This story takes place two months after Night of the Fae.
"Isabel!"
Cora is moaning beneath me, her red lips swollen and moist, her green eyes glazed over with pleasure. I have been with Cora for two months now, meeting her as often as possible to have dinner and fuck. The arrangement is okay with Cora. We met at a political dinner in Ireland, got into a heated discussion about how and why we should be preserving historical documents, and the night ended in her passionately eating me out in the dark alley behind the pub we were in.
The most striking thing about Cora is how much she looks like Aoife, my faery lover in Scotland. As I slide two fingers into Cora's pussy, I remember Aoife, hear her moans instead of Cora's.
"Oh, God, Isabel!" Cora shrieks as I slide four fingers into her sopping pussy.
"Oh—!was
Her juices cover my hand, and I dive down to lick her pussy, tasting the wild honey of Aoife's pussy as I do.
That night, it is Aoife I dream of. I see her bending over me, her long black curls tickling my skin, her green eyes flashing.
"My Isabel," she says, softly.
"I have tried to forget you, mo chridhe, but I am unable to. I must have you again."
She slams me down onto the dewy grass and we begin to devour each other. She slides her entire hand into my pussy while lapping at my clit, and I come over and over again, unable to stop.
She rubs her pussy against mine, kissing me deeply, our tongues intertwining. We swallow each others' moans.
I wake up beside Cora, who is looking at me strangely.
"Who is Aoife?" she asks, looking curious.
At first, I pretend not to know what she's talking about, but the thing about Cora is that she has never once been fooled by me in two months worth of sleeping with me. So I tell her about Aoife. I show her the leaf tattoo on my thigh.
I expect her to scoff, to say I dreamed it all and got the tattoo when I was drunk, but she doesn't.