Elemental Elves 1: Horse Play Read online

  Elemental Elves 1: Horse Play

  Mary Winter

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2007 Mary Winter

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  ISBN: 978-1-59596-638-4

  Formats Available:

  HTML, Adobe PDF,

  MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader

  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1046

  Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Connie Alberts

  Cover Artist: Reneé George

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Prologue

  If everything went well, the handsome guy beneath her would bring in twenty thousand dollars for Green Earth Farm’s therapeutic riding program. Grinning, Clarice Davenvic leaned forward and patted the horse’s neck, his coat the color of spun gold. She’d taken to calling him Flynn, after the actor famed for his pirate movies. After all, the gelding at five acted more like a roguish colt than a horse well into training.

  The steady pounding of hooves against the firm arena footing and the rhythmic snorting of the horse’s breaths filled Clarice’s ears. Overhead, the cerulean blue sky melted into the verdant green pastures. The perfect day for a ride on her new horse.

  A tiny rabbit bounded from the grass. Beneath her Flynn exploded, twisting his hindquarters into the air.

  “Easy,” she crooned as she gripped the reins, sawing at them in an attempt to calm the gelding.

  Flynn wanted none of it. He leapt sideways, flinging his body away from the startled bundle of fur racing back toward the grass on the other side of the arena. Clarice’s foot slipped from the stirrup, and the iron banged against her ankle. Her heart leapt in her throat, and she slid her hand down the right rein to pull the gelding’s head around for an emergency stop. The horse wrenched the rein away and bolted across the arena.

  The beast swerved, nearly missing a brightly painted jump. Clarice’s leg brushed against the standard, and rails clattered to the ground. “Shit,” she cursed under her breath.

  Flynn snorted and whirled like a fiend. Another mighty buck and Clarice hung from the side of the saddle. She should just let go, take her lumps, but falling off wouldn’t teach the horse a damn thing. She grabbed his mane and wrenched herself back into the saddle.

  Flynn veered. His weight shifted. Sliding to one side, Clarice ducked her head against the jump as Flynn hurried too close to it again. Her foot slipped from the other stirrup, and her gloves slipped on the reins. The world spun a crazy topsy-turvy, sky and ground churning until Clarice couldn’t tell which way was up. Her body twisted, arm flinging forward to try and break the fall.

  She hit the ground with a solid thud. A sickening crack filled the air. She lay still. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Flynn still cavorting around like something possessed. She groaned with pain and her eyelids fluttered.

  * * *

  Now he’d done it. Forcing his equine instincts back under control, Flynn D’Artange, Earth Elf, halted at the end of the arena. Sweat streaked his coat. Foam flecked from his mouth and his sides bellowed as he sucked in breath. He knew his playboy ways would get him into trouble, always living in the moment and never thinking about the future. Sent here to protect Clarice, to nurture the magic she held within her, he’d done exactly as the Elven Council and his father expected -- fucked up.

  Clarice. His charge, the one woman he’d been sent here to protect. He trotted to where she lay in a heap in the center of the arena. With his muzzle, he touched her shoulder. She groaned with pain. Her arm lay twisted beneath her at an awkward angle, and she lay on the edge of a ground pole.

  Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t move. He’d failed. Head hung low to the ground, he blew gently against her cheek, willing her to wake up. He’d shied -- his equine nature had taken over -- but then he’d lost himself to the pure joy of movement. It had been fun. The power inherent in his equine form… except he’d forgotten he had a rider on his back, a rider he was supposed to care for and teach.

  On the ground Clarice groaned. She needed medical attention, more than he could give. Flynn closed his eyes, felt for the spark of his Elven form deep inside him. He shifted and his saddle and bridle fell to the ground. He stood naked, not bothering to conjure his clothing. Long flaxen hair fell past his buttocks. His pointed ears and slanted cat-like eyes -- the same color as the pastures in which he roamed -- were the only visible evidence of his Elven race.

  He knelt by Clarice’s side and pulled her cell phone from its belt holster. “You’ll be all right,” he said as he dialed 911, summoning an ambulance to her farm. Let them ask about the tack, about the man who had called for help. He didn’t care. He checked her pulse and found it strong, though she remained unconscious. He loosened the strap on her riding helmet, thinking to leave it on, but decided she needed the breathing room more. Satisfied he’d done all he could, he stepped back, reached for his other form, turning back into Flynn the horse. He stood sentry over her and waited.

  How ironic! He’d come here to show Clarice how to have fun. Working too hard shortened lives, but with the good Clarice did, she spread love and joy into the world. That’s why he’d been sent. Right now, the world needed all the happiness it could get. The Elven Council recognized Clarice’s special gifts in working with children, and it was his job to keep her from working herself to death. Now, he’d hurt her and lost her the chance to win prize money she desperately needed for her farm.

  His first assignment, the one attempt he had to prove that he wasn’t just a playboy, and he’d fucked up. He stood there, muzzle just barely brushing her shoulder, and hoped the ambulance would arrive soon. And when she woke up, he hoped like hell she’d forgive him, because he didn’t know if he’d ever forgive himself.

  Chapter One

  The pink fiberglass cast on Clarice’s arm reminded Flynn of his folly. She slept in an oversized T-shirt with a fat horse on it and little else. She lay on her side, her broken arm flung out of the way, her other hand tucked beneath her chin like a child. Next to her, a fat orange tabby cat with a fluffy white belly slept, and on the floor between the bed and the door lay a German Shepherd.

  From outside her window, Flynn watched. In the dark of the night he had two options -- stay in his stall or go to Clarice. On this night his choice came as easily as it had every night before. At least here, watching Clarice through the window, he could keep an eye on her and protect her in a way he couldn’t on that fateful afternoon three weeks ago when he’d dashed her hopes.

  She’d told him about it as she groomed his horse form or petted his muzzle, telling him she didn’t blame him for her accident. Of course he didn’t quite believe her. He’d have blamed himself had their situations been reversed. After all, his moment’s inattention and reveling in the joy of exuberant expression had gotten her hurt. A broken arm, two cracked ribs, a concussion, and no riding for at least six weeks. He knew the diagnosis like an accusing litany.

  In sleep her lips parted. Rosy red, full, lush, perfect for wrapping around his cock and sucking him deep and hard. She rolled to the side, flinging her other arm against the edge of the
bed. With her legs spread she looked like an offering, ripe and ready to be devoured. The thin shirt pressed against the rounded globes of her breasts, her nipples tight against the fabric.

  The sheets fell away, revealing her long, tanned legs with their toned and muscled curves. It took all his willpower not to try the front door and see if he could enter her house, her body. He could, however, enter her dreams.

  Flynn smiled. He hadn’t tried before. He really hadn’t felt the need. However, no sooner had Clarice broken her arm than she was back struggling to work twelve-hour days, driving herself to exhaustion each night. Right now, he doubted fun even entered into her vocabulary. And that, in his opinion, was a crying shame.

  Flynn sat beneath the window with his legs crossed and his hands resting on his knees. He inhaled the lush, damp smell of a humid Virginia night. Insects filled the air with an undercurrent of noise. He focused on the woman lying inside, on the steady rise and fall of her chest with each breath, on the patterns of her mind. Even in sleep she didn’t relax, her mind abuzz with subconscious thoughts. Reminders to order feed, to reschedule her doctor’s appointment, to find someone to help her with her riding therapy calls, her mental to do list grew and grew.

  On the bed, she shifted restlessly. Flynn. His name was in her thoughts, though she saw him only in his equine form. Her admiration for his form, his grace, his beauty filled her mind. By falling off and breaking her arm, she thought she’d failed him. She thought she needed his forgiveness, not the other way around.

  “Oh, Clarice,” he whispered, sliding easily into her thoughts. Her need to apologize touched him. The Elven Council cared nothing for thoughts and feelings, not when their goals were on the line. Even his parents fit the aloof image the Council projected. His father worked hard on the Council and tried to mold his only son into the perfect image of Elven obedience. His father saw only how Flynn’s reckless behavior impeded his goals. He didn’t know what it would take to bring his mother out of the dream-like world in which she lived. No, no one had ever cared for his feelings before.

  He appeared in her dream in his Elven form with his hair bound in a leather thong, his pointed ears clearly visible. He knew he looked like Legolas come to life with his green cat-like eyes, his green vest and his tight leather pants.

  Clarice raised her hand from his equine form’s neck and stared at him. Her gaze lingered on his ears, then on his trousers, and the hard bulge of his cock against the butter soft leather. “Who are you?” In the dream realm her voice held a mystical quality. Hearing her speak here, in the veiled place between the worlds, he knew why he’d been sent.

  Clarice held power. The power to change lives, shaping them for the better. Her work with disabled children molded their lives into something better, and those she brought into her operation needed the same kind of healing touch the children did. What she didn’t realize was that she too needed healing, and that was why he was here. To help her heal, not physically but emotionally, from the wounds that drove her day after day.

  Shock hit him like a two-by-four to the solar plexus. Clarice possessed magic of the kind long thought to be gone from the human realm.

  “Think of me as your guardian angel.” He stifled a chuckle at his foolishness. He’d known a few angels, and a more arrogant, vain creature he had yet to find. Yet, Clarice would understand his intentions if he called himself her “guardian angel” and so long as he fulfilled his mission, what harm could misnaming himself be.

  “You look like an Elf.” Clarice grinned. “Like my very own Legolas.” She licked her lips. “Is there a reason why you’ve come into my dreams?” She patted the horse on the neck as it, being part of him, stood completely still.

  With a thought he dismissed the image, and the horse vanished into thin air.

  “How’d you do that?” She strode forward with a shake of her head. “Maybe I brought you into my dream. Maybe I wanted to have my wicked way with you.” Her hips rolled when she walked, a seductive sway that drew his gaze and kept his cock standing at attention.

  Flynn swallowed hard. He’d entered her dreams and expected to be the one ensnaring her. Not the other way around. “Magic,” he said at last, as she stopped before him. Staring at her fall of curly red hair and the black lace negligee she suddenly wore, he knew who held the magic, and it wasn’t him. “So how’d you do that?”

  She toyed with the ribbon tied between her breasts and skimmed her fingers down her front. “This?” She winked. “Magic. The same way I brought you here.” She caressed his chest, her fingers sliding over his pectorals, down the ridges of his abdomen to brush against the soft leather of his pants. “Lots and lots of magic.”

  Her pouty lip called to him. He leaned forward and captured it. With a groan he melted into her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pressed her against him, letting her feel the extent of the way she affected him.

  * * *

  Her dream spiraled out of control. Pressed against an Elven-looking Flynn she became acutely aware of her femininity. With her breasts crushed against his chest and the heavy throb of his erection hard against her stomach, every inch of her yearned for him. If she’d dreamed him here, then she had dreamed him into a damn fine kisser too. His tongue swept her lower lip, an invitation, a claiming, and she parted her mouth to invite him deeper inside.

  He slid a hard thigh between her legs. With a scrap of lace between them, her pussy burned against the supple leather of his pants. Wet, hot, needy, she whimpered as his tongue swept inside her mouth, and wished he were buried deep inside her cunt. She clenched her fingers against his back, one hand sliding up to tangle into his white-blond hair.

  Her dream, her power, and yet, with his lips demanding on hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, his cock hard against her, he swamped her senses. She clung to him. Her knees weakened, and she swayed against him. Her world spun, vertigo taking her deeper and deeper into herself until she could do nothing but cling to him and wish his body would penetrate hers.

  His big hand closed over her breast. In the flimsy negligee, the heat from his palm burned her flesh. She arched into it, a tiny mewl of need escaping her lips. His thumb brushed her turgid nipple, and the point hardened with a painful intensity.

  “Please,” she whimpered. Her body throbbed with the beat of her heart. Her juices soaked through the crotch of her negligee and into the soft leather of his pants.

  Clarice slid her hands beneath the vest, tracing the planes and sinew of Flynn’s chest. Down to his narrow waist, and then to his hips. Sliding her hands around, she grabbed the high, firm globes of his buttocks, and pulled him closer. She thrust against him in an attempt to gain relief.

  Flynn lowered her to the ground. How she got there, she didn’t know, but suddenly his body was hard above hers, shielding her from the starry night sky. Her dream, and she wanted him buried balls-deep inside her. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she pressed her heels into his buttocks and pulled him closer.

  “Not yet.” His husky words inflamed her senses, made her think of delights dark and forbidden.

  He grasped the strap of her negligee and with a tug snapped it. Black lace fell forward, revealing an expanse of her creamy, white skin and the swell of an exposed breast. His lips followed, exploring the newly bare territory with little nips and bites. A shove of his hand pulled down the bodice and her breast popped free.

  He wrapped his lips around her nipple and suckled. Dear God in heaven, the warm, wet suction of his mouth tugging at her nipple sent an answering tug to her clit. Her juices filled her hungry channel. Skimming his large fingers over her ribs, her hips, Flynn found her slick clit and labia.

  Her mind, her dream, and she had control of it all. A simple thought dissolved her clothes. Naked to Flynn’s hungry gaze, she arched her back and stretched wantonly. She desired Flynn’s clothes gone, half expecting them to dissolve the way hers had. They didn’t. He remained stubbornly dressed.

  She sat up, the motion pressing her clit hard
er against his thumb. “You. Naked. Now!” she gasped between strums of his fingers against her drenched pussy.

  Flynn’s husky chuckle filled her ears. “You don’t hold all the magic.” He shrugged off his vest, then rose to his feet and stepped from his leather trousers.

  Clothed, Flynn made her mouth water. Naked, he clenched her womb and tightened her nipples. He embodied pure, masculine perfection, from the white-blond hair sweeping past his buttocks, to the planes of his chest. Her gaze lingered on his abs, then traveled lower to the curls at the junction of his thighs and his thick, hard cock. Damn, when she dreamed, she dreamt well.

  Flynn returned to her, bracing his weight on one arm. His legs tangled with hers, his hair-roughened skin rubbing against her smooth flesh. “Now, we can create our own magic.”

  Clarice stifled her laughter at the corny line. Flynn cupped her breast, her nipple pressing against his palm, and all thoughts fled. Instead, she drowned in sensation. His thick rod pressed against her stomach, his hand on her breast, his lips at her neck, her shoulder, licking and tasting her. She whimpered.

  Need coursed through her veins too strong to be denied. She cupped her hand on his broad shoulder, her other hand going to the taut globe of his ass. Here. Now. Deep inside her so close they merged into one.

  Flynn replaced his hand with his mouth. Warm, wet suction created a pull that went straight to her pussy. She arched beneath him, pressing her breast into his mouth. Reaching between her legs, he slid first one finger, then two, into her tight channel.

  Oh yeah, right there. Curling his fingers, he stroked her sweet spot, and her pussy clenched around his digits. Slow, torturous thrusts gave her the mental image of dancing on his fingers. Higher and higher he pushed her until the graze of his teeth against her nipple and a third finger sent her orgasm spiraling through her body.

  Her body quaked and exploded. Her breath gasped between her parted lips, her mewling cries filling the room.