Before us, the landscape sprawled out, a majestic patchwork of rolling greens, of dark bushes and pale grasses and startlingly bright mosses. It looked endless, almost, except you could see the blaze of fire far out over the water.
Staggered stones rose out of the ground, massive boulders roughly shaped into points. We climbed a small hill and stopped before the portal tomb. A heavy, ancient capstone lay tilted across a handful of backstones, looking like it might slide off any minute and cause a small earthquake.
Mike traced a ridge in the stone. “When was it built?”
“Maybe five-thousand years ago. Older than the pyramids.” We slowly started around the monument. “I get why they believed in fairies here.” I glanced over at him. In the darkness, only his hair glinted. His strong jaw and broad shoulders made him look like he’d stepped out of the tales himself. “You’re perfect, actually.” He met my eyes, startled. “Put you in a tunic and give you a torc instead of a tie, and you could have been here for thousands of years.
“We did a unit on fairytales in seventh grade, and my project was about fairy portals. Rings of stones or mushrooms. I used to daydream about going through one. Ending up in Fairyland. Where everything was beautiful and perfect and magical.”
He reached out and planted a hand against one of the supporting boulders. And then, before I realized what he was planning, he planted his arms on the stone and swung himself onto the capstone.
I gasped and grabbed for his leg, but he evaded me easily. “Are you crazy?” My heart beat frantically as he sprawled across the stone. “You have to get off!”
“Do I?” He grinned down me. Mad, beautiful, just as a fairy king ought to be. He reached down. “Come on.”
I shook my head resolutely. “No.”
“Natalie.” A wicked gleam lit his eyes. His hand taunted me. “Now.”
And then, because I was clearly mad, too, I placed my hand in his, braced my leg and was pulled up onto the capstone. I landed half across him, and he righted me in his lap, his arms at the small of my back. His scent mingled with the summer night, grass and earth and stone. “This is very wrong.”
He laughed. “Are the fairies going to punish us?”
I wound my fingers through his hair, admiring the play of silver and fire. “You are very bad at being Irish.”
He kissed me. His hands slid along my back, pressing me closer, and his tongue met mine in a slow, perfect dance and I no longer cared what was right and who we were. Not tonight, with a dome of fast stars blazing far above us. Not here, on this portal into a different world, a different reality, one that was just us and warmth and beauty. I wanted to have him, for him to have me, to belong to each other here in this wild land on the edge of the world. So I packed my reasons for coming to Ireland away in a little box at the back of my mind, and when he lay down on the cold hard stone, I followed.
My knees landed on either side of him, my dress rucked up around my waist. I bent my body toward his, needing to be closer, to edge out the air between us until we were a seamless blend of heat. I’d never felt so urgent before, never ached with desire until I felt like my body might combust. Maybe because I’d never slept with anyone who I’d understood so entirely, inside and out, who fascinated me and drew me and pulled me apart. I’d always been so comfortable, so relaxed, like sex was just one more recreational activity that wasn’t so important one way or the other, but I wanted Mike like I’d wanted Kilkarten, and I wanted him now.
My hair fell in thick, pale waves over my shoulders, dangled down to brush his chest. He kissed me as his hand moved to the zipper of my dress. Cool night air brushed my spine, followed by the warmth of his fingers.
But. “We can’t.” I sat up, my hands planted firmly on his chest. I wanted to tear off his suit jacket, to rip off the buttons.
“Why not?” He sat up slowly, his hands holding me at the small of my back. My legs wrapped around his waist as he rose, and my hands slipped up to clutch at his shoulders. I could feel how much he wanted me, feel every hard inch moving against me as we shifted, and I let out a low moan. His lips found mine again and I pressed against him, rocking my hips forward, one hand walling down toward his waist. Pressure surrounded me, enough that I thought I might lose everything there.
Except some tiny piece of sanity made me pull my head back. “Pyramids.”
He didn’t stop kissing me. One hand twined in my hair as he angled my head back. I groaned, and his other hand slipped under my dress. His fingers slid along the curve of my leg while his thumb brushed my inner thigh. Heat shot through me as he teasingly inched his hand higher. “I dunno. Didn’t the Celts have some giant fertility festival? They’d probably cheer us on.”
“Beltane.” I pushed back as the word fertility sunk in. “No, we really do need to stop. Unless you have a condom in your wallet.” I jumped off the dolmen and looked back up.
For a minute I just stared at him, disordered and gorgeous and unworldly, but staring wasn’t enough. “Come on.”
His eyes lit and he jumped down much more gracefully, and we ran with locked hands to the truck. In a minute I had it blazing down the path, still shaking with need and at the withdrawal of his touch.
He slid his hand over my thigh, and my breath hitched, my hands tightening on the wheel. He traced the hem of my dress, and slowly, slowly pushed it up my thigh with one finger. I reached down with one hand to press his still, then hurriedly let go as the road turned. “You’ll make me crash. Um...” I tried to think. “Anything I should know? About health.”
“No, I’m good. You?”
“I am great. As long as we get to the inn alive.”
I’d barely put us into park before Mike was kissing me. We were cramped and twisted and laughing in the car seats, and then he pulled me to his side and I banged my elbow and my knee. “Ow.”
We tumbled into his room in a whirl of hands and kisses and skin. “Zipper,” I gasped between kisses.
“Turn around.”
I could barely make myself move, but I did, and instead of pulling down the metal tab, he slid his hands over my hips and pressed his lips to the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I rolled my head to the side to give him greater access, and tried to keep breathing as his tongue stroked my skin and his fingers played patterns against my lower stomach. I reached my hands up and behind so I could weave my fingers through his hair, and the motion pushed my breasts high up. He groaned and I let out a tiny huff of laugher, turning my neck and trying to reach his lips with mine. He refused to meet them, and instead traced a long line of kisses from my temple to my ear.
When he reached the sweet spot behind it, his teeth and tongue pressing and tugging, my knees buckled and I gasped, air coming in little breaks as shudders ran through me. He laughed low, and pressed his body against mine until I was caught up between him and the door. With one hand, he gathered my wrists and pressed them above my head. The wood was cool against my cheek; my breasts and pelvis strained against it as my thighs trembled. Behind me, Mike was hot and hard and strong. I leaned my head back against him, too shaken to move.
Then he pressed his lips against my shoulder and stepped back. Still, he kept my hands trapped as he slowly, slowly unzipped my dress, the fabric peeling back. “There,” he said softly, and he let go.
I turned, and he was watching me with fire in his eyes, the kind of liquid flame so strong it could burn on water. Mike O’Connor, charming, good-natured Michael O’Connor, had no masks now, no smiles except that slow, crooked one as I reached for the sleeves of my dress with studied slowness. I didn’t take my eyes off his face as I slid the fabric down, barring each centimeter of skin languidly, until the dress caught for a bare second on my breasts before falling in a wisp of black to the floor.