash, mo chridhe," she tells me.

"You will not be harmed."

Just like that, I'm lying on a bed of soft grass, looking up at the full moon and the stars in the sky.

Some flowery scent is in the air, pleasantly sweet.

"I am Aoife," she whispers in my ear as she lies down next to me.

"You are Isabel. We are strangers no longer."

How did she know that had been on my mind?

Aoife kisses my lips gently, stroking my hair.

Suddenly I'm naked, the dewy grass tickling my sensitive skin. It feels pleasant, though, and I don't try to stop Aoife as she begins to explore my body.

"Féilleil," she murmurs into my hair, then kisses my lips again.

Her hands run up the curves of my body so gently that I melt, wanting her more than I've ever wanted any other woman before.

She gently rubs my nipples with her soft, delicate fingers, and the feeling is magical. Pleasure zings through every inch of my body, moistening my pussy and making my clit stand at full attention. Aoife's musical voice is in my ear, telling me how beautiful I am in Gaelic, a language that's always been beautiful to me, hence my attempts to save it.

She begins to kiss down my neck, sucking gently and rubbing my nipples as she does. As her mouth reaches my breast, she licks my nipple, then sucks it into her warm mouth, biting down gently until I moan. She gives my other nipple the same treatment, switching between breasts until I think I might orgasm from nipple-play alone. She moves her mouth down to my navel, kissing it and kissing down my waist, to my pussy.

She inhales my scent deeply, sighs, then dives in as if she's never tasted a better meal. It's like nothing I've ever felt before. She seems to know all the spots to hit with her tongue, at the same time thrusting two fingers in and out of my soaked pussy, moaning against my clit and licking my entire pussy, leaving no spot untouched. She licks all over, teasing me until I am a shivering puddle of jelly beneath her mouth, then, finally, she lets me fall over the edge, sucking my clit into her mouth and biting down. I scream into the night as my orgasm takes me over, the most intense orgasm of my life.

She licks me gently, seeming to know when my clit is okay to be touched again, then switches positions, putting her pussy over my lips as her face is still buried in mine. The scent of her is like nothing I've ever smelled before. She smells like violets, and when I lap at her dewy lips, the taste of wild honey is on my tongue. I devour her as she devours me, using every trick I know. Her clit is a pearl on my tongue, and I hold her thighs and press her down on my face as much as possible, wanting to taste every drop of her. We fall over the precipice together this time, our cries mingling in the night, and as I come and she comes, I feel a searing pain on my inner thigh.

***

My fluffy hotel pillows feel soft as clouds beneathe my head, my blanket warm and heavenly. I am confused. Where am I?

Then I remember. The faery. That is what she must have been, a member of the fae, the protectors of these lands. I can still feel her tongue on me, taste her juices in my mouth. Was it real? Did I really just make wild, passionate love to a faery? It can't be real.

Then, as if to contradict me, my inner thigh twinges. I turn on the lamp next to my bed, pull the blankets down, and take a quick peek.

There is a leaf there, seemingly a tattoo, but I know better. This is the mark of Aoife, telling me what we had was not a dream, but reality.

I smile and send out a silent thought, hoping she can hear me.

_Thank _you.

Translations:

mo chridhe: my heart

Dinna fash: Don't worry

Féilleil: beautiful