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 We met at a political dinner in Ireland, got into a heated discussion about how and why we should be preserving historical documents, and the night ended in her passionately eating me out in the dark alley behind the pub we were in.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."