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I gulped, shaking my head, not putting stock in my words. I was here to save the young lady, in spite of the fact that, by the looks of things, she wouldn’t precisely be satisfied with that. In any case, I had an occupation to do. Tearing my eyes from her extending areolas and shuddering bosoms and the dribble that was sliding from the edges of her truly little mouth, a mouth that would have felt brilliant wrapped around my chicken, I ran with the immediate approach.
“Her sister needs her back, Ivy. That is the reason I’m here.”
“To ruin our fun, you mean?” she sulked, her eyes looking toward Oliva, and after that up at mine. I felt myself becoming mixed up in profound pools of lavender. Like all pixies, she had immense, radiant eyes that you could suffocate in. Lavender, notwithstanding, was an irregularity, even among the fey.