“Dance of the Sylph” - F/F (Adult)
This is something new I have in the works - thought I’d give it a try. It’s a fantasy F/F romance.
copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell
Anara eased slowly through the gossamer film that surrounded her, her fingers spreading as she pulled apart the strands to let the soft light of dawn into her cocoon. A sigh of contentment wrested from her, and she stretched lightly, feeling the silken threads caress her naked skin. Today.
Today was her Aemeshio, the ritual that would grant her wings. To accept them, all she must do was choose a mate. Remolin wanted the honor.
Anara frowned. She did not want Remolin. She could not imagine herself bound to him for all eternity. There was a restlessness inside of her, an ache that bordered on pain with its pulsing desire, when she thought of her recent dreams. She closed her eyes, and stretched her mind out to that dreaming energy that hovered around her again.
Long, dark hair danced on the gentle breeze, then floated down to kiss soft skin the color of burnished copper. Slim arms stretched out toward her, and eyes of the most remarkable sky-blue begged her to put an end to the waiting. To love and be loved, for all eternity. Mirsheri. Love. The voice was soft, sweet, like a siren’s lullaby, and Anara’s womb contracted with the desire to taste that copper skin, to hear breathless murmurs and wanting cries.
The burning of the skin at her back pulled Anara from remembered dreams, and she shivered as she arched her back. She could feel the wings, ready to sprout. It had been thus after every dream. That feeling told her she dreamed true. Her mate was out there, and it was not Remolin, with his powerful, Earthen stubborness. The fire that burned her was deeper, more complex, than he could imagine.
Anara moaned as her hand accidentally brushed her breast, and the sensitive flesh warmed, her nipple hardening nearly to pain. She wanted to brush it against soft, smooth skin, to feel it suckled by that warm, sinful mouth from her dreams. She stirred restlessly, and brushed her fingertips across her nipples, the gentle friction igniting fire in her womb. Her back arched again, and she sent her mind questing into dreams. She had to know. Before she reached her release, she would know who stirred this passion within her.
Who are you? She begged of her dream lover, as soft hands carressed her in her dreams, fingers sliding toward the apex of her thighs, where she burned with the fire of a thousand stars.
Imazi. Fingers probed, stroked, and propelled Anara into the stars. She blinked her eyes open beneath the bright streaks of dawn, still whimpering with her release, and shivering with its aftermath.
“Imazi.” A Firechild. A daughter of Izaul. Forbidden to all Sylphaen. If Anara chose this mate, she would be stripped of her newly budding wings. And yet, she could not imagine life without Imazi.
With a sob, Anara curled into a weeping ball within her safe cocoon. The pain in her back was nothing to the torment in her soul. She could not have Imazi. Yet, she could not stop herself from wanting.
