Tryst of Fate

By Foxxi Smolder

In the wild depths of the forest, fauns run amok, worshiping their woodland god with ritual bacchanalia. But one faun in particular wants only to be left alone... until he meets the charming half-man, half-horse who finally awakens his desire!

Briar is a misfit among the fauns. Rather than drinking and debauchery, he prefers his own company, which makes his people's summer orgies difficult to manage - much less escape from. Fleeing the other fauns' amorous attentions, he accidentally stumbles headfirst into another ritual: the solitary studies of a beautiful centaur, Hylaeus.

Hylaeus visits the forest to meditate, not carouse, but when Briar interrupts him the two find they have more in common than they first thought. Their connection quickly grows into friendship, then attraction. When Briar confesses his lack of interest in the passions of the fauns, Hylaeus makes an unheard-of offer: to teach Briar the ways of centaur lovemaking. What starts as simple exploration gives way to both centaur and faun discovering their animal instincts - and following their unexpected mating to its thrilling, sensual conclusion!

Read on for over 7000 words of passion, fantasy, and first-time faun-on-centaur smut!

Excerpt:

The color ran high in Briar's cheeks, staining them a slightly darker shade of brown. "So," he managed. "That is how you centaurs make love?"

"That is how we start," Hylaeus replied, a hint of playfulness creeping into his words.

"And where," Briar said, throat tight with desire, "do you tend to go from there?"

Mildly, as if he had not just been pressing kisses hotly into Briar's mouth, Hylaeus said: "From there, I would turn myself to areas other than your lips. If you wished me to, of course."

The calm with which he made such salacious offers took Briar's breath away. He opened his mouth, but before he could fashion some appropriate reply Hylaeus' hands were on him and all words were taken away too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foxxi Smolder
• Release date: Oct 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463881378

Foxxi Smolder

Confirmed bacheloress by day and scribbler of indecent material by night, Foxxi Smolder has been writing sweet, smutty short stories since 2015. She is dedicated to bringing her readers works that embrace kink without sacrificing sex positivity or a sense of humor. When not writing, she enjoys tending her rose garden, doing Tarot readings for her cats, and adding to her collection of fainting couches.

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Tryst of Fate

© 2019 Foxxi Smolder

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Tryst of Fate

By Foxxi Smolder

In the forest where fauns tended green things, birds sang gladly and flowers grew madly, and the air was redolent with the scent of summer. One could drift off to sleep in the low-hanging branches of the trees or nestle into the grass as if reuniting with a lover, so inviting was the atmosphere. It was a place where nature took care of itself, took care of all. The trees gave and gave and never diminished in the giving. Green-gold air filtered through the forest canopy and dappled the ground with sunlight. It was late morning, and the hyacinths were in bloom.

None of this meant anything to a hasty two-footed creature who darted through the forest like a beast of prey, barely escaping pursuit. The creature had no heed of the flowers; he trampled them underneath in his mad dash. Following him was the patter of soft laughter, and the scent of grapes and violets, and this only served to spur him on faster.

His hoof caught, inevitably, on an overgrown tree root, and he went sprawling flat on his face. A young faun, one of the rightful caretakers of the forest, his horns were spattered with the sweat he’d thrown off in his runaway sprint, and his hindquarters’ fur was clotted with the burrs that gave him his name.

Prickly he was, and often his face frowned, so they had named him Briar–and now, toppled headfirst into a forgiving patch of grass, he looked stubborner than ever.

He picked himself up, slowly, gingerly, and wiped some clinging leaves off the tuft of fur that constituted his tail. Then he scanned his surroundings–the wary, hunted look never leaving his eyes.

If he hadn’t been born a faun, Briar might have been a rabbit or a