Fae Lover Ch. 02: Location Sharing On

When Colin taps "Share Location" in exchange for a sultry summertime promise, Lyra blends satellite precision, Fae magic, and his growing obsession into a seduction so charged, pleasure can be given, or taken, without even a touch. That's the beauty of it. That's the game.

*Text messages are marked by initials. Cell phone notifications in bold brackets.

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{Notification: Colin has turned location sharing on.}

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The truth is, for as long as he lives, I can find Colin whenever I choose. But knowing that would only unsettle him, and reveal far too much about what I'm not.

Convincing him to share his location through his phone, on the other hand, was something he could understand. Something he could choose. Or at least, he could tell himself he'd chosen it, in exchange for my promise not to wear panties all summer.

Of course, GPS only tells me where he is, not where he's going. What I do with that information... that's where the magic comes in.

I play with him in small, silly ways at first.

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The Monday after he shares his location, I spend the afternoon in the park across the street from his office. I lounge on a blanket, facing away from him in my saffron sundress. The back is cut so low that, from his perspective, I appear naked from the waist up.

{Notification: Missed call from Colin}

C: Hi beautiful. I see you. Pick up?

L: No.

C: Won't you even turn around?

In reply, I sweep my long hair into a messy bun, exposing the line of my neck. Then I curl back onto my side, book in hand, the shape of my body languid and deliberate. The breeze plays with the hem of my dress, and it flickers over my bare feet like a flame.

He sends me a photo--me, just as he sees me now. Graceful neck, sun-kissed back, the valley of my waist, round hips, all perfectly framed. His riposte plays to my vanity, ties it to him.

A springtime sweetheart, green and tender, might have thought themselves rebuffed by my actions. An indulgent autumn love would have brought a sweet treat to share on my blanket. But Colin is proving to be an ideal summer lover, and so has earned a reward.

I whistle softly to the wind and let it lick my dress nearly high enough to imply a glimpse of cheek. Then I smooth it back down with a quarter-glance over my shoulder, as if chastising him for peeking.

He doesn't text me again. But I feel him watching--pleasure traced with possession--until I leave.

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On Wednesday, I send the sound of my bells ahead of him while he shops for groceries. I sense his anticipation, fizzing like champagne caught in the hand and lost through the fingers each time he turns a corner, thinking he's found me.

Outside, I toss a full bag of peanuts to the parking lot crows and leave them two strands of shiny bells. One to weave around the windshield wiper of his car, the other to keep for their own amusement.

He doesn't find them until the thunderstorm on Thursday.

{Notification: Missed call from Colin}

C: Lyra. I was on the highway and I could hear your bells over the rain.

C: I pulled over to take them off. I couldn't think straight with the sound.

C: My wife didn't hear them. She thinks I'm crazy.

C: Now I'm soaked. And hard as a rock. In a goddamn gas station bathroom.

C: Don't touch my car.

L: I didn't.

{Notification: Missed call from Colin}

C: DON'T touch my car. DON'T lie to me.

C: I swear to God Lyra

L: Careful, Colin.

L: You might get what you ask for.

{Notification: Colin has turned location sharing off.}

His anger and arousal crackle around me long after the messages stop. It feels like melting into a mineral spring just hot enough to sting.

Everyone knows that contact with my kind destabilizes humans. What they don't know is how they affect us in return. They pull us back into time--into urgency, into intensity. We become sharp, bright, full of blood and heat. A rare intoxication, for a race as long-lived as mine.

I linger on the porch long into the night, savoring the sensation as lightning strikes the ridge beyond the lake.

By Friday, he's had a change of heart.

{Notification: Missed call from Colin}

C: Please pick up. I'm calling to apologize for not believing you.

C: And for losing my temper.

C: There was parking lot footage. It was a crow.

C: They collect shiny things and hide them. I had to Googled it.

C: I should've known by the way the ribbon was stuck in there.

C: You could never do that with your fingers. I had to cut it out.

C: I'm so sorry Lyra. Please forgive me. Let me make it up to you.

L: I'll consider it. After I consult the crows.

C: Will you pick up if I call again? Or I can come over.

C: Please, I can't tell if you're joking over text.

L: I'm not.

{Notification: Colin has turned location sharing on.}

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I leave him a gift that next Monday morning.

A tall red candle burning on an oak stump, right where he pauses mid-run.

Beneath it, a note: Burn for a dream of me.

C: Is this you forgiving me about the thing with the car?

L: It is.

C: Thank you.

C: I'm not complaining, but leaving it lit like that... that's dangerous.

L: Only for you

L: But if you want me... burn.

L: Be brave, Colin.

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Yes, after a week of tracking his movements, arriving before him to his usual morning café is predictable. Sitting in his usual seat, flirting with the curvaceous strawberry-blonde barista who usually flirts with him, is less so.

I read her soft palm, tracing the path of her love line as she giggles. I assure her that she will have many fine lovers. Men, mostly--but at least one woman, if she'll let her. She blushes prettily and tells me her name is Ella.

Colin, clearly reflected in the café's dark window, watches us intently. I lower my voice, and as Ella dips closer to catch my words, his gaze drops to her generous breasts.

Ella's curves and bubbly sweetness would make her a fine winter lover. I can already imagine waking up curled against her shapely ass, my arm around her waist and resting against her soft stomach.

If she calls me. If I'm still here. And if Colin makes good on his word to pay for heat. It would be unseemly to invite her to a cold cabin.

But winter is a long way away.

I cross and uncross my legs slowly, showing Colin that I'm bare beneath my airy, knee-length skirt, in keeping with my summer promise. His eyes trail from Ella's chest to the length of my body, and land, tactile as a fingertip, on the flash of pink I share with him like a secret.

Then he swallows hard as I write my number across her wrist.

I catch his glare in the window as I brush a curl behind Ella's ear. He stalks out the door, abrupt enough to ripple in the air. The more sensitive customers--and Ella--turn to watch him go.

A text message appears on my screen a few minutes later.

C: Why does my car smell like your hair?

L: Good morning.

L: Honeysuckle is everywhere in May.

C: No. It didn't smell like this when I went in.

L: Perhaps you're imagining me inside it.

C: Are we going to do this every time, Lyra?

L: But isn't that what I should be asking you?

L: Always, this talk of sounds only you can hear... flowers only you can smell...

L: And you know I never touched your precious car.

C: I don't care about my car anymore. It's only a thing.

C: Your behavior in there.... was that for my benefit?

I smirk, then laugh lightly at myself. Here I am, smiling at my phone like any modern human woman with a jealous new beau. At least, that's what I assume makes them smile.

L: Just making good on our bargain.

L: I'd never presume to say what benefits you. Are you not your own man?

C: You make me question that.

C: Do you really even want that barista?

L: Ella is a charming young lady. We'd be a pretty pair, tangled up in bed together.

L: Though she favors men like you, as you know.

L: Have you been naughty, Colin?

C: No. Never.

C: She's just friendly.

L: If she's just friendly, what were you upset about?

I finish my coffee and gather my things. By the time I settle on the bench between the café and the parking spot I've held open for this purpose, Colin has texted me four times.

C: I'm not.

C: I can't tell if you're punishing me or playing with me right now.

C: If you're still mad, just say so.

C: I was out of line the other day. I admit it.

L: You have no reason to lie to me, Colin. Am I not your most shameful secret?

C: You are.

C: You're my only secret, Lyra. I swear.

L: I saw your face in the reflection. Your mouth went dry, didn't it?

C: Fine. Yes, it did.

C: Yes, she flirts. And yes, I like it. I'm only human.

C: But that's it. I've never even thought about giving her my number.

L: She'd take it, you know. She finds you handsome. Distinguished, she said.

C: That's what young women say about men who are too old for them.

L: Her twenty-first birthday is coming up.

L: She's a Gemini. Maybe I'll celebrate with her.

C: She's too young for me.

C: And she's too young for you, too.

My kind are ageless upon adulthood, though few of us retain the tender gloss of true youth for long. The glamour I favor doesn't alter me to match anyone's desires--it only draws forward the facets they're most eager to engage with. What they notice, what they overlook... I never tire of what it reveals. So Colin sees a woman near his own age. So does Ella.

I set the phone down and glance toward the café. Ella spots me and gives a small wave. I return it.

L: She's come to her own conclusions about both of those things.

C: You wanted to make me jealous, showing off with that girl. I'm not a fool.

L: Then park in front of me. I'll show you more.

L: If you tell me what it did to you.

C: That's too close for what I have in mind. Come to the car instead. It's been over a week.

L: Yes, a week since you took the deer path to my door. We could be there now. But instead, here you are, watching me through glass. And so far away.

C: Please Lyra. I've got a thing tonight. Work-related. I can't skip it. I need to see you. This is the only time.

L: Ah. How dutiful.

L: But no. In exchange for your location, you had me swear not to wear panties--and not to interfere with you in public.

L: You were the architect of this bargain I'm bound by.

I toss my phone into my bag. One foot tucks beneath my thigh on the bench, revealing myself, briefly, to the empty parking space that should have held my lover. The breeze catches the hem just so. I don't stop it.

My phone pings several times in quick succession. The thrill of Colin's turmoil flutters behind my ribs as I ignore it. If he weren't in such a diverting mood, I'd gladly give myself to the wind this morning. But now there's as much dark cloud in him as strong sun, and the air is electric with promise.

And then--his engine turns over.

He's only a shadow behind the deeply tinted windshield as he pulls into the space in front of me.

I open his messages, and I don't hide my frown as I read them.

C: Goddamn it, you know this isn't what I meant at all.

C: Please come here. Let me touch you for just sixty seconds. That's all I want.

C: Don't make me go to work like this.

C: Pick up your damn phone.

C: You can't treat me this way. I'm losing my mind.

C: God don't you sit there like that

C: Fuck, Lyra

I press my knees together, unbutton my chambray shirt, and drape it over my lap. My nipples harden visibly as the wind slips a chilly finger through my translucent lace camisole.

Even so, I feel quite prim as I tap out my replies.

L: This temper you're in...

L: I'd prefer it in the late afternoon. A storm to break the heat.

L: But it's too bright and early for it now.

I scroll back and select one message to respond to directly:

C: God don't you sit there like that

L: Try it again.

C: Yes. You're right. I'm sorry.

C: What do you want? Mistress? Princess? Goddess? Pick one, I'll practice.

L: I'm fond of you, Colin. I'm so easily pleased whenever you're sweet.

C: Goddess, then. However you sit is a blessing. Allow me to worship you.

C: I'll keep going like that, if you tell me to.

C: But after last week I need you so fucking bad it's hard to think in words.

I laugh at that, softly delighted. The more tender the animal, the more I like its teeth. I fold my chambray and place it back in my bag.

L: This is how I prefer you, I think.

Then I part my legs slightly, opening myself to him.

C: Now I see that sweet pussy --

C: Your nipples through your shirt --

C: Let me taste them?

C: Please just come to the car.

C: I don't want that part of the bargain anymore.

L: I'm afraid that's not how it works, dear Colin.

L: I'm sure you'll negotiate more wisely next time.

C: Okay, okay. Tell me what you want me to do.

L: But I have.

L: What am I doing to you? Describe it.

C: I can't do it this way.

C: I'll have to call you.

L: I won't speak to you.

C: Just listen.

Once upon a time, I would've had to send my shadow to him for that. But today I can simply pluck my earbuds from my bag, slide them in, and save it for another purpose.

He calls the moment he sees me snap the case shut. It's been too long since I've heard his voice to make him wait. I pick up on the first ring, and he exhales my name like it's a breath he's been holding for days.

My hand flies to my breast, thumb grazing my nipple before I even realize I've moved. It's only his sharp inhale that makes me aware of what I've done. Since nobody else is watching, I pinch it between my fingers.

"You want to know what you're doing to me? What you've been doing to me?" His voice is low, with a dry heat ready to go up in flames.

"I'm in here with my gym shirt in my lap and my fist around my cock like a goddamn animal. Watching you show off your pussy and play with your tits at eight in the morning."

I smile at the thought. Even if he's exaggerating a bit, I don't mind.

"The car still smells like those flowers," he says. "I know I'm not imagining it. It wouldn't be your hair I'd be smelling right now, if I were."

He sees my amusement, the mischievous twist of my mouth. I could make it smell like pussy. Or freshly fucked sheets. Maybe while he's driving home from dinner. GPS has so many applications.

"Don't laugh at me while I'm trying not to come all over the fucking steering wheel," he begs. "I'm not like this, ever. Except for you. You've ... got me turned inside out. It's not normal."

I lift the heel of one foot all the way up on the bench, giving him a full view...

... and allow Colin's gaze--and the tendrils of the wind--to have their way with me. The man: rapt, ravenous, his attention hot and probing as a tongue, reaches toward the deepest parts of me. The wind: cool, playful, sighs across my most tender exposed skin. It taunts its rival by flipping up the hem of my camisole, revealing the bell at my waist.

His moan is exquisite. It drags from him slowly, like he was clutching it in both hands, unwilling to let it go. I close my eyes and arch against the bench, savoring that sound as much as the morning sun. Light spills across my skin, revealing the outline of my unrestrained breasts through thin fabric.

Maybe he really is stroking himself in that car like a beast. They do seem to unravel more quickly now, though I'm unclear on whether it's an issue of my appetites or of modern stamina. Either way, it would be a pity if Colin couldn't even last through the first month of summer before his mind began to slip.

I don't have time to consider it. Another car pulls into the lot, and I have to slide my leg back down.

When he speaks again, there's a thread of control knotted through his words.

"Lyra," he says, "I'm just one of your rings away from getting out of this car, dropping to my knees in the fucking gravel, and eating you out right there on the bench."

Desperate control, grasped so tight it's about to slip from his fist entirely. But it's there. He hasn't cracked, but he's getting very close.

I won't have him wilt and go by before his season. I wasn't lying when I said I was fond of him. I am. Quite.

So I curl my tongue against the roof of my mouth, as if tying a knot in a cherry stem. His orgasm will remain hot, alive, and caged in his body until I've set the terms for its release--and he's met them. It belongs to me now.

His voice is raw in my ear. "Say the word, Lyra. Say it. And I'll spread your legs wide and press my face between them till you're sobbing for me to take you."

A smile creeps across my lips, perversely triumphant. My clever summer lover understands now how the bargain binds me. And he's pressing me right up against it. Testing the edge, knowing I won't say a word. He doesn't need to understand why.

"I wouldn't, though," he adds, his shadow leaning forward in the car like he's whispering in my ear. "I'd pull your legs around my hips. Maybe even give you a finger to ride, if I felt like it."

His tone shifts to dark velvet. "Then I'd tear that pretty lace shirt to shreds with my teeth. Lick slow circles around your breasts until you're arching into my mouth. Like it hurts you not to feed them to me. And then when you're shaking and sucking against my hand, I'll lift you up..."

My knees have drifted apart again, and the wind is up to its tricks, tracing every inch of my pussy it can reach. I gasp, unthinking, and the breeze is emboldened. Suddenly a tiny hurricane laps against my sex, just as Colin claims my body with his voice.

Caught between these two lovers, I'm drawn dangerously close to surrender here on this bench. I press my knees together in a trembling bid for control.

"Don't, Lyra," he snarls. "Don't you dare. Not when I've got my cock throbbing hot in my hands. Spread your legs for me, and I'll tell you the rest. Or say one tiny word and I'll drag you in the car by your hair and show you."

At any other time he would've spilled by now. Made a mess of himself and the leather seats in that car he was so touchy about.

But of course, I locked him up. He can't come until I set the conditions.

And perched on the brink as I am now, I'm in no state to do it. Not while fighting to stay composed. I can't call the shadows over us on a bright day like this. And I will not break my bargain with a human.

All I can do is moan my gratitude to the moon that the parking lot is still empty. Then I spread my legs. Wide as the skirt allows.

Colin's voice is ferocious with praise. "There she is. My princess, wet as a whore, ready to be fucked. But you don't want pretty titles anymore, do you? I see you dripping. Quivering. From here. You want something thick and hard to ride."

He pauses, and I hear him swallow. His mouth isn't dry now.

"Is there anything you'd tell me not to do to you right now, Lyra? Could I slide my whole hand into you? Could you take me to the wrist?"

My breath shakes with the effort not to answer him.

But then he chuckles. At me.

The sound of it seeps in--slow and thick and warm--until I whimper without meaning to.

He does it again when he hears me. And this time, the sound fills me more completely than any man alone ever could.

Wordlessly, I curse my wild Fae blood for responding to him like this.

"But you don't look like you could hold out that long," he murmurs. "You look like I could make you come with nothing but my breath."

And as he says it, the wind takes up his cause, its cool, spiraling fingers slipping under lace to skin. It sighs against my nipples. Sucks and swirls between my legs with maddening precision.

"Stay with me, Lyra," he warns me, "I'm not finished with you yet."

He gathers himself, and pushes on. "Once your cunt is clenching around my hand and your tits are slick and heaving, and your mouth is begging for me, then I'll lift you up. But I wont have you against the bench. No. I'll carry you, right up to that big glass window."

Something stirs low in my belly, and I don't know if it's Colin's voice, the wind's tongue, or my own shadow, unstitched and taking matters into her own hands.

My knees snap together again. Not from modesty, but to rock and squeeze my thighs just right. Colin, understanding, growls his approval.

"I spin you around, press your tits and shredded shirt to the glass, so you can see everyone watching as I take you. I fuck you so hard your back bows, your knees buckle, and you forget your own fucking name until I call you by it. So you know. So everyone knows who you belong to. Even that sweet little flirt--especially her--knows what it looks like when I make you come."

The wind tries to sweep back up between my legs and can't. It lifts my skirt higher on my thighs, teases my shirt above my waist in its frustration. Colin hums like he's tasted something delicious, and the sound blossoms through my whole body. At this moment, I belong utterly to the voice of the shadowy man in the car before me.

My thighs shake. My hips roll in tight inexorable circles. My belly tightens, and I come--silently, rhythmically--right there on the bench. His breath in my ear grows ragged as he watches me unravel. I grip the weathered bench too tightly, hear it creak beneath my hands as the waves roll through me, intimate, resonant as a bell struck clean.

Each peal is voiced only by the chiming of the tiny bell at my waist.

It's not loud. But he hears it.

"Oh Lyra," he breathes, "I don't know what you've done to me, but don't stop. I don't know how I'm going to work today. I don't even remember what my job is. I just want to crawl inside you. Please. I'll take you anywhere. Your place, my place. A hotel. Paris. I don't care. I'm losing my mind for you. You can't be human. You can't. All I want is your voice in my ear, your taste in my mouth, your body open for me. Say something. Or come with me. Or let me go."

I shake my head no, wipe a few tiny fragments of wood off my hands, and take my earbuds out. Then I raise my phone so he sees it.

I type with the screen in my lap, so he won't see my hands shaking. Because I am shaken by how completely I just gave myself to him. And if he knew--if he truly knew--it could ruin him.

L: You've impressed me, Colin.

L: You bent me to your will.

L: Held me at your mercy.

L: Took what you wanted from me with your voice alone.

L: I feel your voice inside me, even now.

L: But your next release belongs to me.

L: It happens in my home, or it doesn't happen at all.

L: Ever.

L: You could drag yourself to my cabin half-asleep, drawn by the weight of your leaking cock tonight, next week, or a month from now.

L: Or you can drive there alone right now, plant your feet against the doorframe, and spill across my kitchen floor.

L: And dearest? You haven't lit that candle I gave you.

L: If you're wise, you won't. Not until you bring me what's mine.

L: Now zip up, and tell me you understand.

His silhouette slumps in the driver's seat. He types. And types. But only one word comes through:

C: Yes.