Thorne Bay

by Jeanine Croft

  Strong hands suddenly appeared at my belly, fisting in my towel as he pressed hot lips to my neck. I dropped my head back against him, face angled away, my throat vulnerable against his mouth. My arm I lifted around to clutch desperately at his sinewy nape. He dragged his lips and teeth hungrily over the sensitive skin beneath my ear. Then, with a palm at my jaw, he angled my face around to take my mouth again, the steely length of him pressing insistently at my backside as we kissed. He inched me around to face him, never once relinquishing my mouth, so that our bodies were perfectly molded. He did nothing more than brush his lips gently over mine as he held me close. For a long while, that was all he did, worshipping me with kisses and soothing my temples softly with the pads of his thumbs.

  My fingers were far less patient. They tightened in his hair as his tongue began to play along the contours of my lips, cajoling me to open wider, his kisses deepening. Desire rolled between us in shuddering, salty waves. Tristan pulled me closer, held me tighter, taking full advantage of my mouth as he walked me backward till the bed nudged beguilingly at my thighs. Only my towel stood as the flimsy barrier between us. His was long since discarded.

  And then we were on his bed, the sheets cool against my burning skin. Tristan’s kisses wandered lower, his chin sweeping down along the column of my throat until he reached the confluence of my neck and shoulder. There he stayed a while, leaning over me on one elbow as the other hand raked up over my bare ribs before tugging the cotton aside and tossing the towel away. My breath hitched as his palm cupped my breast. He halted a moment, lifting his head to look at me. The colors in his eyes were muted by the low light from the hallway, a shame since they were always changing. The green always so bright and intense whether infused with a wrathful yellow or lustful gold.

  His gaze dropped to my breasts, and his hand soon followed with assiduous caresses. Then came his mouth, his tongue swirling alternately over one nipple before paying equal deference to the other. Every nerve in my body seemed concentrated in that small sensitive region, firing like static beneath his breath, and hardening like marble against his lips. He explored every inch of my terrain, every peak and valley, with worshipful passion. I was drunk with erotic languor—the smell, touch, and taste of him coupled with the Malbec coursing hotly through my veins was deliciously overwhelming. As his talented mouth delved across the topography of my chest, his hand progressed southward, investigating all that lay below the equator. As he continued shifting further down along my torso, his belly gliding torturously over my straining flesh, my breathing grew more ragged. My eyes were sealed shut and my fingers were digging into the pillow behind my head as his chest forced my thighs still wider apart.

  “Look at me, Evan,” he said, his words no more than a husky growl.

  I instantly complied, mesmerized by his raw voice. He’d scooted off the bed and was kneeling on the floor. He pulled me swiftly to the edge and positioned my legs over his wide shoulders, his hands clamped firmly around my thighs to lock me in place. I resisted the urge to close my legs and cover my breasts. I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to. His eyes were drifting over me with such need that I found myself hypnotized by him. I watched his nose flare ravenously as he dipped his head. My eyes rolled back and my body jolted with the stunning contact.

  I could barely think. His tongue on me and the grazing of his stubbled jaw on the insides of my thighs, against the vibrant pulse of my inner flesh, was maddening. The pressure spiked, the tension became agonizing. My fingernails were gouging at the mattress beneath me. Finally, every cell in my body discharged blindingly against his mouth. Shockwave after shockwave rolled from my epicenter out towards my heavy, palsied limbs. But Tristan continued unremittingly even as my body shuddered with exquisite aftershocks and my legs tried to close themselves. My eyes were heavy and clouded when he lifted his head, a fervid look in his eyes.

  When he stood and moved away, I thought it was to let me recover, but he moved no further than his bedside table. A short moment later he was back again, leaning over me with a very decided look.

  “Again?!” I asked, my voice hoarse and my heart still wheezing with effort. Could I possibly come so soon after?

  Tristan seemed taken aback, his expression priceless, but he quickly recovered himself. “We’ve only just started, Evan.”

  I grinned shyly, my lips feeling divinely bruised.

  “Remember this?” He opened his palm to reveal the little square wrapper he’d just retrieved from his bedside table. “Some sexy voyeur left it in the backseat of my truck.” It was the condom I’d thrown at him. Our French letter. “Lucky me.”

  I watched, absorbed, as he tore the condom packet open with sharp white teeth and then fitted the latex over himself. “No,” I whispered, “lucky me.”

  In one fell swoop, he monopolized my lips again and scattered my thoughts to the four winds. My knees parted in welcome. This kiss was different. This kiss was the prelude to the grand finale. The first round had been a total seduction of my body; now he meant to consume me completely. With the vestigial ripples of my orgasm still churning my blood, I ran my palms eagerly over his flanks to feel the hard sinews rolling and bunching beneath his smooth and heated skin as he moved over me.

  This stage of our lovemaking was far headier, far more intense. This was by far the most powerful kiss we’d ever shared. He was no longer gentle. Control had become tenuous. I didn’t care, his passion only fueled mine. His feverish attentions both ignited and saturated me. I was mindless now and barely registered the hard length that pressed between us, questing lower. The tip of it became an insistent, painful pressure at my core. Almost unbearable. Although I had expected it to hurt, I couldn’t help stiffening, and that only made it more uncomfortable. Tristan, of course, was so in tune with everything my body did that he paused, having barely made any headway at all. He gentled his kissing again, his tongue coaxing me to relax.

  Relax? With a hot naked man between my thighs? Yet, under Tristan’s soft kisses, I did exactly that. My body gradually loosened around him, drawing him in by a fraction of an inch. If he was at all frustrated by the delay, or by the added workload, he didn’t show it. In fact, he seemed eager to pleasure me as completely as he had done before. This relaxed me still further.

  My breasts were lavished with more kisses, this region evidently his favorite bailiwick, as he gained yet another fraction inside of me. My chest, my heart, was being inundated with so much pleasure that it nearly eclipsed the pain. I was panting not from the two hundred and fifty pounds of male brawn between my legs but from the aching thrill. Without warning, there was a sudden sharp sting as Tristan shoved past that final barrier. My gasp he quickly swallowed with another deep kiss. He now filled me completely.

  “Better to just rip the band-aid off,” he murmured against my lips, muscles straining as he held himself still. “Tell me when to move, okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” When the dull throb finally subsided a little, I gave a small nod for him to continue.

  There was obviously no need to tell him twice. Before I’d even completed the gesture he was moving inside me, cautiously at first, gauging my reaction. Though the first few thrusts were uncomfortable, eventually that sweet tension coiled at my center again. It wasn’t the divine coalescing of before, but that was because of the sharp ache that still lingered no matter how careful he tried to be.

  Tristan’s cheek was pressed against mine as his breathing escalated. I met him thrust for thrust and matched my body’s pace to his as my periphery blurred and limbs tightened again. He was right against my focal point, his body stirring to life another climax.

  I squeezed my eyes shut the better to follow the threads of sensation with my mind, pulling myself up along the steep slope towards that invisible summit. And then, abruptly, I tensed through the upsurge, my body convulsing as I let go of the cables that had anchored me.

  It was obliterating and stunning—that power behind the nothing. I drifted, floating weightlessly befor
e I sank back down to earth like a feather, only half conscious of Tristan’s own release from somewhere overhead.

  We lay there a long moment, conjoined, our breathing unsteady, my limbs like butter. All too soon he lifted his weight from me and my skin puckered from the loss of his warmth. I cracked an eye open to admire that powerful frame that had so satisfied me. After placing a kiss above my damp brow he left my side and made his way quietly to the bathroom.

  I should go shower. The thought was only a halfhearted one. I was too drowsy to move more than a finger, my lids shuttering over my eyes in protest. I yawned, stretching my tired limbs and arching my back like a cat before turning onto my side. The night rushed in suddenly from the open windows as Tristan flicked the hallway light off. Soon after, the mattress dipped behind me as he climbed back into bed. A steely arm snaked around me, pulling me back against his chest. My lips curled in utter contentment as he kissed my shoulder. Thereafter, I sank into the deepest sleep of my life, lulled by the nocturnal sounds of the forest.

  But I woke up with a startled gasp, jolting upright, the sheets pooling in my lap.

  “What is it?” came Tristan’s sleepy, sexy murmur at my ear as he sat up behind me.

  “Just a dream,” I whispered, relieved. No, a nightmare. I pressed my hands to my chest, willing my heart to calm itself, but the shadows in the room seemed to yawn threateningly around me, stalking me like the thing in my nightmare. The monster that had killed me. Devoured me.

  Without saying a word in reply, Tristan pulled me onto his lap to straddle him. I sighed into his mouth, instantly aroused and distracted, as his fingers glided from my breasts down to the tense chords between my thighs, working their magic over my still very tender flesh. The dregs of death and dismemberment, the terrifying flash of fangs and blood that had ripped me from my sleep, fell by the wayside as my heart switched tempo. Still, it lurked like a banished remnant at the fringe of consciousness. I moaned pleasurably, lifting myself up to guide him inside. As the moon peered between the curtains, my mind unraveled and my body came apart around him.

  There was a beautiful frailty about that moment—losing myself in his arms while darkness lingered at the fringe of wakefulness. As I drifted back to sleep, I let Tristan’s arms anchor me safely to the reality of this moment. To the here and now. Because he was real and the nightmare wasn’t. There was no such thing as werewolves.

  24

  Mr. Hyde

  Sunlight streamed in through the open curtains and bathed the room in muted shades of amber. Even the dust motes looked like specks of gold floating overhead. I stretched, my muscles feeling gloriously tender, and turned on my side with a yawn, only to discover that I was being watched.

  Those gold-flecked eyes above me were already roving, clearly enjoying the view. Tristan’s head was propped up on his hand, the better to see me with, and his other hand lay splayed between us, fingers inches from my breasts. It was very distracting.

  “Morning, beautiful.”

  “G’morning.” I blinked shyly.

  “Sleep well?”

  I nodded, yawning again. “You?”

  “I had the best sleep of my life despite your snoring.”

  “What?!” I instantly shoved my hand over my mouth in horror.

  “Yeah, it was brutal.”

  “Ugh!” Before turning away and shoving my face into the pillow, I caught sight of his lips twitch mischievously. “You’d snore too if you were getting the flu.”

  “Is that what it is.” He leaned over to nuzzle my neck and then began laying silky kisses over my back. “I don’t get the flu. I’ve got a freakishly strong immune system.”

  I lifted my face from the pillow to watch him over my shoulder. “How nice for you.” Actually, it was more than likely just allergies. Apart from the stuffy nose, I’d never felt better.

  “I brought you breakfast in bed,” he said between kisses, easily disarming my shyness with that heart-stopping dimple in his left cheek.

  “You did?” My face lit up at such a thoughtful and adorable gesture. This guy was way too good to be true. “What are we having?” I looked around, expecting to see a platter of fruit and a vase of orchids next to a steaming cup of coffee. Perhaps even a red ballgown and a limo waiting outside to take me to the opera on a private jet… Good grief, I needed desperately to stop watching Richard Gere movies.

  Tristan opened his left hand to reveal a pitiful-looking, little dandelion. “I only have cow pus in the fridge, so I foraged around in the woods for this tasty morsel. You’re welcome.” The look on my face sent him into hysterics.

  “You’re sweet, but I can’t possibly eat all of that.”

  He tucked the dandelion flower behind my ear. “So I think I’ve probably forfeited my man-card, but I raided all my cupboards, read all the labels of anything that looked suspiciously like rabbit food,” he admitted, screwing his nose up, “and it turns out that your breakfast menu for this morning includes apples, oatmeal, peanut butter, and blueberry bagels. Take your pick.”

  “Coffee and oatmeal sounds pretty amazing,” I said. A dollop of peanut butter in my porridge to make it creamy was usually what I ate every morning anyway. He had everything I needed, I thought hungrily, my eyes stealing over his body as he rolled out of bed.

  Moments later the shower spurted to life, sibilating temptingly, like a mating call I was powerless to resist. When I slipped into the bathroom, Tristan was already under the spray, the shape of his large frame alluringly blurred behind the frosted glass. He’d dropped his head forward beneath the showerhead, his hands spread on the tiled wall as though anticipating a good frisking. The idea had merit, I decided boldly. Without further ado, I climbed in behind him. I knew that, though his eyes were closed, he was aware of my every movement. The muscles rippled expectantly along his back as I reached past him to take the soap from its niche in the wall. I lathered the bar between my hands and spread them over the taut muscles I’d been feasting my eyes on seconds ago. Over his shoulders I slid my hands, along the vast expanse of smooth skin, massaging my fingers over his ribs and down his long spine. The long rake marks at his shoulders, that looked like he’d been attacked by a feral cat, had me blushing instantly, a testament to the long night he’d spent between my thighs. When I moved my hands to his hips I began to grow more daring, digging my fingers abruptly into the spot I assumed all people were most ticklish. But, I realized with mild disappointment, he barely reacted.

  With a lazy smile thrown over his shoulder, he shook his head. “Nice try.”

  “How can you not be ticklish there?” I tried again, but all he did was shrug. “I swear, you’re not even human.”

  He shot me a penetrative look and then turned the rest of his body around to face me. “Werewolves aren’t ticklish.”

  Ignoring the remark, I ran my fingers across his pectoral plains and the sexy ridges of his abdomen. But I didn’t dare go any lower. Not yet.

  “My turn,” he murmured, reaching for the soap.

  I held my breath as strong fingers played across my shoulders and down over my breasts, his palms gliding leisurely over the peaks that seemed to reach out for him, begging for his touch. I thought he would delay his visit there a while, but he continued lower and spread his hands over my ribs and then my belly, drawing circles over my skin with an artist’s touch. His eyes absorbed everything his hands did, and I was studying his movements just as avidly. It was like he was memorizing my highlands and lowlands, mapping them out in his head as though he never wanted to forget me. But I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, so I couldn’t understand that brief flash of pathos that I’d seen on his face. But by the time I blinked it was gone, replaced again with heat. A fiery, verdant heat. Watching his eyes slaking themselves on my body was almost as erotic as the touch of his fingertips and calloused palms. We were like the water—rushing heat and billowing steam. I was inundated by him, my senses reeling, and drunk on what he made me feel. In the reflection of my lover’s gaze, I f
elt like the most stunning creature in the world. I closed my eyes, breath shuddering out as his hands slipped lower, neglecting no part of me. Then he turned me around and began washing my back as assiduously as he’d done to my front. When he’d finally finished, his hands left my hips and dropped to my cheeks, grabbing them possessively as he nipped my shoulder. I giggled and swatted his hands away from my backside. So instead he moved them up along my spine to the middle of my back. There he began writing something across my skin in suds and water, and I bit my lip to concentrate on the letters.

  Please…something…something. I couldn’t parse his cursive, so, instead, I closed my eyes and enjoyed his touch.

  When he dropped his hand I turned around and stood up on the tips of my toes to lock my hands around his head, pulling his lips down to mine. He was only too happy to oblige me, our tongues clashing fiercely, thirstily. And then he lifted me up onto him, my legs locking him in place as he pushed my heated skin to the cold wall, filling me completely. Now our bodies were as fused together as our mouths.

  We strained together under the spray, our thrusting tongues emulating what our slick bodies were doing. My fingernails were hooked into his back and shoulders, marking him now as I did last night. I held on for dear life, that euphoric pulse point between my legs swelling with liquid heat. There was an unbearable gathering that both promised and denied my ecstasy. Finally, under the roar of the water, I imploded around him, my whole body jolting with the force of my climax. It was so powerful and all-consuming that I barely noticed his own release. I kissed his neck and rested my head on his shoulder, my hair soaked and lying in messy ropes down his back as he held me tight.

  He set me on my feet and then stepped out of the shower to grab a fresh towel, which he used to bundle me up before grabbing one for himself. We dried off, laughing and kissing like maniacs, and then he pulled himself away to head over to the sink to shave. As I brushed my wet hair out with my fingers he watched me in the mirror, pulling the razor down his lathered cheeks and throat. Now that I was feeling more confident in my own skin I threw the towel off and sashayed to the bed to retrieve yesterday’s clothes.