“Strength,” he offered the single word.
Her head shot up. “Strength?” Their eyes met and he felt her surprise. Obviously she’d expected something superficial. Like how her eyes sparkled beneath the light like two crystals, or perhaps how silky her hair looked draped across her shoulders like a red curtain.
The salad was good, fresh and crisp, the dressing not too tart he noticed as he took a bite. He would have to remember to compliment Antonio later tonight.
Nicolas let her think about what he said before he continued. “Look at what you have achieved in such a short period of time.” He picked up the basket the waiter had set before them and offered her a breadstick, but she shook her head. “You’ve been alone since you were eighteen. Moved to a different state. Started a new life where you had no friends or family to rely on. You have a college degree and have a brilliant career ahead of you. How many people can say that?”
A warm sensation filled him when she smiled. “A lot of people have degrees.”
“True. But not all of them have put themselves through school,” he countered taking a sip of his wine.
She stabbed another piece of lettuce with her fork, but didn’t put it in her mouth. Instead she shrugged. “I was given a scholarship.”
“You earned that scholarship. Even so you did this by yourself—alone.” He placed his hand over hers. “Jana, Lisa says you are a strong, beautiful person. I know she’s right.”
A soft expression fell across her once-tight features as she extracted her hand. “Thank you.” She grinned, dropping her gaze once again to her salad plate.
“What?”
Continuing to smile, she met his eyes. “You’re not exactly what I thought you were.”
He pulled his brows together. “What did you think I was?”
“Well, arrogant for one.”
Nicolas feigned surprise as he flinched at her words.
She giggled, the sound like bells swaying in the breeze. “Superficial and a whoremonger.”
He pressed his palms to his heart. “I’m hurt.”
“As if,” she said. Her eyes danced with laughter for the first time that night.
“Well perhaps whoremonger is accurate, because I sure want to taste your lips right now.” An ache began between his thighs, tightening and pressing against his black slacks. His sight was riveted on her full lips. How soft would they be against his? Would she whimper softly beneath his attack?
“Nicolas. I’m sorry, but I’m simply not attracted to you.” She swallowed hard, giving away the fact she lied. “If I’ve done anything to mislead you, I apologize.” Her hands left the table.
It was a challenge he couldn’t ignore.
“The thought of me pressing my lips to yours, of my tongue delving between them doesn’t make your nipples hard?” He waited only briefly before saying, “Tell me your breasts aren’t heavy. That a slight tingle hasn’t begun slowly filtering through them, aching for me to stroke them? Place my hot…wet…mouth on them?”
He trapped her gaze with his and paused. “Tell me you’re not moist just thinking of how my hands would feel caressing your body, stroking the flame that burns in your belly, building it into a raging wildfire. Because that’s exactly what I would do to you.”
With his last words her eyelashes lowered halfway, the thick fringe hiding how her eyes had grown steamy. The increased rise and fall of her chest was a dead giveaway that he had aroused her.
He continued.
“I would touch every inch of your body with my hands and mouth. I’d make you scream for me to take you. Then when every nerve ending grew so raw that your skin was alive, I would enter your pussy slowly until you tossed back your head and screamed my name.
“Nicolas,” he said his name in a whisper. “Your orgasm would explode as I filled you.”
“Stop.” She breathed the word.
What the hell had he done? His cock was rock hard. His palms itched to touch her. His mouth watered to taste her. This was torture and he had driven himself to this unbearable point. He couldn’t find the strength to release her from the hold he knew he had on her.
“Stop? Or do you really want me to lay you on this table in front of all these people? Grab your ankles, slowly parting your legs, before I bury my face between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit?”
Jana gulped down a gush of air. “Fuck.” She squirmed in her chair.
“Oh, doll, I will do more than fuck you,” he promised, the idea sending his hormones into a frenzy of desire.
“No. I didn’t mean— Oh shit! Just stop, Nicolas, stop.” She pressed her palm to her mouth. She mumbled through her fingers, “This isn’t right. You’re sleeping with Lisa.”
Nicolas’s hand slipped beneath the table. He cupped his hard erection as his eyelids grew heavy. God, I wish this was your hand, doll. “Lisa and I have an agreement.” He ran his fingers across his engorged cock. “There is no commitment between us.” He reached for her hand, removing it from her full lips, and she didn’t fight him. Instead her hand trembled. What would she do if he placed her hand between his legs, showed her how she affected him? He scooted closer to her.
Jana was almost his. He could feel her surrender in the softness of her skin, the way her fingers intertwined with his.
The server arrived with their main course and the moment was lost.
She jerked away from his touch. A light blush crossed her cheeks as her spaghetti was placed before her.
Damn!
But the evening was still young and Lisa had promised to stay away the entire night.
The bad boy Elf of Anfall shifts his way into a Texas Ranger’s heart.
Dark Prince of Anfall
© 2008 Ciar Cullen
A Princes of Anfall Book
Prince Senn of Anfall has earned his rep as the player in the family—until one woman, a Great Lander, brings him to his knees. Tara, one of only two gifted shapeshifters left in Anfall, is all Senn craves. Though he could do without her don’t-mess-with-Texas attitude.
A newcomer to Anfall, Tara has a lot on her plate as she hides from her abusive husband, learns the truth of her heritage and deals with the sparks that fly between her and Senn as he helps her explore her shapeshifting gifts.
But before they can give in fully to the mutual temptation, the Spirit has predestined a little more work for the royals of Anfall and their friend Tim Emory. Senn, Tara and their companions Tim and Luke must rescue little brother Palin from a new evil. And the ultimate dysfunctional family must face their inner demons as well.
It’s business as usual in Anfall—sex, misunderstandings, magic, danger and a whole lotta love.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Dark Prince of Anfall:
She watched, bemused, as the exquisite young man tossed and turned in agony. His tanned, naked body glistened with sweat, and he winced as if in pain and moaned low cries for help. Gri-Lasa sat for a few moments longer, chin propped on her palm, studying the prince’s handsome features, wondering if she were making the right choice. Perhaps she should keep him for herself. He wouldn’t make a poor consort—brave, gifted, intelligent and certainly a man worthy of a goddess’s bed. Compelling, but perhaps a bit reckless, a bit quirky. He’s charming.
Gri-Lasa laughed at herself. Every time she took a human form, the burning pull of base traits assaulted and surprised her. What would it hurt? To reach out and stroke the prince’s swollen cock and watch his response, to take him inside and give him pleasure beyond his experience, beyond his imaginings.
A crackle in the air and the silent sound of shifting energy broke her train of thought for a moment. Another young man crossed to the Land.
Timothy.
What a sad, tortured soul.
No matter, she thought, he’ll heal in time. So much more appropriate than the dark-haired prince, who was destined for another.
Gri-Lasa sighed as she pushed down fantasies of the beautiful man who now reached down his torso to gras
p at his cock. It seemed to bring more torture than pleasure, and he moaned again for release.
“Wait a little longer, my sweet. You have battles ahead. Remember me and remember her. And give me the child who will save the Great Lands from its misery.”
Gri-Lasa held her palm over his forehead and he sighed in satisfaction, the strain easing from his face. “I had best leave you, Prince, before my human form tempts me to actions I may regret. I have created a sexually obsessed man.”
No doubt he’d find another pretty loyal subject, anxious for a taste of his charms, only to discard her. Gri-Lasa ensured that only one woman would ever fulfill his needs—Tarana Anthlasan.
“Here she comes,” she whispered. “You want only her.”
He gasped as Tarana entered his dream.
Gri-Lasa shimmered into the night air, leaving Sennsárin to his dream-state exploits.
Senn felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her. Tarana’s allure never failed. This time, she entered from the balcony, pulling away the thin veils of silken fabric from her body as she approached him. She stood a foot away from the bed, gazing down the length of his body. The ache became unbearable, and he reached out to pull her in. Senn saw she intended to tease, her full red lips pursed in a half-smile, her eyes sparkling, her hand caressing her stomach and coyly reaching lower to play with the pale fringe of gold curls below. But he wanted it his way first. Very hard. As hard as she could stand and just a tiny bit harder.
“Please, let me use my gifts, Tarana. Let me stroke you deep inside, caress the spot that makes you die for me.” Senn reached down and ran his palm along his shaft, circled his thumb over the wet head. “Don’t you find me attractive tonight? Not even a wee bit? Bored of me?” He chuckled, knowing how the woman craved his charms, his skills. He didn’t need magic. To her, he was magic, and the knowledge drove him to madness with pride and the fierce need to own her.
Tarana growled at the sight of his hand moving to pleasure himself. It mesmerized her, he knew, and picked up the pace of his strokes, shuddering and moaning with her. She ran her hands up her stomach and squeezed her hard nipples, pulling them towards him, as if begging him to suckle. She moved closer to the bed.
Senn grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto the bed and in one strong movement rolled onto her. He looked into her eyes and moved so she could feel how hard he was, how needy. Tarana’s eyes widened and stared at Senn’s lips.
“You want me more than ever, don’t you, Pussycat? Tell Senn how much you want him!” he growled, running his hand down her torso and pressing fingers into her dripping core. “Is this too much?” He pushed a third finger in and she cried out, arching up to press against his palm. He caressed her velvet walls with his fingertips and sighed at the glorious feeling of her response, clutching down on his fingers, pulling him in. Senn circled his thumb over her, and she bit at her lip and panted his name.
“That’s to get you wet enough for my size,” he chuckled.
“I’m wet enough, you conceited asshole,” she panted. “Dear God, how do you do that so quickly? It’s the magic.”
“It’s the thumb.” He winked.
Tarana reached up to his cheek and brushed her fingers along his lips. “You never kiss me.”
Senn felt a stab of shame and brushed it aside. “In time.” “Why don’t you kiss her? What would that mean?” An unfamiliar voice slid into his mind, but he ignored it. Instead, he reached into the air and the scarves Tarana had worn danced to his hand.
Tarana looked startled for a moment and started to speak, but he held a hand over her mouth and ordered the scarves to bind her wrists and ankles. They circled, knotted and tightened as Tarana struggled.
“Not a very convincing fight.” Senn edged himself up her body and knelt so that he could press his cock down to touch her lips. Tarana groaned and flicked her tongue across the head. Fire darted through his veins and he leaned both hands against the wall to keep from falling as his legs quivered.
“Touch yourself, Tarana,” he whispered as she widened her mouth and moved her full lips to suck him in, still lavishing the head with her tongue. He thought away one of her bonds and she moved her hand down her body and shuddered as she played with her folds.
“Oh, bloody hell. Oh Spirit, help me.” Senn threw back his head and thrust into her mouth as she sucked him in further.
“Tonight, Pussycat. Tonight you’ll feel my fur against your ass, feel my teeth on the scruff of your neck. Understood?” He panted and felt the throbbing that signaled his first release. There would be many, many more before they were through. He arched up to the ceiling and cried out in the ancient tongue as colors, shapes and stars exploded and swirled, and his body exploded with them.
“Hell!” Senn sat up, drenched in sweat, covered in his own sticky essence. He growled in anger and pulled the sheet off the bed, tossing it to the floor and kicking at it in frustration.
He washed his torso and brushed away the last glimmers of sexual magic still shimmering in the room. He then wandered onto the balcony, as he did most nights after he found his phantom release.
Not for the first time, he found his brother there, draining a mug of ale and pulling on his pipe. Kas’s white-blond hair shimmered in the moonlight, and a soft glow of magic lit a large book that rested unopened in his lap.
“Don’t ask.” Senn took the chair next to Kas, who held out a second mug.
“Ask what?” Kas smirked. “Shouldn’t you break this habit of strolling along the balcony naked, Senn? I know you’re an exhibitionist as well as an insomniac, but the palace houses more than your brothers. There’s Jenna to consider. Not to mention Mother.”
“Shut up, Kas.” Senn took a hearty swig of ale.
“What’s her name?” Kas chuckled.
“Goodnight, Kas.”
Senn made his way back to bed and lay down, lacing his fingers behind his neck. Her name is Tarana. And when we were little, I wanted her to play with me. Where are you, Tarana? Why do you torture me like this?
Healer’s Touch
Kirsten Saell
eBooks are not transferable.
They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Healer’s Touch
Copyright © 2008 by Kirsten Saell
ISBN: 1-60504-135-1
Edited by Bethany Morgan
Cover by Christine Clavel
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: August 2008
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