He was suddenly there to steady her. Tossing cash on the table, he grabbed his leather jacket and steered her out of the bar. “How far is this place in the woods that you spoke of?” His voice rumbled in her ear.
“Not far, but we'll need a vehicle.” She didn't even think her feet touched the floor as he ushered her out of the bar and down the stairs to Water Street. They came to a stop at a motorcycle. Pale in color and powerful in size, it had her misgivings rising back to the surface.
“Uh…”
“Come.” His voice thickened and went smoky as it slid over her. He held his hand out and without thinking she took it, surprised by the heat radiating off of him.
He straddled the huge motorcycle looking like some avenging god. He adjusted his seat, and she couldn’t help but look at his zipper and wonder what lay behind it. What size of condom would he need? She hoped the box burning a hole in her purse had something that could accommodate him.
“Wait! I-I need to do something first.” She inched closer, and his nostrils did that flaring thing again. Damn, she liked that reaction. “May I—we—kiss to see…”
“To see if we're compatible? Don't worry, my gazelle, we will be. Here.” He took her hand and placed it over his groin. His body shuddered and a curse escaped him. “Tell me how you feel, right now, touching me like this, knowing what you do to me?”
“Ache.” She said the first word that popped into her head. “I ache for you.”
He cursed again. “Hike up your skirt and climb on behind me and I'll take care of that…ache.”
Power coursed through her veins, and she slowly gathered the material of her skirts, showing off enough leg to make her sisters proud. Steadying one hand on his shoulder, she swung a leg over the leather seat and settled in behind him.
“Hold onto me.” He groaned when she wrapped her arms tight around him.
“Don't you have a helmet?”
“I don't fear dying. Do you?” He asked the question as if he really wanted to know her answer.
“No, I'm not afraid of death,” she breathed. Never really thought about death until recently, with those surprise attacks that had made her think of her own mortality. Which are what landed her here strapping herself to a man she didn't know on a motorcycle that seemed to have a life of its own.
“Let's see if we can change that.” He started the engine, and it purred against her already overheated nether region.
“Oh, wow.”
He chuckled and the sound rumbled like the beast between her legs. Her inner muscles clenched in response as they took off downtown.
This should scare the crap out of her, but it didn't. If anything she felt more alive than she ever had. She held onto him tighter as they negotiated the streets in town, but once he opened up the horses on the highway, she couldn't stop herself from releasing him and holding her arms out to her sides, her wrap flying behind her as her hair whipped and teased around them both. It was her turn to laugh, the air catching the sound like a song as they thundered down the blacktop.
Sunny had the shop and Moira would show up soon to help. Aerin and Claire had the house under control—as well as Aunt Justine—she hoped. The Horsemen had been quiet, probably still licking their wounds. And she was free, for at least the afternoon. Free to do whatever she wanted. Whoever she wanted. Reality and strategies would return soon enough. Today she was tired of being the responsible one. All her sisters were wild, which meant their mother had to have some of that in her as well, which meant so did Tierra.
Well, she was about to find out.
She directed him where to go—and started referring to him as The Man in her head. She had to call him something and God didn't seem somehow accurate.
They headed out of town, following Highway Twenty. Once they'd traveled a short distance into the hills that overlooked Puget Sound, she sent an appeal to the trees that hid a secret path. They were actually quite close to her home, but he didn't know that. The Sitka spruce, western hemlock, and bristlecone pines covertly pulled their branches back to reveal a dirt path. Silently she thanked them as they granted her request for passage.
Tierra pointed and he slowed to take the turn he hadn't noticed before now. About a quarter of a mile up the path ended at a secluded meadow. Wildflowers bloomed in a rebellion of color brighter and more fragrant as they mingled with the salty sea-air wafting up the hillside from the ocean below.
Suddenly she was no longer nervous. This was her element, her special place. The forest surrounding the clearing was old and stately and understood that she wished no harm and protected her as she cast and experimented. This is where she'd summoned her sisters. She jumped off the motorcycle, bent and unbuckled her golden, goddess sandals, tossed them aside, and let her bare feet connect with the earth. She sighed with pleasure.
She'd missed her time here. It had been too long since she'd been in touch with the rich soil, the deep-rooted trees, and flamboyant flowers. She spun around in a lazy circle as the sun shone down and the earth called out in welcome and enfolded her. The flora swayed in greeting, the butterflies and hummingbirds fluttered their wings, and seedlings broke through volcanic soil rejoicing in her presence.
“God, you are beautiful. Like Eve,” he said. He reached out and grabbed the ends of her wrap and deliberately pulled her toward him. “All these soft fabrics, I want to—”
“Kiss me now?” she teased, knowing that wasn't what he was going to say.
He dropped the end of the wrap and cupped her face. His palms were warm and calloused against her cheeks. “I'm going to do more than kiss you, my gazelle. So much more.” His eyes searched hers, for what she had no clue. Then his mouth—that gloriously carved mouth, which looked hard and merciless yet, wasn't—finally descended on hers.
Everything inside her unfurled like a budding flower, revealing its nectar as it was touched by the sun's shimmering rays. She'd been kissed before, but never like this. Tierra went completely still, doubting that if she'd struggled it would have made a difference. His kiss was the most amazing thing she'd ever felt, experienced.
His lips were confident and questioning, soft and tender, a strange mix for a man so dominant. She'd expected to be kissed, consumed, and then tossed to the ground and set upon. Had kind of hoped for that after the glorious ride on the motorcycle that had her ready and more than willing, but now that they were here, in her special place, she rejoiced in his exploration.
His big fist twisted in her hair and he pulled her head back. “Let me in,” he growled against her mouth. Then he groaned deep in his throat as she eagerly parted her lips, and he kissed her deeper than she'd ever been kissed before.
Her wrap was tossed, forgotten to the ground, and his leather jacket followed.
“How does this release?” he asked, tugging at the waistband of her skirt.
“No, don't tear it. The fabric is very fragile…and precious to me.” One of the reasons she loved the vintage clothes was because she hoped they'd belonged to one of her family members. Maybe even her mother. She strained to be free of his hold and put her hand up when he tried to pull her back. His eyes were impossibly dark now like a night with no moon, the kind of evening where nightshade bloomed in her witch's garden.
“Take off your clothes,” he said. “I don't trust myself not to rip them.” His fingers clenched into fists as though he couldn't keep them off her for long.
She took a few more steps back. He held his body barely in check, and all because of her. Because of his desire for her. It calmed her fears of the unknown and increased her excitement for what was to come.
She fumbled with the hook and eye closure at the back of her lace top, swinging her hair to the side. Once it released, she slowly gathered the fabric and drew it over her head, shaking out her hair, liking how his gaze heated as he watched her. This was heady stuff.
“More,” he commanded, grabbing the back of his t-shirt and yanking it off, throwing it to the ground.
Oh, good goddess, h
e was magnificent. She reached out a hand to trace the contours of his pectoral muscles.
“No.” He shook his head. “The rest first.”
Quickly she freed the waistband of her skirt. Letting it pool at her feet, she stepped out of her clothes. She only wore a bra and panties in stark white. Virginal white. The irony wasn't lost on her, but she didn't consider the humor of it for long. Not when he growled, the sound sending shivers over her exposed skin.
This time she shook her head when he reached for her. “You now.”
He toed off his boots, popped the button on his jeans, and slid down the zipper.
She swallowed as he dropped his pants, taking his boxers along with them. He was glorious. There wasn't a soft place on him. He was made entirely of muscle like a man who had to physically work hard for his survival every day of his life. A Spartan warrior.
Maybe referring to him as a God was correct after all.
She unclasped her bra, and let it fall to the ground. He didn't move for several moments. His eyes roamed over her, touching on her bracelets at her wrist, his lips lifting into a smile at the tiny bells fastened around her ankle. Slowly, he reached out and traced the chain over her clavicle and down her chest to the medallion that lay between her breasts.
“You are so very lovely,” he said, his voice raw as he outlined the curvature of her breast, hefting the weight, and molding it in his palm. He bent his head and his mouth closed over her nipple.
Her eyes shut on a moan and her head fell back. His arm snaked around her back and he pulled her lower body into his as he flicked his tongue over the tip, teasing, until finally he took her fully into his mouth, and sucked hard.
“Oh!” she gasped. Ripples of pleasure started in her core and traveled to her limbs and out to her fingertips. If he kept this up she might orgasm just from his sucking on her breast.
He paid her other nipple equal attention seeming to enjoy the strained sounds that flew from her mouth. The back of his fingers skimmed her stomach, pausing at the emerald suspended from her pierced bellybutton. “You are full of surprises.”
“Don't want to be boring.” Her voice hitched as his hand moved lower, caressing her hips, teasing as he bypassed her sex and brushed her inner thighs. She had to grab onto his shoulders in order to stay upright.
“That's right, hold onto me, my gazelle, I won't let you fall.”
“Why? Why do you call me that?” She gasped as he ventured closer to her heat.
“It originates from the Arabic word, ghazal. Legends say that men can die of love-sickness after a single glance from a woman as beautiful as you.” He looked deeply into her eyes as though he wanted to drown in them. “You made me feel like that when I saw you from across the room. You remind me of one with your graceful moves and haunting doe-eyes. Even though they are green instead of brown, which in itself is a depiction of all that is womanly and seductive. If I could die, I would like to die of such a thing as love-sickness.”
“That's…like poetry.”
“Like you, I am more than the motorcycle and leather jacket.”
“But you're still a bad boy.”
“Most definitely.” As if to prove his point, he twisted the waistband of her panties in his fingers. “These I have to tear.” He ripped through her silk underwear as if parting water and bared her to him completely. Words fled as he picked her up in his arms and laid her gently upon the soft, plush grasses, covering her with his body. “I'm about to show you just how much of a bad boy I am.”
Her body trembled and even though she wanted to lock her legs, she spread them instead, creating a cradle for him that he settled into with a groan.
“You are so wet.” He rubbed his shaft along her slick folds.
“Please.” She braced herself and forced her legs to fall open farther to accommodate his size.
He grabbed one of her legs and draped it over his hip.
“Please,” she whispered again. Let this finally be it. With him.
He positioned himself at her opening and plunged. Her back arched into a bow as he impaled her in one thrust and her breath strangled in her throat as pain swept through her.
He froze and muttered a curse. “You're…are you…you haven't…ever?”
“No, but it's okay.” Oh dear goddess it hurt. She closed her eyes and focused on the calming stillness around her, the steadiness of the slowly growing grasses, taking from the balm of the things growing around her to help ease the pain.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he demanded, still seated deeply inside her. He was so deep she couldn't breathe. He raised himself up on his elbows as if to help her.
“Is that a problem?” she asked. He wouldn't stop now, would he? “Are you going to be able to finish?”
“Does it feel like a problem?” he growled.
“Uh…no.” That was definitely not a problem.
“I just wish you had told me. I could have made it easier for you.”
“I-I was worried you wouldn't—”
“Oh, yes, I would. I will. I have.” He dragged air into his lungs, the action pushing him farther into her, and pressure started to build as pain receded. “Why have you waited so long?”
“I'm not that old,” she defended.
“That isn't what I meant. You are a beautiful, enchanting woman. You could have had any number of men to rid you of your virginity, if you so wished it gone.”
“I didn't want to…with just anyone.” She let the rest of the sentence hang and arched up into him, enjoying the feel, the fullness of him inside her so much more than a few seconds ago. “Can we—”
“Yes,” he hissed and started to slowly thrust into her. One hand held her hip, preventing her from arching into him like she wanted to. The other lightly caressed the nub at the top of her sex. “Let me…”
Her blood heated, thickened and her vision went violet as a rush of pleasure bloomed inside her, expanding until it was everything. He was everything. With gentle firmness and teasing, coaxing circles applied with the rough pad of his finger, he slowly and evenly continued with shallow thrusts until she easily accepted all of him. Then he drove harder, heavier, until her gasps were pants and she begged, cried, and convulsed around him. Her stomach muscles cramped almost painfully as she ascended the crest. He held her there suspended for a moment, and then tumbled her over into the abyss.
He went rigid and strained above her, grunting with a mix of surprised thrill and torment. Then he followed helplessly after her, his hot seed pumping into her.
Chapter Four
He gave her a moment to recover. It wasn't enough. For when he rolled her hips toward him and ground into her as though he couldn't hold himself back, it triggered another orgasm. Her cry rose to the tree tops and they curved to cover and seclude them as flowers burst into a riot of blooms around them.
He watched her come apart in his arms, his dark eyes wild on her as though he couldn't look away. When she calmed enough to focus and remember her name he smiled a wickedly naughty smile.
“I thought you were a screaming orgasm kind of woman, and I was right.” His tone attempted to lighten the emotionally charged moment.
Gratefully, she followed his lead so she didn't do something stupid like ask for his hand in marriage and offer to bear his children. “You promised me as many as I could take.”
“That I did.” He flipped over onto his back taking her with him. “Since you are new to this, it would be easier on you if you drove.”
He made her scream in orgasm over and over again, but then she made him shout out his pleasure too. The afternoon was spent in leisured exploration of each other. She found that she really enjoyed it when he bit her neck, and rumbled his pet name for her against her lips. But then she also really liked how he moved inside her as though he couldn't get enough. She doubted she'd ever have enough of him.
The sun was kissing the horizon as they lay in each other's arms. She was once again in the driver's seat, draped over his chest. Far off, sh
e thought she heard her name whispered in the wind.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“I don't wear a watch,” his voice rumbled under her where she nestled on his chest. “Time is relative anyway.”
Relative. Relatives, family, sisters. That was Aerin whispering her name. Tierra listened closer hearing Moira's call over the ocean. They were searching for her. “I have to go.” She didn't want today to end.
“It seems that all great things in life never last long.”
“Can we do this—never mind, forget I asked that.”
He sat up with her still straddled over him and cupped her face in his hands. Her hair curtained around them. “I wish we could, but my…business here is brief and I can't take you with me.”
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—”
He kissed her, telling her with his body what their words couldn't. He released her. “Come on. I'll get you back to town.” He lifted her like she was nothing and set her on her feet. He reached for his clothes, and she saw his back for the first time.
A full tattoo that seemed as ancient as time, covered his back. A black figure draped in a robe with a massive feathered wingspan, depicted a fallen angel holding a scythe. Fire and brimstone were layered behind him, and the River Styx flowed at his feet. A haunting skull looked at her from under the hooded robe.
No. Oh goddess, no. Not him.
He couldn't be, but that was the only thing that explained the Grim Reaper tattoo that stirred across his back like it had a life of its own.
He was the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse.
Death.
He yanked on his t-shirt, effectively covering the tattoo and breaking her out of the trance. He slipped on his pants and turned back toward her, buttoning his jeans. His smile faded when he caught a look at her face.
“What's your name?” she whispered.
“Now you want to know my name?”
Had he known all this time? Had he played her for a fool? Got her alone so he could dispose of her? She'd done all that with him, and had basically begged him to take her virginity. Gods. How freaking naïve could she be? Apparently more than she'd ever believed.
Which Witch is Which? (The Witches of Port Townsend) Page 28
