The air stank. The smell of unwashed flesh and burning candles. The smell of perfume and worn clothing. Marion loved a good party, but usually she just came for the food. She ran her finger down the Fey queen’s arm and watched as goose bumps rose on the woman’s flesh.
Marion loved women, but was anything more delicious than a woman dressed for a party? Maybe it was the dancing—that it made them blush and pushed all that warm blood close to the surface of their skin. Maybe it was the sweat—the slight sheen and taste of salt, the way her lips felt as they slid over flesh damp from a night of dancing.
Or maybe it was just because they were usually so happy that it made them beautiful to drink from. They were human presents she got to unwrap. She licked her lips and saw her lover track the movement. Annika’s breath hitched, breasts straining against her low-necked dress. Marion was sure she could see a hint of nipple. The fashion did seem to include showing a rather large amount of breast, but the Fey queen was particularly daring.
Heaven forbid she leave something to the imagination. Perhaps it was because she was a fertility goddess at heart. She smiled. It could be downright difficult to get that woman to keep her clothes on. Marion felt very lucky that her goal of retrieving the Sard, a mythical object of Fey power, allowed her to mix work with pleasure.
“Annika,” Marion murmured and stepped closer, wanting to take a bite out of her right there. She was about to do it, but then she saw him.
Lucas. His arctic blue eyes fastened on her. His arms were crossed, and he looked irritated. As always. He was watching her, waiting for Marion to do what she was supposed to do. I hate doing what I’m supposed to do. Marion sighed. “Business. It’s always business.”