Syphon's Song

by Anise Rae

  “Let me take care of you.” He stepped behind her, a move too fast for her lust-drenched senses to track. Her arms were left empty of his warm strength. That was not what she wanted, even if he was back there to pull down her zipper.

  “But I want to touch you.” Her voice was breathy with want.

  “Plenty of time for that,” he whispered as his lips found the spot under her other ear. She let the back of her head rest against his chest. The zipper hissed in the air. The dress fell to her arms. One wiggle and it dropped to the floor.

  Her bra and panties matched the dress. Creamy, lacy bits. She’d never stood in front of a man in undergarments that his mother picked out. At least Lady Rallis had good taste. She lifted her hands high and reached back to touch his broad shoulders. He cupped her breasts through the bra. She arched into his touch.

  “You think this is goodbye.” His wary whisper traveled down her neck with the brush of his lips, his hands skimming down the soft skin of her belly. “It’s not.” He stood tall and controlled behind her, while she might have melted at his feet.

  She hadn’t anticipated this cautiousness. She turned to face him. The tips of her nipples brushed against the shirt he refused to relinquish. As the teasing touch rippled through her, he steadied her, his hands around her arms.

  A hard line creased his brow, revealed in the dim light of the lanterns. “Trust me, Bronte.”

  “I do.” It was the rest of the world she couldn’t trust.

  He leaned his forehead against hers and shook his head, as if he knew her thoughts and denied the truth of them. But she would not let the rest of the world silence this sensuous tune building between them. She rose to tiptoes, meeting him as best her height allowed and brushed her lips against his, enticing him further into her song, into her hold as if she were a siren mage. She closed her eyes. Her lashes drifted over his cheek…a signal of some sort to him, perhaps, since he tightened his hold around her. Melting the colonel into a pool of lust was a challenging task, but the rewards beckoned.

  She let her tongue skim across his lips, giving him a taste of her own teasing touch. He must have liked it. The kiss turned so powerful she might never escape. Did she really want to?

  He lifted her, holding her close for a moment, only to pull his heat away as he laid her on the bed, the cool blankets a sharp contrast to her hot skin.

  He braced one knee on the soft surface next to her hip and slid her bra straps down her shoulders to reveal tight nipples that craved his attention.

  She curved up to him with impatience, but he was not to be hurried. She went breathless under his gaze, anticipating his touch. “Vincent…” The single word held her complaint.

  “I want to look.”

  A soft laugh escaped in a huff. “It’s too dark to see.” But she realized the truth even as she spoke.

  “Not for me. You’ve never been with a mage, have you? I’m your first.” He bent his head and brushed his lips against the top of her breast. “And your last. You are all mine.” He closed his mouth over her nipple.

  A broken hum vibrated from her lips.

  She was his.

  But this is all they would have.

  She thrust the thought away as his tongue played over her hard tip again and again until it was so sensitive she was ready to beg for something more. He drew her into his mouth. The sound of her cry snapped through the air. He moved to her other side and repeated the process, taking his sweet time yet again.

  She tingled beneath his touch, needing more everywhere.

  “I can taste your power.” His words vibrated through her nipple sending delicate heat dancing down her skin to her center.

  “Not possible,” she denied with a shiver.

  He drew back and moved onto the bed, his knees between her thighs. He hovered over her, balanced on his hands and knees, touching her exactly nowhere.

  “Quite possible. And true.” He hovered over her. “You are beautiful. I never thought I’d have a chance at anything like this.” He bent down and kissed the fullest part of one breast, and then the other. “You are a gift.”

  With her bra pulled down to expose her nipples and lacy stockings framing the tops of her legs, she must look like a nymph. She certainly felt like one. And she liked it. She slipped her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt.

  He shuddered at the contact and reached for her hands, preventing her exploration. Instead, he laced his fingers through hers, connecting them. He leaned forward and kissed her stomach, so sensitive she jerked in response. He worked his way down, softly. Light brushes of his lips fired every nerve he touched and left them awake and yearning for more. He laved care to her hips, one side and then the other. He drifted down to her inner thighs, skipping past her most needy parts.

  “Colonel, you’re a tease. I never suspected.” It bordered on a complaint.

  “I believe in doing a thorough job.” His lips trailed over her skin with his words. “I carry out every mission with total attention to detail. It takes time to do things right.”

  “Surely some missions require speed.” She shook her head back and forth on the pillow as he pressed a kiss on top of her mound…inches shy of where she wanted him, and blocked from her skin by her panties.

  “This isn’t one of them.” But finally, he pulled off her panties.

  She sighed with a touch of desperate gratitude and lifted her hips to assist.

  He dipped back down to kiss the sharp edges of her hip bones, now exposed without the stretch of lace.

  She arched up again, wanting to move him, to make him touch where she burned the most.

  He dodged her, fanning his hands along the tops of her thighs, creeping in toward her feminine core. “This is meant to be savored.” He ran one finger right down her center, pressing over that most sensitive of places and entered her, once, twice.

  Every nerve point inside her fired. She dug her heels into the bed.

  He passed his tongue over her clitoris, once and then again in rhythm with his finger.

  She shattered wide open.

  His vibes poured into her in places she hadn’t known existed. A cry echoed. She reached for him as sensations drowned her. She grasped blindly but failed to connect from her lack of focus on anything but the waves of pleasure swelling through her. He found her though, grabbed her empty hand, and grounded her as the spasms of heat and energy rocketed through her.

  He caressed his way back up her stomach, bestowing gentle kisses on each nipple and then reached her lips, caressing them with his.

  She panted beneath his attention and, after a long moment, looked up at him with a slow blink. She smiled. “Well, colonel, I’d say that was a successful mission.” She’d never heard her voice sound so sultry. He was powerful enough to turn her into a siren mage, after all. She poked a finger into his chest. “Now. You take off that shirt. It’s my turn.”

  * * * *

  Vincent obeyed. Anything to please her, to keep her right where she was meant to be. In his bed.

  His shirt shot to the floor like a bullet. He froze, surprised. His power had crept beyond the boundaries of his control while he’d devoured the taste of her, and he hadn’t even realized it.

  She giggled.

  His cheeks burned. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost control. And it had never happened in bed.

  “I felt your power,” She touched herself low on her belly. “Right here. Do that again. This time with your pants.”

  “Bronte.” A growl. “You’re playing with vibes so hot they’re gonna burn us both.” His gaze caught on her perfect breasts, framed by her pulled-down bra. He reached beneath her and flicked the clasp. He cupped her softness with both hands and passed his thumbs over the tight pink nipples as the bra whipped to the floor with his power.

  She arched into his touch, her head pressing against his pillow. “Not my bra. I said your pants.” The airy words weren’t much of a command, especially considering the smile that graced her lips. Her
body was replete with a pleasure he would build for her again.

  She skidded her fingers along his shoulders and chest. Her touch left a blaze in its wake as she made her way to his waist. But like his coat, she wouldn’t be able to remove his pants, not with the mage fastenings.

  Despite the years he’d worked to earn this uniform, he suddenly resented it. If she wore clothes he didn’t have the power to remove, he’d be really pissed off.

  He swung his feet to the floor and complied with her order before she realized the situation. He didn’t want anything to make her feel inadequate. Because she wasn’t. She was the most miraculous being who’d ever graced this land, and he would prove it to everyone. Including her.

  Her gaze followed him as he surpassed her command, taking his underwear and socks with the pants. His hard erection bounded free. He sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth as she reached for him, closing around him.

  She closed around him, running her touch along the length of him.

  He squeezed her wrist and pulled her hand away. A pretty pout took form on her lips.

  “Next time, beauty. I want this to last.” He leaned his hands on either side of her head and bent to kiss the pout away.

  She anchored him by his shoulders to hold him in place and opened her mouth beneath his, humming beneath his kiss. It rocked him clear to the tip of his cock.

  She lifted her legs and caught him by his hips, locking her ankles behind his back. The mischievous minx smiled.

  He braced himself. He hadn’t deterred her a bit.

  She reached between their bodies and stroked his cock in her hand. “Let me, please.” Her husky whisper blew along his neck, her soft hand making him harder than ever. Pressure built and demanded an answer.

  He closed his eyes.

  “Take off my stockings.”

  He felt his way around along the lacy tops with shaky hands and traced a path around her thighs. “I like them.”

  She moaned. “But I want to feel your skin on mine.”

  Leverage. Somewhere in that statement was leverage. Eyes still closed, he fought for the power to think up a bargain. He was too close to the edge. “If you want me to move, you have to let go.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment clouded her voice, but her legs fell from his back, and with one last stroke, she released his cock.

  He opened his eyes to see her very core spread beneath him. He held on to control by the last thread of a frayed rope. He rolled one stocking down and then the other, letting his power toss them to the floor.

  She gasped.

  With his lips over her clit, he licked and teased until she was as high on that wave of need as he. High on pleasure, desire…love.

  “Oh please, Vincent, come inside me. Let me feel all of you.” She pulled at his shoulders, trying to make him comply. “Now.” A breathy, begging word.

  “Impatient, are you?” But so was he. His energy broke the remainder of the dams he always kept tight around his sixth sense. It overflowed and crashed onto her, into her. His vibes worshipped at her banks like waves lapping at the land, offering its very self to the shore. Never had anyone accepted him like this. Never had it occurred to him that it was even possible.

  He swept his lips over her taut belly, working back up.

  She arched under his caresses, tilting her chin and exposing the graceful curve of her neck. She draped over his bed like a goddess to be adored and treasured. “Please hurry.”

  “Such manners,” he gasped. The head of his cock had already found her. “But happy to help.” He entered her slowly. She stretched around him, her walls quivering as he slipped inside. Liquid heat surrounded him.

  “Oh, thank you.” Her eyes fluttered shut.

  It had been so long…so long since he could tolerate being this close to a woman. And it had never been like this. He moved inside her, deep and tight. Bronte’s legs came around his waist and urged him faster. He thrust with more force, careful to not hurt her, but she wasn’t having it. And he couldn’t hold on.

  He reached between her legs to caress her clit. He was taking her with him. He jetted into her. His mage energy flowed. His essence poured straight into the heart of her syphon power. She spasmed around him, on and on, until his body and his power were drenched in this ultimate pleasure.

  He was slow to recover. Panting for air, he went down on one elbow. He wrapped one arm around her, twisted around and lowered himself to the bed. He pulled her with him until she lay draped over his chest.

  Bronte hadn’t caught her breath either. Mission accomplished.

  She traced the line of his jaw.

  He reached up, brought her hand to his lips and then tucked it against his chest. Tossing the quilt over them, he held her tight, catching his syphon close enough to pull her into his dreams before a deep sleep closed in on him.

  11

  Bronte opened her eyes to darkness. Her restful sleep faded in an instant. Vincent lay next to her, flat on his back, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest. He slept like he did everything else, intense and focused. Even in his dreams he had straight, smooth posture. His leg pressed against hers. She didn’t mind.

  But it was time to go.

  Instinct told her to say a silent goodbye or risk a pointless argument. The time allotted to her faded away, almost gone. There was nothing Vincent could do about it. Her parents held her strings.

  A bittersweet ache built in her heart, a storm cloud of tears and loss ready to rage. She shoved it aside. It would have to wait. It could have its reign when she was far away, when she could afford to remember what had been.

  She sat up and crawled over him one limb at a time and stepped to the cold floor. She gazed down at him, waited, but he didn’t wake up. Vincent was sound asleep. It seemed out of character for him to be so blind to his surroundings. The aftereffects of the sex, she thought. She almost smiled.

  She padded to the bathroom and groped around in the dark for her bag she’d left on the floor. She pulled out the jeans she’d saved for the ride home. Though she patted around the sparse contents of the cheap duffel, nothing felt like a shirt. Tiptoeing back to the bedroom, she spotted a lump of shadows on the floor. Clothes of some kind. She felt around. Her hand met her bra, stringy and wiry, and the thin cloth of Vincent’s t-shirt. Their pale colors almost glowed in the dark. She slipped them on.

  She picked up the heels she’d worn to the symphony. They were the only shoes within view. Had they been a gift from Lady Rallis, or were they a loan? She hoped for the former, since they were all she could find. She grabbed the beaded clutch.

  At this rate, Lady Rallis could have her arrested for theft if she was so inclined. The Rallises would have to catch her first. Bronte was confident that even their all-powerful reach wasn’t enough to infiltrate Locke’s boundaries. Assuming she could get there.

  She picked up her violin and stepped into the quiet night. The chatty crickets stood as her only witnesses. They hushed as one unit when she stepped off the porch, as if they were in silent awe that she dared to flee from the intimidating Colonel Rallis.

  Her breath rasped loudly through the quiet night as she moved toward the car and stepped into the spotlight of the almost full moon. She tiptoed. Her sore feet went quickly numb, her shoes still in her hand. Their clip-clip would be too loud for a sneaky escape. She opened the driver’s door. For once it didn’t squeak. Maybe her car wasn’t the traitor she thought.

  She placed her violin on the passenger seat and glanced one last time at the house. No Vincent on the porch. But his vibes flowed into her syphon almost as easily as if she lay next to him.

  She sucked in a hard, scratchy breath. She refused to miss him already. Squeezing her eyes shut against the sensation, she started the car. The engine turned over, smoother than before. He’d done something to it. When had he managed that?

  The car bumped through the meadow in the dark. She didn’t dare turn on the headlights. Vincent’s vibes stretched, thinned, but stayed
with her. The gyre’s influence picked up as she drove toward it. Its energy syphoned into her. Gravel cracked and crunched beneath the slow turn of her tires until she came to the paved road that led to the big house. The gyre’s power faded, but Vincent’s energy still whispered within her. How long would it last?

  The little clock on the dash was dark. Bronte pushed the button for its minuscule light to shine. 3:02 AM. No one else should be about.

  She drove down the smooth road, passing the big house on her right and steering around the front of it to the straight lane leading to the gates. Along the driveway, the dual border of naked trees loomed blacker than the night sky. Their branches stretched over the path like a tent of bony fingers. She passed under them. Vincent’s energy dwindled to a wisp. She stilled, trying to sense him a little longer. But it was useless. Her syphon’s reach had a limit. And she’d just passed it.

  Her hands shook on the steering wheel—grief, instant loneliness…heartbreak. It was withdrawal of the heart, not from addiction. But that didn’t stop the hurt. She tried to box it back in and focus on the dark drive.

  The gatehouse was straight ahead. Its two halves straddled the driveway with ample space for cars to pass beneath it. Her gut knotted at the lights shining from the right side of the small building. Someone was awake. Worse, the gates were closed.

  A lump of dread settled in her stomach. By the stars, she’d forgotten about that. How would she get the gates open? Brute force? Prayer? She had to figure out something. Instinct told her if she didn’t get out now, she never would.

  She slowed, hoping a slower, quieter engine might go unnoticed by the gatehouse’s occupants…hoping the gates would open automatically as she approached. She guided the car under the gatehouse at a crawl.

  A door opened. The light from inside silhouetted a female form.

  The shadowy person hailed her.