by J. K. Coi
Chapter Nine
Amy awoke with a start, breathing heavily, the images from her dream vivid and alive in her mind. She’d never experienced one so real, so strong. She wanted to pinch herself and look around her to make certain that it wasn’t really happening, that she wasn’t still in the middle of it.
She glanced at the digital clock glowing softly by her bed. Five thirty a.m. Her alarm wouldn’t go off for another hour. Beside her, Rhys was asleep, facedown in her pillow. The crisp white sheets lay low, just barely covering his ass and showing off his muscular shoulders and back.
Amy smiled and was surprised by the affection she felt seeing him there. Affection wasn’t an emotion she equated with one-night stands, not that she’d ever had one before. And having never been in this kind of situation, she wasn’t quite sure what she should expect.
Admittedly, she hadn’t expected him to stay the night. She’d drifted off to sleep after her third orgasm, only to be awakened later by teasing kisses along the back of her neck and the insistent pressure of his cock in the crease of her ass.
After a full night of wild and amazingly acrobatic sex, Rhys hadn’t seemed in a big hurry to leave, and Amy hadn’t even thought to ask him to. Instead he’d sleepily curled his big body around hers and she had felt completely comfortable with it. It had felt good and safe and somehow…right.
Trying not to wake him, she slipped slowly out of bed and tiptoed to the closet, grabbing her robe and pulling it around her body, which was beautifully sore in some pretty unique areas but also deliciously sated from their lovemaking.
She left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen, where she put on a large pot of coffee. She watched as it started to bubble and hiss, thinking again about her dream. She dreamed often and was used to having fuzzy memories of them on waking. Sometimes she tried to write them down, curious enough to want to decode them later, but mostly she let them pass because that’s what dreams were supposed to be—fleeting and fantastical.
Strangely, this dream had felt different. It had been set in another time and place and she hadn’t recognized any of the people…although, that wasn’t quite true. In a weird way, she had recognized all of it. She hadn’t felt that she was simply an observer, watching. She was the person in her dream. It had felt very personal to her.
Outside the window over Amy’s kitchen sink, the morning was just starting to come alive, the horizon having turned a blushing pink. The still-faint rays of sunlight cast new life on the day ahead, but Amy’s gaze was focused inward, scenes from her dream playing out in her mind.
She was a little boy. The boy lived in a small, rustic village. She experienced the simple joys of the his youth as he went hunting with his father for food and sat at his mother’s feet in the evenings while she sang to him in an old language. Gaelic. It was Gaelic.
The boy had some awareness that the villagers were nervous and times were unsettled. The adults stopped talking whenever he was around, so he could never quite figure out exactly what was going on. It was frustrating to see families pack up and leave the area but not know why. Even his closest friend, Mac, had gone.
Early one evening, the little village was raided.
Vikings!
She suffered with the boy as his family was murdered. The ferocious attack was carried out with limitless cruelty and the peaceful families were no match against such brutality. The marauders arrived swiftly, stealing what meager possessions they could carry off, then they set fire to the buildings they had plundered. When the attack began, the boy’s mother had shuffled him down into the cold cellar, under the floorboards of their tiny cottage. Amy felt his fear as the boards were replaced and the threadbare rug thrown over top, leaving him shuddering in the dark.
His mother was raped and then murdered, her body left to be burned to ash in the fire that consumed their home. The boy heard her screams as the Vikings took her viciously, one after another. When they were gone, he forced his way out of the hole and struggled to drag his mother’s corpse out of the burning house. He wanted to bury her.
Amy was with him as he finally raced into the woods to hide, as the days and nights of freezing temperatures nearly killed him. He almost died of exposure and starvation that winter. In the coming years as he learned to fend for himself, he more often than not was forced to live like an animal, with no human for companionship, and Amy knew his hunger and loneliness.
She was there, a part of him every step of the way. She experienced every year, hour and minute. And when, as a young man, he went through something so powerful and magical that it changed his life completely…she was there for that too.
Shaking her head, Amy tried to clear the images. She turned her mind to thoughts of the compelling man still asleep in the next room and marveled that he was in her place, in her bed.
She couldn’t believe the things she’d let him do to her in the dark of the night, the number of times he had brought her to shattering orgasms that left her dizzy and weak, only to tease and lick and stroke her until she came all over again.
Just thinking about it now made her cheeks flush and her skin tingle deliciously.
Now she was as deeply lost in thoughts of him as she’d been when remembering the disturbing dream, and was startled when he approached from behind. He wrapped his arms around her and she sighed, enjoying the feel of his thick biceps enveloping her with warmth, his chest solid against her back. He was wearing his jeans but hadn’t put on a shirt.
Rhys inhaled Amy’s scent. It was a haunting combination of jasmine and moonflower that made him think of soft summer breezes and the hazy shadows of those last moments of the day before night descended. Before he could stop himself, he nuzzled his bristly face into the smooth curve of her neck, breathing in that fresh womanly perfume.
He smiled when she shivered, drawing away from the scratchiness of his day-old beard.
She greeted him with a shy look over her shoulder. “Hello.”
He smiled warmly into her hair. After all they’d done together last night, he hadn’t thought she would be so reserved this morning. But he kind of liked that she wasn’t comfortable with the typical morning-after-mind-blowing-sex etiquette.
All this was pretty new for him too. It had been a few hundred years since he’d stayed through the night with a woman—or longer than the time it took to buckle himself back up. He’d gotten proficient at avoiding unwanted questions and dodging uncomfortable expectations from the women he went to.
Surprisingly enough, Rhys hadn’t wanted to run out last night after Amy fell asleep, and even the bright morning sunlight wasn’t setting off the warning signals and alarm bells he’d been expecting to feel since about three in the morning.
Instead he found he was in no great rush to get his ass moving out the door. On the contrary, the thought of sitting at the kitchen table, sharing coffee with her while the morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, seemed like it would be the nearest thing to having breakfast in heaven. Now that he thought about it, if she were naked in his lap, that truly would be heaven.
With thoughts of her naked breasts and naked thighs fueling his imagination, Rhys brought his mouth to the side of her neck, using his tongue to flick the pulse point hammering rapidly against her skin. His hand reached around and cupped one perfect breast through the soft terrycloth of her simple robe, then eased inside to knead and massage, his fingers gently rolling and pinching the sensitive nipple. It quickly hardened and puckered for him.
Amy moaned softly, resting her head on his shoulder.
Rhys untied the belt holding the robe closed and looked down at her over her shoulder. The soft cloth gaped open and he was delighted to find she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. The robe slid off her shoulders and down her arms, framing her breasts perfectly, baring them to his gaze.
God, she was beautiful. Ample and curvy in all the right places. His cock had already thickened in anticipation of having her again, despite the number of times he’d taken her through the night.
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He could get addicted.
Scratch that. Who was he kidding? He was already addicted.
Rhys pushed the garment the rest of the way down her arms until it pooled on the floor at her feet.
He cupped her chin and twisted her head around for a hot, wet kiss over her shoulder, while his other hand moved over her, cupping her breast, teasing her until she squirmed and cried with pleasure into his mouth. Only then did he move lower, both palms gliding over her smooth belly, down her hips, then lower still.
He trailed one finger along her wet crease, drawing out the slick cream from within. Amy groaned, her hips bucking against his gentle touch, and he slid more deeply inside of her while pressing his denim-clad thighs to her curvy ass. Her hips lifted and fell in a drugging rhythm, riding his fingers as they slipped in and out, caressing her and edging her closer and closer to release.
Turning in his arms, she reached for his belt and pulled it open as he watched. She lowered his zipper, spreading the fly wide, but instead of slipping her hand inside she tilted her face to him, locking on for a deep soul-sucking kiss.
It was the most erotic, electrifying kiss of his life. Amy’s mouth was smooth, soft, supple. She tasted of life and energy, sweet and spicy at the same time. When she dragged his tongue into her mouth, sucking on him, he could only hold on, hands everywhere, hauling her closer.
Rhys put more of himself into that kiss than he even thought he’d had.
When she pulled away her breathing was ragged and he groaned in disappointment, but she only laughed throatily as her lips trailed over the rugged planes of his chest, his abs, then her thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans, pulling them down over his hips. Amy cupped his balls in the palm of her hand, kneading them gently as her other hand clasped his long length. She continued to work her way down his body until she knelt on the floor in front of him.
His cock twitched as her breath teased the crisp hair running south from his navel. He was aching for her to taste him.
“Do it, Amy,” he urged. “I want to feel your lips around me. I want you sucking me.”
Lowering her head, Amy ran her tongue along the length of him, starting at the tip and roving down to the base, then slowly back up. She took him deeply into her warm mouth then, sucking hard. Rhys practically growled, plunging his hands into her hair, holding her as she continued to torment him with her mouth and her tongue.
It was too much. He was too close.
He hauled her up and turned her around, bending her over the kitchen table. Roughly, he pushed her thighs wide with his knee and in one long, smooth stroke, he was inside of her, pushed to the hilt, his cock throbbing, his heart pounding.
Amy cried out at the intensity of his invasion. She ground her thighs tightly into the cradle of his hips, urging him deeper, and he obliged, bending over her, his chest pressing into her back. Reaching out, he took one of her hands, raising it across the table far above her head, while his other hand teased her, sliding and rubbing over her clit.
Slowly he pulled out, all the way out. He gripped her chin and craned her neck back, muffling her protests with a wet kiss, loving the way she moaned and shivered deliciously.
“Rhys,” she pleaded with him, arching her body up into his. He growled his assent, gripping her waist as he moved into position.
“Oh God. Yes,” she cried as he worked his cock back inside of her tight sheath. He took her with long deep strokes. Took her until every muscle in his body wept for release, the intensity devastating them both. She screamed when she came. He put his hand over her fingers where they gripped the edges of the table, and still he took her.
Rhys put his arms around Amy, holding her to him as the last of the tremors worked through them. She should have felt embarrassed by being so exposed in the bright light of day, but she didn’t. Instead she felt a wicked thrill at the sensation of being completely naked while Rhys, still half clothed, fucked her over the table in her kitchen.
After a moment he reluctantly left her and she let out a little sigh. He stepped back to give them both some space. Rhys was a magnificent picture of male perfection as he stood before her, shirtless, his pants still unbuttoned—Oh no!
“Oh my God, I can’t believe I let this happen again. I always use protection. I’ve never been so irresponsible. Oh God—”
“Amy, don’t. It’s okay,” he tried to reassure her.
A deep flush stained her cheeks, and she retrieved her robe from the floor, pulling it back on and wrapping it tightly around her. “What do you mean ‘it’s okay’? It’s definitely not okay.”
She paced nervously to the kitchen counter, “At least I’m on the pill, so we don’t have to worry about pregnancy, but what about STDs?” She turned a horrified look on him. “I don’t have anything, mind you. I don’t, I promise. Ah, do you—oh God, I can’t believe I’m asking this—do you have any disease I should know about? Jeez! This was so stupid—”
“Amy. Stop,” Rhys wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t have any STDs. Trust me. Just as I trust you. No matter how caught upwe may have gotten, neither of us would have forgotten to use protection if we thought there was any possibility of transmitting something.”
“I do trust you,” she said, “but don’t ask me why. You’re the most secretive, closed, mysterious…” Amy turned to him, noticing again the odd silvery color of his eyes. Somehow, looking into Rhys’ eyes was like gazing into a pool of shimmering moonlight. She was never able to tell how deep it went or what might be swimming around under the surface. Amy shivered suddenly and shook herself, feeling a little bit awkward.
Attempting to hide her shyness, she said, “I put some coffee on to percolate…um, before. So why don’t you pour some while I go get washed and dressed?”
A knowing smile curved his lips. “Sure,” he replied easily, obviously enjoying her shyness.
When Amy returned, Rhys handed her a cup of coffee in a SpongeBob SquarePants mug. It was the only other mug in the cupboard besides the white University Hospital one that he took for himself. “Do you always wake up so early in the morning?” he asked.
“Not unless I’m due at the hospital…which, now that I think about it, is most every day, so I guess that’s a yes. I am always up so early—I just don’t usually want to be.” She laughed. “Today I’m not going in to work until later this afternoon. I really only got up so early because of the weird dream that I had. It woke me and I couldn’t get back to sleep afterward.” Amy’s smile faded as she eyed him over the rim of her coffee mug. He didn’t like seeing the shadow in her eyes.
He sat down with her at the table and took a sip of the hot, bitter drink. He had an unholy addiction to coffee and insisted on brewing his own to ensure that it tasted just right. Baron provoked him about it constantly, one time even going so far as to hide all Rhys’ carefully selected beans and replace them with instant coffee crystals. It was a miracle that boy was still alive.
Amy’s blend was surprisingly good—full-bodied and strong, just the way he liked it.
Her confession of disturbing dreams stirred a disquieting flashback from his own dream last night, in which she had again featured prominently. Considering the nature of their activities the evening before, Rhys had hoped to dream something a little more erotic, but when it came to Amy that was never the case. His dreams were always filled with her fear and pain.
“What was your dream about?” he asked.
“You know, it was so vivid I still remember every detail. I dreamed that I was in a small village somewhere in Ireland a long time ago, and I think there were Vikings involved. Admittedly it’s not a subject I can remember paying much attention to in my high school history classes. Actually, high school as a whole is a bit of a chemically induced blur.”
Rhys chuckled, raising his brows.
“Hey,” she shrugged her shoulders, smiling. “I was an orphaned child, it was pretty much expected that I act out every now and then.”
“So how did you
turn out to be a doctor?”
“When our parents died, Gideon took the big brother thing really seriously. He saved my ass. He saw that I was getting myself into trouble and kept me from falling in too deep.”
“How did he do that?”
“He threatened and pushed and was a regular nuisance, walking me home from school so I couldn’t hang with my crowd of friends, forcing me to do my homework. And he signed both of us up for karate classes.” Amy had a soft look in her eyes and Rhys could tell that she and her brother were very close.
“He sounds like a good person to have around,” he said, surprised by the surge of envy.
“Yes. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” She shook her head. “Anyway, my dream—the images and events were so real and so clear, I still feel kind of emotional about it all, like it actually happened.”
Amy’s description of her dream made him think of the kind of visions he’d experienced when he became an Immortal all those years ago. It was just like she described—that uncanny sensation that you were someone else, coupled with remembered pain and emotions that you shouldn’t be feeling.
He had to wonder… But it was impossible for Amy to have had such a vision. She was female. Even if an Immortal had died last night, no woman had ever been chosen to be the next Immortal—for good reason. Immortals were warriors. Warriors trained in combat, trained to be ruthless fighters. They were engaged in a constant battle against powerful evil forces that would tear anything weaker than themselves to shreds without a second thought—or even a first, for that matter. Rhys shuddered at the thought of Amy being exposed to that even on a casual level—forget what her life would be like if she were put smack dab in the middle of the war each and every day.
She changed the subject, telling Rhys about her work at the hospital and the volunteering she did at the old age home on Monday evenings. As the conversation wound down, he could tell that she was getting more and more disappointed in him, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why—she’d been doing all the talking.
