Kris had decided he wouldn’t go to the falls today. It had been fair enough when he was eighteen, newly come of age and seething with hot blood and hotter appetites. He’d gone to the falls then. It was what young pixie men did when they hadn’t got a miss of their own to see to their needs.

The water maids looked after him, kindly showing him what went where, and exuding so many happy pheromones that he could barely remember that first touch of fingers other than his own.

He was a bit sorry about that. Getting fondled, sucked, kissed and stroked into throbbing ecstasy for the first time was something that ought to be memorable. He’d enjoyed it, no doubt, but it was just a mechanical reaction. He hadn’t felt anything.

He’d expected to graduate quite soon from the falls and segue into an exciting and fulfilling relationship with a pixie miss…or maybe some other warm and willing fay. Never say never. He didn’t insist on a pixie.

His elder sister Melody had kissed a courtfolk man at a Midsummer Ball seventeen years ago. She’d been with Roderick Skipton ever since.

His younger sister LeeLee had fallen in love with a man she’d known since the cradle.

His brother Alex had said forever with a charming leppy gossoon some months ago.

Even his niece Ryl was deliciously and adorably in love with a human man and clearly couldn’t wait for her first time. Only she’d have to wait. She was only sixteen and technically too young for forever. Her longing for her man had made Kris uncomfortable, especially when he had to help her keep it together between their infrequent meetings.

Just as uncomfortable was LeeLee’s passion for her husband, Mal. Kris had minded those two for their mothers when he was Ryl’s age, and now they’d leap-frogged ahead of him. Married a year, besotted, and slipping off to bed one another whenever they weren’t actually on duty at the B&B, they took togetherness to a whole new, and to Kris’ mind, claustrophobic level.

As for Alex and his leprechaun man…the energy Kris felt from them was sweet, intimate and so emotional it made him squirm.

He didn’t do emotion. He didn’t see the point. Maybe that was why he’d never found his match. Maybe it was why, at almost thirty, he was still going down to the falls whenever he needed relief.

It was undignified and juvenile. Kris knew he should stop.

He would stop right after red-headed Fee finished what she was doing to him right then. She was splashing an awful lot.

He lay back in the shallows of the creek that drained the pool, occasionally submerging as Fee settled her weight on him. She had straddled him a good five minutes ago and squealed in abandoned delight thirty seconds later. Usually, he’d have come soon after, but today, Fee’s brand of stimulation wasn’t working its magic.

He felt disengaged. He was aware of the hot, wet embrace of Fee’s channel, and he felt the excited energy coming from her exertions, but it just wasn’t taking. His body wasn’t loving it. His willy was weary. Great bogle, I’m bored! As that crossed his mind, Fee jolted down hard and stopped her gyrations.

“Kris?”

He opened his eyes to see her green gaze focussed on him. She looked concerned, an expression that sat oddly on her pert features. Fee was one of the rowdier maids, given to pushing men into the pool and jumping on them. Most young men loved it. Kris found it tiresome, but it was just Fee’s way. Water maids were intuitive. They knew precisely who needed what. With him and Fee, the intuition had finally failed.

He smiled at her. That was easy. She was pretty, happy and wholesome as a ripe apple. She smelled sweet. She was delightful. She didn’t do emotion any more than he did.

She smiled back. “You all right, man?”

“Yes.”

“You squealed me twice, but you haven’t blown yet. Not even once.”

“I’m distracted, Fee. It’s not your fault.” He had to add that because Fee had her pride. Now he came to think of it…he probably hadn’t squealed her at all. She’d done it by herself. His willy might as well have been her own clever fingers. Not that she’d ever have used her fingers for that. No waterfolk ever had to resort to self-ministrations.

Maybe that’s what he should do, though. It would be difficult to disappoint his own hands, and they wouldn’t expect a compliment afterwards.

She got off him, and he felt cold water flood in where her warmth had been. His willy, which had been unenthusiastic anyway, drooped and flopped on his thigh.

“You want to play in the grass?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to say he’d rather call it a day, but she looked troubled, so he acquiesced. “Might be better.”

Fee got up to her feet, lithe and lovely, and shook back her hair. It dried in an instant.

She helped him to his feet and led him up the bank to a snug hollow between two trees. She had a blanket there, which surprised him. She saw his expression and grinned.

“I have a braeman who comes to me for his comforts. He likes the feel of good braeside wool on his bum.”

“So, you provide it?”

“I like the feel of his cockie when he’s enjoying the wool.” She giggled. “This is a fresh blanket, ‘specially for you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Fee lay down and held out her arms.