by Jan Delima
“I don’t care.” She reached for him again.
“I care.” He halted her with his gaze, simmering with blatant need. “I don’t want distractions our first time, and there’s something I have to get from the guards’ quarters first.”
“Okay.” She ran her hands over her face. She had no idea what he needed from the guards’ quarters, but if it was important to him, then she could wait. “I’ll meet you up there.”
“Go to the kitchens and order us some food while I shower.” Cormack’s tone was harsh, daring her to argue.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly lacking in nutrients,” she teased. “Unless you’re hungry—”
“We will be. And we’re not leaving our room for a while.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later Elen climbed the stairs to her chamber. It was well past the midnight hour and the halls were empty. With Cormack waiting in their room, excitement and adrenaline danced through her veins.
Castell Avon had modern amenities, with electricity provided by generators, but it was a limited source. Now that the Walkers were free, and powerless, Luc was right to modernize the island, just for safety alone. Until then, gas sconces provided light in wide hallways as she carried a tray of meats, cheeses, bread and fruit, along with a chilled bottle of white wine produced from grapes grown on the river Rhine.
She’d had to rouse a member of the kitchen staff, only to receive a knowing smile when she’d requested the items, along with two glasses and an opener. Balancing the tray on her hip, she opened her door—and found Cormack asleep on top of the bed. Disappointment surged. If the sisters of fate did indeed exist, then they were having a grand old time twisting her strings.
Placing the items on a butler’s server along the side wall, she quietly closed and locked the door. This room had been redecorated over the summer with calming colors of blue and green. A four-poster bed, currently occupied by a rather large man, had new draperies tied to each corner. Two overstuffed chairs and ottomans sat on either side of the hearth where a fire crackled in the grate, casting a soft glow about the room. It was homey in a formal sort of way.
Resigned, Elen spotted her bags through the open door of the adjoining bathroom. She stripped out of her damp clothes and hung them over the tub before quickly washing and preparing for bed. With none of her nightgowns available, she used one of Cormack’s clean T-shirts and a new pair of lace panties, but no bra. It would do.
Too wired to sleep, she opened the wine and poured a glass, sipping quietly as she walked over to the bed. Cormack slept above the coverlet and on his back, with one arm raised over his head, while the other rested by his side. His hair was still damp from his shower, and he wore jeans but no shirt, as if he’d just rested his head and sleep claimed him first.
His chest rose and fell with even breaths. She was not one to marvel over physical attributes, but this was Cormack, and his body was meant for pleasure, like a goddess had molded him for her personal divine gratification. His frame was large and toned, with wide shoulders and a firm chest that tapered down to his hips. His hardened stomach would provide the perfect friction were she to ride him just like this.
And as that image flooded her mind, another, more wicked one, followed. It was greedy and selfish, but all her niceness had been used up for the day. He looked peaceful and innocent, but the man was practically immortal after all. Their kind did not die from lack of sleep. They might go mad, of course, but that took a few weeks. And had he not said, Do with me as you will?
She needed to touch him. That was all. Well, no, she wanted more, but for now that would do. Taking a sip of her wine, she gently set the glass on an end table, and gave in to temptation. Starting by his heart, she brushed lightly across his chest, tracing down the indent between and lingering on the valleys and curves of his muscles. Flattening her hand over his stomach, she felt the soft hair that began just above the waistband of his jeans and disappeared below. She had never seen him in this restful state, at least not in his human form, and took in her ravenous fill.
Her hand lingered over the button of his jeans. She swallowed, wanting . . . Oh, how she wanted. She burned like molten earth, fed by a need that had been denied for too long. Even now she felt her body moisten and swell just from imagining what waited beyond that closure, and how it would feel inside her.
Or how it would taste.
She thumbed the button. A quick flick was all it would take.
A sound made her jolt, an intake of breath perhaps, followed by a sudden rise under her hands. She snapped her eyes to his face.
Cormack was awake.
And watching her.
A fire raged in his gaze. “Kill me now if you stop, Elen, because then I’ll know I’m well and truly cursed and I cannot be tortured anymore.”
Twenty-two
Needing no further encouragement, Elen released the closure with a quick tug and the gentle slide of the zipper. He wore no briefs underneath, and his erection sprung forward, thick and begging to be stroked.
“Lift your hips.” Elen had no idea how her voice sounded steady, because she was anything but.
He did, allowing her to tug off his jeans, and when they bunched around his thighs, he helped her by kicking them off. Then he lay back down before her in an offering of her most decadent wish come true. His shaft curved in an arc toward his navel, darkening as it swelled even more under her gaze. Abs flexed as he tried to control his rapid breaths.
“Elen . . . please.” Her name, followed by a desperate plea and a husky growl. His expression was strained and perhaps nervous too. As if he expected pain, or the greatest pleasure known—and not caring either way as long as it was her who gave it.
Ah, this was a heady power indeed—to be desired so completely, and to desire back even more. If she had to choose between this passion and her gift, she would choose passion every time, with him, and for love. And that ultimate selfishness may one day be her undoing, and yet she didn’t care. It was no surprise wars were fought, crowns abdicated and countries lost for this unquenchable need to be cherished. Sadly, many scorned its worth, belittled it or worse, made it sordid, but they had never loved as purely as this. If they had, they would know it was a craving more tempting than lands, dominance, hypocrisy or greed. Because none of that offered the same fulfillment, or equaled its reward.
Gently, she placed her hand around the base of his erection.
And he arched off the bed. Both arms fell to his sides as he fisted his hands on the coverlet. “Fuck!” He thrashed as she tightened her hand around the base, sliding back to the tip, then repeating the motion.
She moistened her lips. “Tell me what you want.”
A sardonic laugh fell from between clenched teeth. “Everything.”
“You will have everything” She couldn’t help but smile while amending her question, “But what do you want first?”
“I want you to come. I want you to come while you’re on top of me.” His answer, as always, surprised her, when most men would have requested her mouth replace her hands, which she would have gladly done. She was also surprised by the modern term that divulged his knowledge; he had seen sexual acts, no doubt, and heard countless boastings, even if he hadn’t been touched until now. “I want you to peak with pleasure as you did in the cottage,” he expanded. Did he not think she understood what he meant the first time? “And I want to be inside you when it happens.”
Her toes curled into the thick carpet under her feet. “We can do that.”
* * *
All blood drained from his head and drove into one eager appendage. Every nerve ending was cocked and primed, and her gentle touches were driving him fucking insane. It took a strength of will Cormack didn’t realize he possessed to pry her fingers away. He hadn’t waited almost four hundred years to have their first time end in three seconds. Swearing, because he needed to,
he jerked the corner of the blanket over his lap. Her hungry gaze on his groin didn’t help his restraint.
“Open the drawer in the nightstand,” he ordered.
She frowned but did as he asked, pulling out the only box within. She looked back with surprise. “You bought condoms.”
“The guards keep them in their quarters,” he explained. After Avon’s battle, Luc had brought them several boxes, declaring they were free to come and go as they pleased, as long as they didn’t draw dangerous attention to Avon or endanger the mortals. “Sometimes they visit local towns when off duty.”
“I’m sure,” she said.
“Certain nightclubs are a popular destination.” Their kind was not susceptible to diseases, but they were to pregnancy, and to the mating bond that resulted. Though rare, it was a risk many chose not to take. “The female guards have taken to using them as well.” If not more. They must answer to certain natures of their wolves, and once mated, a possessive instinct rose, and it was as unforgiving as the wild blood that ran in their veins. Some women, and men, preferred their freedom, as was their right.
She was quiet for a moment. “Do you want to use one with us?”
“I do not,” he said without compunction. “But I want you to have the option.”
She placed the box back unopened and closed the drawer. “I, like the guards, would have seen to it myself if I had wanted that option, but I appreciate the gesture.”
His heart pounded hard against his chest, a bloody miracle in his current state. His beast had been relatively calm until that moment, but unfurled with arrogant interest. “Are you sure?”
What she offered was no small gift.
“More than anything I’ve ever been sure of in my overly long life.” And to prove her point, because he wasn’t tortured enough, she pulled the shirt she wore over her head and let it fall to the floor. Her breasts were the perfect size, her nipples tightening in the open air. And as she shimmied out of her final garment, and kicked the scrap of lace to the side, his gaze was drawn to the tawny thatch of hair at the peak of her thighs.
She stood without embarrassment, crawling onto the bed with even less and removing the blanket with an impish grin. Bold she was. Confident too. This was not a side of her he’d ever seen, not with sexual intent in her gaze, a fortunate thing when he couldn’t act before now, for it very well might have driven him to self-destruction.
Shoving pillows against the headboard, Cormack sat up because he wanted to see every inch of her flesh, every strand of her hair, every expression on her face as she positioned herself on his lap with one leg on either side. Her skin was warm, smooth, sliding across his thighs. His cock was wedged between her stomach and his, and all she needed to do was lift up, and then down, and then—finally, if the Gods were merciful, this incessant ache would ease.
“Wait.” He knew his size, and suspected hers to be much less. “I’ve heard women need to be readied first.”
“I am very much ready.” A secret smile turned her lips. “But sometimes I’m not. Would you like me to show you how to tell?”
He was nodding before he found his voice. “Show me.” Even to his ears it sounded like a snarl.
“Cormack.” A soft, all-too-satisfied laugh fell from her mouth. “If you saw the look in your eyes . . .”
Was he supposed to care how he looked? With Elen’s ripe softness straddling his thighs and her breasts swaying mere inches from his face? Reaching up, because he was helpless to do anything but, he traced a tender nipple. It was soft, yet puckered, and she bit her bottom lip through a feminine moan.
“You like that.” He chuckled, because he knew she had, as all lovers must know these things when dealing with the mysterious responses of a woman’s pleasure. Men had no comfort of obscurity; their evidence rose quite vigorously for all who cared to see.
“I do.” Elen nodded. “Very much. But I would like it even more if you would put it in your mouth.” She even arched to give him better access.
A sound rumbled from his throat that he himself did not recognize. He’d seen it done, many times, and dreamt of doing it to her many more. But reality was far more potent than dreams, he realized, as he lowered his mouth on the offered bounty. He suckled the tender peak like a babe. And she tasted of sweetness and forest, and when her thighs began to tremble, it was Elen who pushed him away.
He must have frowned, or given her some questioning sign, because she answered before he asked. “It felt good,” she explained. “Too good, and I’m getting close. So if I am to show you, I must do it now.” Reaching for his hand, she unfolded his fingers, placing it palm down on her taut stomach, and then guiding it through her soft curls. “Here.” She positioned his fingers over her most private core, lifting up slightly on her knees to help his exploration. Her thighs flexed around his hips. “What do you feel?”
“Heat.” He groaned. “Moisture.” And tight slippery softness. Imagining it around his cock, the needy organ primed and jerked.
“That’s because I’m aroused. You will know the difference now when I’m not.” She placed her hand over his and moved his finger slightly up. “And here?” Her breath hitched and her words became ragged. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes.” It was a nub of flesh, tiny and hidden between her folds, but swollen enough to distinguish what she spoke of. He’d known it existed, had even heard many names for it, but they all seemed too vulgar for something this delicate. Cadan, Rosa’s cousin, had once called it a pleasure button. Or rather, he’d told Tesni she’d needed to get hers twisted, and Cormack had overheard.
Assuming that’s what it liked, he did just that to Elen’s.
“Easy,” she hissed. “It is the same there for me as the tip of yours is for you. It likes the same things, responds to the same things.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t touched another person until her, or been touched, but he was a Pagan, not a saint. His exploration of his new form had not been completely ignored. Nor had his eager new appendage allowed it, especially in the mornings. Cormack had pleasured himself, as she must have assumed, therefore he changed his caresses. “Like this?”
“Ummm . . .” She nodded, humming an encouraging response.
Inspired, and fascinated, he circled it one way, and then circled back, bending his finger and rubbing it with his knuckle, and then his thumb. It was so small compared to his. Satisfaction curled in his gut, because he was learning her cues, and she was getting close to peaking as she had once before. It was beautiful to watch, now as much as then—if not more so, because he felt and saw different nuances without the restriction of clothes. Both nipples furrowed into hard points and that nub of secret flesh swelled under his thumb.
She liked when he flicked it, he discovered.
She liked it a lot.
“Cormack—” She slapped him away in a sudden, desperate motion. Holding his wrist against her thigh when he tried to return, she rested her forehead against his chest as rapid breaths fanned his skin. Panting, she held her release back to fulfill his initial request.
Moved beyond words, he lowered his lips to the soft silk of her hair. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent that had given him the strength to live his cursed existence. He had dwelled in shadows, barely surviving between worlds, and unwanted in both. Elen had shown him kindness, and acceptance, and a home. She had given him a reason to wake each day, and he was as bound to her as the blood of his beast was bound to him.
Her face lifted, openly baring her trust as if she held it up to him in her palms. Trust, he learned in that unequaled moment, was as precious as love. Their history called for no less. He kissed her forehead, then her temples next, cupping her cheeks to lift her mouth to his.
A whimper fell from her parted lips. “I love you so much, Cormack, it almost hurts.”
“I know.” Because he felt the same glorious pain—had for more than three hund
red years and knew now it would never end. If anything, it grew worse, like a vise around his heart that constricted by the mere thought of her name.
Her mouth molded to his. Their kiss began gentle but soon turned frenzied, more biting than orchestrated, and far from controlled. Her thighs flexed around his waist, his only warning before she lifted and rocked her pelvis forward. He felt her hand slide downward to the base of his shaft, holding it steady as she aimed it toward her core, and then the most blessed heat.
Tight. So tight. Fuck. He couldn’t breathe. She moved up and down in increments, taking more of him each time. But it was taking too long. Shaking, and driven by a reflex more primal than honor, he grasped her hips and shoved her down, would have apologized if he had a voice, but that was swallowed by a growl that rolled up from his gut to his throat as his shaft embedded fully into her core.
“Yes,” she cried as her body began to shudder, letting him know that she was riding the same carnal wave.
Planting his face in the crook of her neck, he grasped her hips as she rocked; blinded by a pleasure he’d never known, and a hostage to its mounting promise.
Dear Gods . . . He was lost.
Twenty-three
Elen heard the whimpers falling from her mouth and tried to bite them back but it was no use. She’d never been with a man of her kind, or one who possessed her heart as completely as he possessed her body. She was filled with him—and she had never felt so whole. Cormack rested his face in the crook of her neck. Not to kiss her, she knew, or to give her pleasure, but for succor when the edge of absolute surrender burned their blood and raged fire through their veins.
A deep rumble vibrated next to her ear, a continuous growl that didn’t relent, dominant and yet needy; a wolf at his utmost vulnerable point who sang his most primal song.
