Chapter Seven

“Lowell, thank you for another lovely afternoon. I never knew you were such an expert at rowing a canoe. I felt like one of those women in old photographs, being squired about by her beau. You were tireless today, just like you are when you do certain other things for me in the Queen Anne’s Lace room.” Dora cupped her hand around the bulge in his crotch. “Speaking of, would you care to come back with me to my bedroom? I just put some new sheets on the bed and I’d love to”—she squeezed lightly—“break them in.”

Lowell glanced at the red-orange glow on the skyline. “I’m going to have to be going before too long, my dear, but I suppose I’ve got a few minutes to… Ah…” He groaned as Dora slipped one hand up the hem of his kilt and found his erection. “Let’s go check out the thread count,” he growled.

He scooped her into his arms and thumped down the hallway to her bedroom. “You smell gorgeous, woman. What is that scent—rose?”

Dora traced her fingers down the side of his face and raked her nails through his beard. “Nuh-uh,” she corrected. “It’s orange blossom.”

He strode into her room and tossed her on the bed, where her body sank into the puffy loft of her down mattress topper. Dora giggled. “But I don’t care if you know what I smell like, lover, as long as it turns you on.”

“Aye,” Lowell nodded, eyes glimmering. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and chuckled. “That it does, that it does.”

Dora beckoned him closer to the side of the bed. “C’mere, I haven’t admired that chest of yours lately.” She spread her hands over his expanse of rippled muscle and flat belly, then pressed her face to his stomach. In between kisses, she whispered, “I love the little tufts of hair right here…and the curve of your muscle right here…and the ridges over your abdomen…and your sweet little belly button…and I especially love this part that’s under it…” She fumbled with the buckle of his kilt, then let the garment drop to the floor.

“Oh, yes, there it is.” Dora gripped his erection in both hands. “Have a seat, Mr Rossi. I have a little present for you.” Lowell scooted back onto the bed, cock pointing up at attention.

She opened her bedside table and drew out a white and black box. “Look what I bought at Stoner’s Drug Emporium,” she said. “These are the biggest ones they had, for men of maximum length and girth.” Dora drew her lower lip between her teeth and stepped between his knees. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but you’ve been on my mind a lot”—she touched the head of his shaft with her fingertip—“and, well, we haven’t, you know, done everything there is to do together, and I’ve been thinking that perhaps it was time…”

Lowell picked her up and placed her in the middle of the mattress. “You’re a brilliant woman, Dora,” he said. “I love the way your mind works.” He tugged off her sneakers and socks and tossed them to the floor, then set to work on her sundress.

“You can just slip it over my head,” Dora told him.

“Shush. Can’t you see I’m busy here?” Button by button, he opened her dress down the front, exposing her deep cleavage, soft stomach and lacy panties. He slipped the dress from her arms, hardened cock bumping against her legs as he worked, then reached behind her to unfasten her brassiere. A deep growl emanated from his throat as her breasts fell free—Lowell placed one wet kiss on each thickened nipple. “Now these,” he muttered, “have got to go.” He slid her panties down over her hips and threw them over his shoulder.

Dora chewed on her thumb as he tore open the box and withdrew a crinkling square of plastic. “Extra-large, huh?” he muttered. “Might be big enough, I suppose.”

She plucked at the cotton cover on the down mattress. “Given what I’ve felt with my, you know, mouth, and the fact that it’s been a little while since I’ve welcomed a man to my bed…”

“You’re thinking it’ll be a bit of a stretch, are you?”

Dora pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay, yes, and I’m a little nervous.”

“Hmm, then, we can’t have that,” Lowell noted. “Why don’t you rest your pretty head on the pillow and think happy thoughts, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Dora fell back and exhaled slowly. “When it’s just you and me, with no distractions, it’s pretty amazing, don’t you think, Lowell?” She stretched her arms over her head and searched for words. “It’s like we’re wrapped in a little cocoon that we’ve made, growing into something beautiful together.” Lowell kissed the inside of each of her knees. “Sometimes change hurts a bit, though, you know? Growing pains and all.”

“I’ll be gentle, don’t you worry, my poetic lady,” he assured her. “We’ll turn into butterflies or moths or whatever winged bugs you have in mind, and you won’t feel anything but good. I’d never let anything hurt you, I promise.”

Dora felt the bristles of his beard scrape her inner thigh and squirmed, giggling. “Shhh…” he insisted. “Be still.” He planted kisses up one thigh, stopping at the juncture of her legs, then started at the other knee and worked his way to her centre. Dora willed her trembling, ticklish muscles to stop moving and took a deep breath.

She cried out when his lips met the rumpled folds between her legs. He licked her skin slowly, unfurling her lower lips with the tip of his tongue. Dora combed his dark hair with her fingers as he kissed her, then gasped when he sucked the edge of her labia into his mouth and tugged. Lowell chuckled. “Feeling a bit more at ease?” he asked.

Dora hummed in response and tilted her hips towards his face. He found the nub of her clit with his tongue and eased two roughened fingers into her sheath. “Oh, yes,” Dora breathed.

Even though his fingers filled her, Dora began to yearn for something thicker inside her. She placed both her hands on his head and urged him to come up from between her legs. “I’m ready,” she whispered. He kissed her inner thigh—she felt the dampness left by his beard on her skin—and knelt between her legs. A tremor of excited nervousness fluttered in her stomach. He tore open the foil pouch and unrolled the condom on his shaft—his very thick shaft.

“Tight fit,” he muttered, “but it’ll do.”

Dora’s heart raced as he settled on top of her. His body was bulky and massive—with his black chest hair and beard, he looked like an enormous Roman warrior. Maybe he was Zeus visiting in human form…

“Lowell?” she asked in quiet voice.

“Mmmm.” He gripped his erection and nudged it at her opening.

“You’re, like, a regular person, right? You’re not going to make love to me and then turn me into a swan or a cow or something with magical powers, are you?”

Lowell caught her eye and Dora saw something inscrutable pass over his face. “I, ah, promise not to turn you into any animals.”

She cried out when he eased the head of his cock inside her. “Slowly!” she said.

Lowell paused, just the tip of his shaft in her body, and found her breast with his mouth. Her nipple puckered on his tongue. Ripples of heat ran from her cunt outward, sending delicious shivers to her belly, her breasts, her mouth and even her toes. A warm sensation grew in her core and she thrust her hips against his. “Better,” she breathed as he eased deeper inside.

He released her breast and cupped her face in his broad hand. “Much better,” he growled.

Dora felt that she was in the midst of a heady war of sensations—a cloud of down beneath her back, a hardened muscle-bound man atop her, an oh-my-God tight stretch in her cunt and—most blissful of all—his adoring eyes looking down at her. Liquid, black and adoring, they promised everything, and his lips reinforced it without a word. He kissed her tenderly, touching his lips to hers with the sweetest of pressures, then pushed his tongue into her mouth, just as he slid his cock farther within her…

Dora whimpered and gripped his rear urgently. “Best,” she groaned. “Do it, Lowell, All the way.” He fucked her faster, stretching her with each stroke. She wrapped her legs around his upper thighs and panted. “Yeah… That’s good.”

“I’m not hurting you?” he asked in a strained voice.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t hold back.” Dora scraped her fingernails down his back and squeezed her inner muscles around his shaft.

Lowell slammed into her. The antique bed creaked and thumped against the wall—Dora wondered briefly if the guests had returned and were overhearing, then all rational thought escaped from her mind. There was just this man, this glorious man on top of her and inside her, pushing deeper with every stroke, and her own body, shuddering and on fire beneath him.

“There.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “There!” she shouted. “I’m coming, Lowell—don’t stop!” He bellowed, pumping faster, as she stiffened beneath him. The bed spun and the room tilted and every nerve in her body caught fire. Lowell slammed into her with all his might once, twice and the third time Dora felt a surge of energy leave his body and enter hers. He sank on top of her, breathing raggedly, and Dora cupped his rear as the last trembling spasms were spent.

Then she heard a tremendous crash from the direction of the kitchen.

“What in the world?” She rolled Lowell to the side of the mattress, slipped off the bed in a flash and scurried down the hall.

“Wait, wait!” Lowell bellowed, thundering after her.

“I’ll be damned,” Dora muttered. She raised her hand to the mess and then let it drop, limp, to her side. “What would possess a toad to get into my kitchen and knock over the flour and salt?”

“A toad?” roared Lowell. “Where is the damned thing? Show it to me and I’ll squash it like a grape.”

“Ugh, don’t be gruesome.” Dora shuddered. “I suppose I need to lock up the house more tightly. It must have hopped in through the window.”

“Enough is enough!” yelled Lowell. He marched to the back door and threw it open. “You leave us the hell alone!” he thundered. “I don’t know who you are or what your game is, but I swear by all that is holy that I’ll make you sorry for the day you tangled with Lowell Rossi!” The backyard was silent and peaceful in the pre-twilight gloaming. A swallowtail butterfly floated in front of Lowell’s face. He swatted it down to the grass with a growl and raised his fist to the sky. “Dammit, I’ll not take it anymore!”

“I beg your pardon, Lowell, but this is my house and my garden, and that was my butterfly you just mangled.” Dora grabbed his elbow and whipped him around to face her. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but it’s my stuff—my food, my plants, my trash, my laundry—that’s getting ruined around here, and I’m the one who has to deal with it. You fuss and carry on as if you’re the one offended, and then you run off and leave me to tidy the mess.” She widened her eyes and raised her voice. “They’re just dumb animals, Lowell! Screaming at them to be good isn’t going to do a single thing, but helping me clean up would certainly be appreciated.”

Lowell, breathing hard, ground his jaw and clenched his fists. “You don’t understand what’s going on here, Dora, and I”—he shook his head—“I just can’t tell you everything right now. I’m trying to do everything right with you but someone…” He ground his jaw in annoyance. “Someone is making it very difficult for me.”

He stormed out of the back door, called for Dax, and disappeared from sight. Dora looked around at the powdery white mess on her kitchen surfaces and floor. “Wouldn’t kill you to help me out, would it, Mr Rossi?” she complained.

Shaking her head, she dampened a couple of paper towels and approached the table first. “Dumb lug,” she grumbled. “Too handsome and too silly for your own good.” She spread the white stuff out on the wooden plane and licked one finger. She drew a plus sign in the flour, with the letters D and F on the top two sections and L and R on the bottom, then enclosed the whole thing in a curvy heart. “See there, Lowell, how nice that looks?” she whispered and added a diagonal arrow through the heart. “It could be just lovely, Mr Rossi.”

She stared at her powdery handiwork for a moment, then swept the paper towels over the letters, scooped up a dusty pile and dumped it into the waste bin. “But first, you’ve got to learn to roll with the punches, Lowell.” Dora lifted the plastic garbage can to the edge of the table and brushed the salt and flour mixture into it with determined strokes. “You’re great at getting me hot, but you’ve got to hang with me during the tough times if you want to keep this fire burning.”

* * * *

“Lowell, I understand your anger, I do.” Calvin Prescott popped the top off another frosted bottle of Sam Adams and rejoined his guest in the den of Prescott Manor. “But you seem to have forgotten that I am not one of the Fair Folk. There’s not a drop of magic in me, and I certainly don’t cast glamours.” He took a swallow of his own beer before continuing. “Moreover, I’m the last one to stand between you and Dora. Thanks to your sister…” He sighed. “I’ve come to learn that true love is the most valuable thing in this life, although it’s too late for me to do anything about it now.” He ran one liver-spotted hand over his balding scalp. “Besides, I’m fond of Dora Fontaine. I’d never want to cause her any trouble.”

“Of course I know you’re not one of the Fair Folk,” Lowell grumbled, “but I thought you might know something about what’s been happening. I’m at my wits’ end, I don’t mind saying. This madness has been going on for weeks now.” He glared at the grandfather clock—its ceaseless tick-ticking was infuriating. Lowell wanted to yank the pendulum off the thing, smash the clock’s face then tip it over onto the floor. Sure, it would be violent and destructive, but the elves could fix it all up tomorrow… He balled his hands into fists and curled his lips wickedly.

“I do wish I could help, but I’m afraid that I know nothing about it.” Calvin’s brows drew together and he stood. “I’ve had some frustrations of my own, you know, of the gardening variety.”

Lowell turned to him with a snap. “Somebody digging up your plants?” he asked sharply. “Knocking over your flowerpots? Spilling your fertilizer?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Calvin shook his head. “Poor Dora’s got the worse end of things, I’m afraid. The hooligans have left Prescott Manor alone, but…” He strode to the wide window that faced the woods and looked down at the moonlit gardens. “Maybe it’s hard to see in this light, but my gardens have been neglected a bit lately.” He laughed uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to say anything to your family, because, after all, it’s free labour from the gnomes, trolls and elves that made the manor and its gardens a reality. I don’t want to appear ungrateful. It’s just…”

Lowell rose and stood next to Calvin.

“Well, see there?” Calvin pointed. “That rose plant is covered in spent blooms, and there are a few dandelions in the irises. The wisteria is starting to look a little shaggy, too.”

Lowell grunted.

“I know, I know,” Calvin murmured. “It’s a bit silly. I’m just spoilt on an immaculate garden. It’s just that it’s so unlike Bufo to miss things like that.”

“Maybe we’re being too easy on them,” grumbled Lowell. “After that business with Mephita and Brock, damn gnomes think they have the run of the place. Using our family bathing cavern, sneaking about and eavesdropping, getting more underfoot and willful day by day.”

“Now, now, I don’t want to cause a fuss.” Calvin turned from the window and sank back down into the leather sofa. “It’s springtime, after all, and it’s hard to keep up with all the growth in the gardens. The plants and animals both are a little wild this time of year. Maybe it’s the season of love for gnomes as well—who knows?” He propped his slippered feet up on the coffee table. “And that’s probably all that’s been happening at Bohemian Rhapsody, you know. A concentration of animals getting into trouble in the same place. Stranger things have happened.”

Lowell took a swig of his beer and stared out the window at the gardens, still spectacular in their quasi-neglected state, and at the depths of the woods beyond. Perhaps, he thought. Perhaps.

He rejoined Calvin on the couch. “Many thanks, Calvin, for your hospitality, and I’ll take the gardening issues up with Bufo”—he rolled his eyes—“gently.” He drew a deep breath. “There’s something else I want to talk about with you. Something that would mean quite a bit of change, I’m afraid.”

“Yes?” Calvin prodded. “Go on. I’m intrigued.”

“Well, it’s about the manor. You do have quite a lot of room here for just one person…”