Exposed
The powerful waves crash against the beach, thundering against the rocks to the right of the young woman standing watching. Water froths along the sand swirling around her bare feet. Crea Myst wraps her arms around her body, ignoring the chilled morning air, the briskness of the water as it dances at her feet as if it is trying to tempt her into the angry waves to play. Wind and salty sprays of water tug and pull at long ebony locks twirling the strands about her slender body. Small goose bumps rise on her long legs and along her arms, the thin jacket no barrier for the cold air as penetrates through her. Small toes dig into the sand as she looks down watching the water spin about her feet; she pulls her feet up having sunk down into the wet sand some. A small sad laugh falls from her lips. Lifting her head up she throws her arms out letting the wind whip about her, looking like a fairy princess standing there as the magnitude of the wind pulls at her. With a small burst of energy the girl begins running along the waters edge having stopped from her morning run to watch the waves, towards her cottage on the hill. Home for now. Shaking the sand from her feet she jogs up the steps along the cliffs, dried flowers and brown foliage peek from the barren rocks, as they ready to slumber down for the winter.
Her fingers pull through her long raven locks, squeezing out the water from the waves, then steps into the warmth of the cottage. Stripping the jacket from her body she tosses it on the wall watching as it snags the hook. Moving inwards she pulls out a rusty teakettle filling it at the sink as she looks out her kitchen window the waves crashing along the shore below her window. Sighing softly, she gets a dreamy far away look. Turning Crea sets the kettle on the stove, bending she lights the gas stove watching the flames lick at the kettles bottom. Shivering she crosses to the fireplace, squatting down she tosses more wood on the fire then looks over her cozy little home. A soft smile plays at her lips as she remembers times as a child coming here, sitting by the fire as her grandmother reads to her of old tales from her childhood and times past. Crea sniffles, wiping tears from her eyes feeling sadness at not visiting more often, and now her grandmamma gone forever. Kicking her shoes into the corner she stands, padding back to the small kitchen, lifting down her mug she drops a tea bag into the cup, hearing the whistle of the kettle she lifts it to fill the mug. Blowing on the steam she stirs it mixing the brew, tossing the bag into the trash she curls the mug into her hands then makes her way upstairs.
Stepping into her bathroom she sets the mug down then begins lighting all the candles in the room. Bending over the old claw like tub she adds her favorite scent of freesia to the water, running her fingers through it until it begins to foam. Standing in front of the mirror she makes faces at herself then giggles at her silliness, wrapping her hair up into a pony tail she ties it off on top of her head. Nimble but cold fingers move to unbutton her flannel shirt, letting it fall of creamy white shoulders, she turns in front of the mirror, gazing at the reflection staring at her. Wide dark eyes set in a rounded face, small but pouty lips, a long angular cheek bones, cheeks that dimple when she smiles. Wondering why at 30 she is so alone. Sighing she drops the shirt to the floor, then begins to unbutton the jean shorts, grumbling at her cold fingers and the wet material clinging to her full thighs and rounded hips. Tugging the zipper down, she draws the shorts down her body tugging the white thong panties down with it. Kicking them aside she lifts her tea then steps into the old tub after flipping the lights out. Settling into the tub she closes her eyes letting the warmth of the room and water surrounds her. Relaxing, feeling as if she has come home. Darkness settles around the small cottage. Letting the water ease her she bathes until the water grows cold. Rising she dries off then walks nude down the hall to her room dressing in men’s flannel pants, she tugs on a long black shirt that she dug up from one of the other bedrooms drawers wondering why her grandmamma had men’s clothing, but shrugs it off.
Taking the cold tea she returns to the downstairs, throwing more fire onto the fire, she turns on her computer knowing she's supposed to be working while away on her little getaway but having hit a writers block she just looks at the monitor for a moment as it boots then turns away from it, Returning the mug to the kitchen she makes a hot cup of chocolate then curls up on the couch with her laptop. Turning she turns on the radio beside the couch then smiles as the wonderful sounds of Celtic music blares out wrapping her in the calming sounds. Snuggling down onto the couch she sets her laptop aside, sighing knowing no words will come to her. Tilting her head she sees a book laying on the table near the radio, she picks it up turning it in her hands curiously she opens it, seeing a bold scrawl across the pages. Looking closer she sees that it's a journal, a mans journal. She frowns knowing no one lived here but her grandma. Sighing she closes the book feeling as if she'd be invading the person’s personal thoughts if she were to read it. Tucking it against her chest she sighs softly settling deeper onto the couch the warmth and sounds of the music lull her to sleep.
Hours pass before the sounds of the night tug at the young woman, she stretches, the book falling from her fingers to land with a thud on the floor, she slowly blinks her eyes, coming awake slowly then fully awakens before she gasps seeing a man sitting in the rocking chair beside the fireplace, his hands steepled in front of him, as he rocks silently watching her through narrowed eyes. He watches her awaken then leans forward his hands falling to rest on his knees, watching the girl look at him in shock. Then smiles seeing her fear, knowing she should fear him. She whispers softly
"Are you real?"
She creeps off the couch, crossing to him, touching him lightly then screams as she touches the hard flesh of a man. He throws his head back laughing at her. She stands up, with a toss of her head, tangled black locks fall down around her, a look of anger passes across her features as her hands rest upon her hips, her breasts thrust out, in defiance she glares at him, thinking how dare he sit there and LAUGH at her. She strides to the door and throws it open, then gasps as a blast of stinging rain blows in with the heavy winds and thunderous storm swirling outside shaking the earth with its pounding rain and thunder, flashes of lightening race through the sky. In awe the girl steps outside ignoring the man, having never seen such a powerful sight at the storm slashing through the night sky. He shakes his head watching the fey creature as she steps out onto the rain slicked porch, her head tossed back, the midnight tresses wrapping around her, as the rain pounds down against her wetting her clothes, making them cling to her frail form. She laughs as the storm barrels around her... Spinning she jumps off of the porch out into the grass, laughing at the storm, as if she forgot about the strange man in the house. He steps outside watching her, wondering what in the world is wrong with her, unable to help himself he smiles wondering what ol` Granny got him into, knowing this young woman had to be the old woman’s grand-daughter. He yells at her through the storm
"Girl... Girl come back here before you catch your death, don't you know it's dangerous to dance in the storms like this?"
She ignores him, continuing to spin in the rain, her face turned to the skies as the rain washes down against her. The suddenness of the storm reminding her of a storm here as a small child she falls to the grass, her hands coming up to her face, weeping at the sadness, her soul wrenched free from missing her grandmamma all the more at this moment. She jerks as she feels warm strong arms wrap her up her; effortlessly the strange man lifts her into his arms.
"Silly girl, you are going to catch your death." Críostóir picks her up and carries her inside setting her near the fire. "That was stupid girl. If you catch a cold it's not my fault." She shivers and curls against the fireplace glaring at the stranger. "Who are you and why are you in my home."
Críostóir turns and looks at the young woman dripping by the fireplace, "Why don't you go change into something warm, I'll fix you some more tea and we'll talk."
She glares at him but shivers at the same time, relenting she rises and disappears upstairs to her room, jumping into the shower she warms up again for the second time today, then slips into another pair of sweat pants and a long sweater that hangs down to her thighs. Violet eyes flashing as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, she sighs and brushes out her long raven locks. Slipping her feet into long woolen socks, she pads back downstairs to curl up by the fire as Críostóir comes back out carrying to mugs of hot tea. Thrusting one at her he angles His long frame down beside her. Sweeping his own blonde locks from out of his face.
"That was truly stupid girl... but you were beautiful dancing in the rain, such freedom you showed." Crea looks at him curiously then sips from the mug. "You were right tho it was stupid. My grandmamma always said I was to fairy like sometimes, and being here in her home just makes me wish for the past more then the future sometimes, or to sink into the dreams of my youth when the world wasn't so harsh and cruel."
He notes the sound of sad bitterness in her words sensing part of what she feels. "So you must be ol Granny’s grand-daughter Crea. It's a pleasure to finally meet you; she talked about you a lot you know, especially near the end. 'Crea my darling, she's a writer you know Críostóir, she writes children’s novels about fairies.' It explains a lot you dancing in the rain."
He watches the sadness play across her face, he reaches up touching her chin, "Do not cry lil one, Granny loved you deeply and she understood your passions, and your fears of returning here. So what brought you back? And by the way I'm Críostóir, I met her in the market, such a wonderful woman, I was traveling and the country entrapped me, she offered me a place to stay which surprised me, I was a stranger to her. But after knowing her, I understand now. She had never seen the harshness I think perhaps you and I have seen."
He tilts his head gazing into the fire, sipping his tea, both falling silent a long while before she speaks. "My grandmamma was the only thing I had as a child; I lost both my parents at a very young age. I was sent here from the states, to a land I didn't know, to a woman I had never met. But I was only five perhaps six years old. My mother’s mother, I was dropped off by a boat. I don't remember the flight. I just remember the waves and the boat, and a woman that looked so much like my mother. My parents had both died together in a car wreck, for some reason I wasn't with them. She sent for me, I'd never heard much about her, just that she was like a gypsy and she didn't like my father, and as soon as they could leave the country they did. I don't know if my mother ever kept in contact with her. I just know that I stepped off that boat and into her arms and I was home. My parents traveled so much, I hated it, and I was so young. Then coming here to this house... It was so simple so much different then the life I had. I don't remember much before I came here, I don't have very vivid memories of it, sometimes I have nightmares, but they're sketchy at best. So Granny raised me, she taught me the old ways, taught me to heal from herbs, and to read nature. She taught me more then the schools did, she taught me the gift of stories. I knew very young what I wanted to do; I wanted to create stories like she gave to me, for children lost and alone. She gave me the gift of writing. It eased me at first. The stories flowed. I became somewhat famous. I hated the fame, I just wanted to simple be Crea Myst, back in my room here writing. Granny wouldn't let me hide she made me return to the states to the legacy my parents had left me. They left me a very rich young woman which made the gossip all the worst. The famous Mysts daughter returns from far away, from a troubled land. A young woman bound to follow in their footsteps. But I didn't know what they did; I had no clue who they were anymore. That caused even more gossip. So I did what I knew best, I began to write. And since I was a Myst, it sold. My first sale was 'Down the Upward Path' it was my story and it sold. I was so proud, I mailed a copy to Granny hers is the only autographed copy of that book. Then there were more demands. For years I did what they wanted, I wrote, story after story after story. Then the ideas weren't mine anymore but my editors. That's why I am here. I ran. I was scared. She died, and I wasn't here. I hurt her by not being here for her, I was wrapped up in my own world, I forgot the place of my youth, and the stories stopped cold within me." Crea looks up startled and looks to Críostóir, her life just flowed from her lips to a stranger.
"Your granny could do that Crea. I was lost myself and she found me. She was so proud of you, she knew you struggled but she was so old, she couldn't come to you, and you could not come to her. She leaned on me, I would listen to her talk about you, and how you would spend hours in the woods talking to the trees, the flowers, and the animals. She said if there was a person alive that could talk to the fairies it was you. She believed that you did. So now you are home, are you here to write?"
Crea shakes her head, "No I am here to heal. I need her forgiveness. I came home because I had no where else to go, nowhere else I wanted to go. My editors want a book, one they've mapped out for me, but we'll see. I haven't written anything in over six months. I don't think I can anymore. So we'll just see."
Her words become slurred, her eyes drift shut then she falls to sleep there beside the fire and the man. He wonders what she would think if she knew he had fallen in love with her, watching her on the beach as she watched the waves, or how his insides clenched watching her dance beneath the rain. How the first time he heard her grandmother speak of her, how he knew she was his destiny. Shaking his head, Críostóir covers her with a blanket then moves to the couch, frowning he picks up his journal that she dropped when she woke the first time she saw him. His fingers thumb through it knowing she didn't read it. Taking it he retires upstairs, slipping nude beneath the covers to fall into a restless sleep.
Screams rent the air hours later. "No mamma no daddy do not go!! do not go, do not leave me" Crea's cries fill the house, He rushes downstairs oblivious to his nudity tugging her into his arms, gently he shakes her awake
"Crea, wake up sweetie, wake up it's alright, it's alright. I'm here for you come on love, wake up."
Crea trembles as she awakens in Críostóir's arms, her tears streaking wet patterns down her cheeks, small hands curl fist like against his chest. He looks down at her, she up at him, her tongue travels slowly across her lips as if she wants to speak but unable to. His head dips; kissing her tenderly at first then deepens it as she responds. He pulls away, brushing her tangled hair from her face, whispering against her hair
"Beautiful Crea, child, your nightmares still haunt you? ... I am so sorry. I wish I had not brought them to the surface for you."
She trembles again in his arms, his gentleness surprising them both. "But Críostóir, You didn't, this is the first night I have spent in this house since I turned 21. The memories were bound to come back. I don't even remember the dream. Just that I was in pain, that something was vastly wrong and was going to change. I don't know what, I just knew, and know."
She shakes her head wiping her face, chasing the tears away. She sits up more on his lap as they both realize he is stark naked. Crea lets her eyes travel down his body, violet eyes widening seeing his obvious arousal, then back up to his face. He watches her look him over, becoming harder as her eyes caress his groin then draw back to his face. "If I don't get up I may not be sure of my actions. I'll take the blanket and return it to you in a moment."
Laughing softly Crea lets her fingers trail across his hair chest, the hair there darker then the blonde hair on his head. "Críostóir, ummm don't you think it's a lil late for modesty? You look wonderful."
Her fingers trail down his chest as she positions herself back upon his knees, the violet of her eyes deepening to a dark purple almost, circling the head of his cock, she lifts her gaze back to his watching his breath suck in then breathe out heavily.
"Crea if you do not stop that I will trounce you right here on the floor!" Trying to sound gruffer then he feels. She tosses her head, tangled tresses falling about her, "Maybe I want you to trounce me Cris, maybe I want to feel you move inside of me, and maybe I don't care."
Cris shakes his head looking at her, and then drags her against him, kissing her soundly, taking her words, stealing her breath. "You do not know what you ask of me Crea." He says as he pulls away. "I'll not just be a one night stand to you. IF I take you it will be forever. I have dreamed of you."
His lips take hers again then he pushes her out of his arms and back onto the pelts around the fire. Standing he strides from the room, disappearing up the steps leaving her breathless, her hand resting on her chest as she tries to catch her breath.




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