The Joker; His foreign she-wolf

The green fairy

*Scarlett*

What in the blue blazes was I thinking?

I decide I'm stark, raving mad. Or drunk. More likely drunk. I'm relatively certain the absinthe is responsible. I have never before indulged in the green fairy, as some affectionately refer to it, nor heard of it until tonight. However, the name sounded innocent enough, but then the green spirit cast its spell over me, and I had another. Then a third, and with the final glass came the courage to request a kiss.

Hence, I am now sprawled on the chaise longue in this private chamber awaiting the arrival of a gentleman to grant my wish. A maid at the hotel where I'm staying had told me about the Moon Goddess Club and its reputation for fulfilling she-wolves' fantasies.

I consider leaving at this very moment to return to that very hotel, but my legs don't seem to remember how to work. My bravery is beginning to waver. Especially since I have been here for some time now. After twenty minutes, I stopped glancing at the pocket watch I always keep near at hand. Tonight it's in my hand bag. I don't want to know precisely how long it took them to find a gentleman willing to press his mouth to mine.

At twenty-seven, I have never been kissed. I'm not hideous by any means, but neither am I the delicate flower most men seem to prefer. Coming from pioneer wolf blood and not highpack lines, I'm nearly as tall as many fellows I know, and they seem intimidated by my forthright approach to life.

I don't mince words, nor do I engage in trifling conversation. I never have fanciful thoughts or partake in fanciful actions. Which is the reason tonight's indulgence in the green fairy is so baffling. I prefer whiskey. My father has always treated me more as a son than a daughter. Perhaps because his son, four years my junior, preferred play to work while I preferred work to play. Which might have also contributed to my lack of suitors.

A light rap catches my attention. I shove myself up onto my elbows to squarely face what is to come. Slowly, silently the door opens.

A man walks in. I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, I have been expecting him. Still, he is different than I anticipated. More polished, more refined. In spite of the fact that he is wearing ordinary day clothes as opposed to the evening attire in which the other gentlemen here had been dressed, he gives the impression he would be perfectly comfortable dining with lycan royalty. No, it's more than that. Lycan royalty would gladly invite him to do so.

"Hello," he says tentatively, his hand still on the latch, the door ajar, as though he can't quite decide if, having seen me, he should bolt back out. "My name…"

"No names," I state briskly. "No false flattery. As little speaking as possible, if you please."

His eyes widen slightly. They are a dark rich blue like the summer sky at home I so favor. He gives a curt nod. "As you wish."

And closes the door. Apparently, he has decided to stay, and my heart kicks into a frantic rhythm.

"I was told you're in want of a kiss." He says softly.

I like his voice. Deep, a little gravelly, perfect for whispering naughty things in my ear. Perhaps I should have started my journey toward s****l discovery with that request rather than going straight to the intimacy of a kiss. I try not to blush with the reminder that I had to ask for this, that it wasn’t being given freely. I nod.

“Did you want it in any particular place?” He asks.

I have options? On my hand, I suppose. But I have had kisses there. Since I had been wearing gloves, I don't think they really counted. Once, I turned a corner into a hallway and came unexpectedly upon a servant pressing his lips to a maid's neck, both of them making little mewling sounds, unaware of the intrusion. But that isn’t what I want. “On the mouth.”

He grins. He has a devastatingly alluring grin that assures pleasure will be delivered. I imagine he has she-wolves here, everywhere, falling at his feet. He is no doubt requested by many, which is probably the reason it took him a while to get to me. “I meant… did you wish to move elsewhere? Or be in a different position. Sitting perhaps or standing?”

Oh, dear Goddess. He probably thinks I'm a ninny in addition to being unwanted. Of course that is what he had been asking. How could I be so incredibly daft? It's the fog that entered my mind along with the liquor.

“Here.” I don't want to explain that I have forgotten how to stand. I also realize I have not sat up as much as I thought. My position is more of a recline.

“All right.” He tugs off his gloves. They are dark brown leather, the kind men wear about town, not in a ballroom. His large hands appear strong and capable. I wonder what sort of experiences he provides, if he fulfills the fantasies of those who wanted someone a bit more down-to-earth, relatable . . . or rough. Unrefined. Since a good many of the she-wolves here are from the high packs, perhaps while at their various societal affairs, they have their fill of all the men they could want in evening attire, and so they seek something different. He sets the gloves on a table near the door.

“I see a sideboard with decanters. Would you care for something to drink?” He asks.

“Just get on with it.” Before I lose my nerve.

He studies me for a heartbeat, two, before giving a little nod. “As you wish.”

His strides are long, confident. He obviously has no misgivings about doing this. Which is good, even if it isn’t desire that brought him to me. But his job, his occupation. How I wish that wasn’t so.

Odd time to realize it's not only a kiss I crave, but a man looking at me with desire swimming within his eyes, a man touching me because he couldn’t not.

When he reaches me, he lowers himself to one knee. His lips are full, the bottom one a bit plumper than the upper. Beautiful really. Or maybe that's the opinion of the green fairy. The absinthe certainly makes him appealing. And he smells good. A lemony orange if such a thing exists. His eyes hold a kindness. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not.” I am. “How many she-wolves have you kissed tonight?”

“You will be the first.” He says.

I blink, “Don’t you like kissing?”

“I enjoy it very much, probably a bit too much, but whether or not I kiss a she-wolf depends entirely upon what she wants.” His eyes are on my lips.

Why wouldn’t a she-wolf want a kiss from him? Why wouldn’t she want to explore those lips that obviously had been created specifically for sinning? Why wouldn’t she want to hold his head in place and simply take it? “Are you not any good at it?”

He grins again, a smile that holds the promise of passion and so much more. “You tell me.”

Cupping my cheek with one hand, he tilts up my face slightly and lowers that intriguing mouth to mine. It is softer than I had expected, a pillow that welcomes, tenderly molding itself against my lips as if the fates had designed them as a perfect match to his.

Then the tip of his tongue slowly outlines those very lips before following a path along the seam, urging it to slacken and separate as he goes. Without further ado, I do as he bides and open myself up to him. His low growl, almost feral in nature, should frighten me. Instead, it only serves to make me want more.

He tastes dark and dangerous. I recognize a hint of the flavor. Whiskey. Had he enjoyed a glass before coming to me or had he been in the company of another just prior to being sent to me? I don’t like the spark of jealousy that speculation instigates. Even if he hadn’t kissed the girl, he had been gifting her with his attentions. Selfishly, I want him all to myself, realize I wish he isn't someone who so easily shares his favors with others.

But I shove aside all those intruding thoughts, which are ruining the experience, to better concentrate on the present. He is mine for only a few minutes, for only as long as his kiss lasts. But already I don’t want it to end anytime soon. How long had they given him? How many minutes can he stay with me before he will have to leave to see to another’s request and need?

I don’t know how it comes about, but my fingers are suddenly entangled in his thick, silky hair. Strange sounds are coming from me. Sighs. Squeals. Moans. I want to tell him that it isn’t me making them. It is the green fairy. But I don’t want to separate my mouth from his in order to utter a word. All I want is more of his lips plying their talent over mine.

They are so very skilled at taunting and teasing, applying pressure and backing off. His tongue is master of its domain, parrying with mine, plundering the recesses of my mouth as though he has stumbled upon unexpected treasure and wanted to thoroughly analyze each find. His arm comes around me, drawing me up and nearer so my breasts are flattened against his firm broad chest. And my fingers, the dastardly things, begin exploring the breadth of his shoulders. I want to undo all his buttons and take a journey over the skin their release would reveal. How far would he let me go before objecting? How far would I dare?

What are the rules? What is allowed?

I had always assumed a kiss was a relatively passive act that involved only the mouth, but his encompasses the whole of me, down to my curling toes. My entire body seems to spark and tingle. As his hold on me tightens, I feel myself melting into him, like candle wax heated by a solitary flame. He is incredibly warm and comforting. His ministrations lure me nearer until I wonder if we will ever part. I hope not. I dearly hope not.

He comprises my entire world. He dominates my awareness until nothing exists beyond him. He is all that matters, all that is of substance. And yet...

Everything starts to have a dreamlike quality to it. I can no longer tell where I end and he begins. We are absorbing each other, and a haze begins to settle in.

Green. Murky. Distant.

The green fairy is wreaking havoc now, wants him all for herself, the little witch. I am clutching him, striving to hold onto him.

But in the end, he floats away.