Free Untold Tales by Sabrina Flynn Page A

other there save the howling of a dream and the memory of a helpless twenty-year-old fool who had never done anything useful but bash heads. Still, over nine hundred years later, he felt like that fool again—trapped and helpless, unable to aid those he loved.
    That did not set well with Oenghus. He snatched his belt from a pile of belongings and uncorked his grog, taking a long swig. The Brimgrog burned away his memories, centered him in the now, and filled his veins with fire. A growl rumbled from deep inside his chest and he drove his fist into the mantel, cracking the stone.
    His hand hurt, but he welcomed the simplicity of pain. The heart was never so straightforward.
    “I didn’t gift you with a bottomless supply of Brimgrog so you could guzzle it like a drunkard.”
    Oenghus spun, muscles tensing for battle a moment before his mind recognized the voice. The Sylph—Yasine as he alone called her—stood in the center of moonlight. Green eyes roved appreciatively over his body; muscle and power draped in firelight and shadow. He could feel her need, her desire, amplified by his own.
    Yasine moved like water, flowing across the floor to stand within reach. “Swear to me,” she said.
    Her voice made him hard, her presence filled him, and he seized her. The Sylph went willingly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her lips met his with equal hunger. It had been so long. The lovers trembled, aching, fumbling in their desperation. Coarse, strong hands tugged her robe free, and flung it to the far side of the room. He slid his hands down her back, relishing her curves, her warmth, and the press of her body against his. He gripped her backside and lifted. Strong thighs wrapped around his waist.
    Frantic moments passed as Oenghus found the bed. The realm tilted. And the Sylph spread her thighs, welcoming what she could not control—the only man she had ever loved. He was everything opposite; hard and coarse and impatient.
    Oenghus gripped her flank and filled her with unyielding power. His growl mingled with her gasp, and she nipped his ear with her teeth. She was all softness and heat and he sank into her with a shuddering sigh, and for a moment, they simply lay intertwined. Oenghus raised himself on his elbows, sparing her his weight, pulling back to meet her eyes. She smiled, relishing the heat of him, the thickness pulsing inside until she could stand it no longer.
    “Swear to me,” she breathed, clenching her muscles around his shaft. Oenghus grunted, and thrust, rendering her speechless. He tasted her neck and she arched her back. When his lips locked over a hard nipple, she gasped, and pushed, rolling him to the side so she came out on top. Precisely where she liked to be. A primal chorus of moans entered the room as the united lovers reacquainted themselves, until they moved as one, in a timeless rhythm.
    It did not last long.
    He could feel her muscles tensing, the slight trembling that turned into a quaking, until her body stiffened and her lips parted with a cry. He grabbed her neck, and brought her lips to his, silencing her ecstasy. She moaned into his mouth. She was utter bliss and happiness and the violence of her release drove him over the precipice. His shaft throbbed and he groaned as she met his hips with her own.
    Through the hazy aftermath, he watched her shapely, swaying form, riding him until she had had her fill twice over. When her desire stilled, she slipped off and slid to the side, as limp and satiated as her lover.
    They lay for a long time, half intertwined, her head over his heart, her fingers idly drifting through the hair on his chest as she traced the muscles of his body, learning his lines anew.
    Oenghus ran one hand over the thigh draped across his own, and with the other, brushed Yasine’s back, letting his touch drift downwards to rest on her backside.
    “I thought you couldn’t use your power?” he murmured in the quiet. His breath stirred her hair and he inhaled her scent,