“That’s right, you little bastard, that’s exactly what you’ve got,” Aphrodite says. “And you can count your good fortune that Hera intervened on your behalf. How dare you go through the portal without official sanction?”
“I had to find her. You should understand that of all people. You are, after all, the goddess of love.” I’m taking my afterlife in my hands by challenging her, but I can’t help myself. She’s keeping me from my Tate. She raises her rose scepter, no doubt to castrate me as she threatened when I rejected her advances. Hera steps between us, facing her.
“That’s enough. We need Tate at the Academy. You’ve tortured him enough. Remove the spell for Robert and Tate, so they can see each other, but continue to cloak the others.”
“That’s not good enough this time. The son of a bitch has to pay for breaking the rules.” Aphrodite gives me a withering look. “As punishment for your flagrant disregard of the rules, you and your clan will complete four scenes with your darling Tate at our weekly kink events. Trust Hera to find a kink virgin to run the academy.”
I want to look up and beg. Gods only know what would happen if the Tribunal got their hands on Tate at a kink event. But I’m doubled over in pain and can only listen.
“Yes, this will work quite nicely. We haven’t had fresh meat for a while. Bring her to us tomorrow night, and we’ll discover whether we’re dealing with a sub or a Dom.”
“No.” I moan out something unintelligible and stretch my hand to grab her gown. She steps out of the way.
“Good thing he’s cute,” Aphrodite says.
Hera sighs. And everything goes bright red with pain.
Startled awake by loud voices in the hallway, I bolt upright. My bedside light is on, and one of the novels I’ve pulled from Francis’s library lies on the bed. I fell asleep reading. What on earth is going on out there? I don’t have to wait long to find out. My door bursts open, and Francis rushes in with my Bob. A very limp Bob. Caleb races in on his heels. What the fuck? I scramble from under the covers and open my mouth, but Francis beats me to the punch as he drops Bob on the bed beside me. With my help, he quickly removes Bob’s clothes.
“Francis—Bob . . . what—” I can’t make a coherent sentence, but it doesn’t matter because Francis interrupts me anyway.
“Later, mo chridhe.” He motions with his finger at Caleb, who begins to strip down. “Keep your skivvies on. You know how he feels about that.” Before I have time to process that tasty bit, Francis turns to me. “You’ll need to heal him. Caleb can keep him from going into hypothermia, but the pain will kill him unless he has help.”
“How? I don’t have any special powers like you guys.” I keep my eyes glued on Bob’s pale face. I cup his cheek, one of the silent ways we’ve always shared our love. He doesn’t move.
“Do what you did when you first arrived, when he absorbed your fever.” Francis sounds quite impatient.
I have vague recall of holding him while we exchanged pain. Only that sounds so fucked up that I’m sure I was hallucinating. But I wasn’t hallucinating about the sex. I hesitate . . . Should I take my clothes off? Francis steps closer. I flinch, waiting for the stinging pain when he touches me. He puts his hand within a hair of the back of my neck. Weird.
“Undressing is not necessary. I sense that part of your intuitive aptitude is expert-level healing touch,” Francis says. “Using that power makes you the recipient of pain that takes time for you to heal. Your healing process causes fatigue.” Francis’s tone gentles, and I know with certainty that he wants to touch me. “Caleb and I will be here to watch over you. We’ll make sure you don’t get in too deep.”
“We’ve got your back, babe,” Caleb says, shivering a bit.
Of this I have no doubt. That pull that I’ve felt since the first moment I laid eyes on them just keeps getting stronger. But I don’t have time to think of that now. My love, my Bob, needs me, and I have to figure out this healing touch. Now. If I did it last time without even knowing it, how hard can it be? Diving right in, I place one hand on Bob’s brown curls and the other on his chest. Icy needles of burning pain instantly climb my arms from the points of contact. I’d never lower my arms into liquid nitrogen, but I’m pretty sure this is what that’d feel like. The pain is incredible. I lean my head back and howl internally, wishing I were the kind of woman who moans about any little stubbed toe. Okay, so maybe I’ve been a bit melodramatic about paper cuts, but the more serious the pain, the more internal I go.
“Breathe with me, Tate!” The command in Francis’s voice slices through the agony, and I latch on to it. Vampires don’t breathe. I turn off that always-present analytical part of my brain and open myself to the hyper-connection that I seem to have with these guys. I sink into the need to please Francis.
“That’s right, don’t think. Just do what I say,” his voice croons.
A strong, hot arm slides over mine, sending bolts of heat through the burning cold that threatens to take over my system. I drag my eyes open and look into Caleb’s twinkling dark brown ones.
“We’ve got you, babe.”
I close my eyes again and sink into the overwhelming fatigue as I lower my body to lie down. The thready beat of Bob’s heart steadies me—I focus on the sound and won’t let go. I simply refuse to lose him again now that I’ve found him. A very thick blanket of determination, persistence, tenacity, faith, and love surrounds me. As the pain and fatigue consume me, I trust these very strange guys—because can you call a vampire and werewolf men?—to pull me out before it’s too late.
An eternity later, somewhere through the fog, I hear a faint voice calling, “Release him, Tate.” But all I want to hear is the steady thrum-thrum of Bob’s heartbeat. I burrow deeper into the sound.
“Sard. She’s not listening. We’ve got to get her out before she goes into the Fade. We can’t risk her slipping from there into Nyx and ceasing to exist.” Francis’s voice whispers through the fog. Hot hands pull at me, but I’m the queen of intentional disregard when I want to be. I have one mission, although I barely remember what that is through the intense pain.
“She won’t budge.” A deeper whisper from Caleb.
“Turn her to face him. Force her to breathe in his breath.” A flicker of panic filters through the fog before the searing pain intensifies as those hot hands, hands that I wish would never leave, turn my body. The fog gets darker, denser, closer. I almost welcome it, anything to end this pain.
Warmth, like a good brandy hitting my system, starts to flow through me, easily sliding its way through the fog. I slip into its welcome embrace.
The first thing I see when wake is Bob’s laughing brown eyes, eyes the color of warm brandy, and I remember the feeling when Bob’s ether coursed through my veins. It was him. We healed each other again. I stare back, and his eyes pull me deep into his heart.
“It’s you.” I brush my fingers through brown hair so wavy it’s almost curly. Gods, how I’ve missed the feel of that hair.
“It’s you.” My Bob mimics my movement then cups my cheek in one of his graceful hands. I lean into his love, embrace the heat that floods through me.
“How are you feeling?” The care flowing from Bob’s voice acts like an instant aphrodisiac when I really should be taking stock. I’m tired and can feel the remnants of the nasty burning cold from Bob’s fever. I shudder.
“I’m fine.” My brain commands a wide smile, but my lips barely twitch.
Concern instantly kills the humor as I drink him in. He’s really here. We’re together. He pushes me on my back and leans over me. “Don’t tell me I’m going to have to tan your hide before we even get started. Now, how do you really feel, Tate?” He lets my name roll off his tongue as if it’s a very fine wine. I gulp in his breath, relaxing as the soothing feeling of warm brandy spreads through me again. Bob lowers his head and lightly brushes my lips.
“You can go now, you two. I’ve got this,” Bob says. He stares as if he can’t get enough of looking at me.
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“Oh my gods, we’re not alone? Bob!” I try to push him off, but he won’t budge. Just laughs. Bastard. He knows damned well how much this will embarrass me. I turn my head, afraid to look. Yup, there they are. Francis and Caleb. Frick and Frack. Francis lasers me with those weird eyes over tented fingers, but his lips twitch.
“A more suitable comparison would be Fionn and Diarmuid,” Francis says. I mental eye roll him hard.
“Shit. You’ve been watching us all this time?” As the words come out of my mouth, I wonder why I bother to ask.
“That’s part of our job,” Francis says.
“And you’re fun to watch,” Caleb says.
“Maybe we should call you guys the watchers instead of the examiners,” I grumble. “Or better yet, the voyeurs.” But I’m secretly pleased at their attention, their growing adoration, and Francis knows it. His lips quirk as he stands. “I’ll leave you two to it. Come along, Caleb.”
I study Bob’s face as he laughs down at me. Boyish humor lights it up and replaces the morose shadow that underlay his mood on Earth. “Bob.” I breathe his name as I outline his face with my index finger.
“I kind of like it when you call me Joe Bob. Or aren’t I cute enough anymore?”
“That’s debatable. Let me see.” I punch at the chest hovering a foot over mine. He grabs my wrist and pulls it over my head.
“Gods, I’ve missed you.” Bob nuzzles my ear in that special way of his that makes the fine hairs lift all over my body. I shiver and turn my lips to his, breathing in more of his healing ether.
“Don’t ever stop kissing me, Bob,” I whisper against his lips. Let’s face it, I have over eighteen months to make up for.
His lips brush against mine, and I feel them pull into a wicked grin. “Is that all you want me to do?” His voice is pure sex, taunting me.
Sure, reunited after illness, loss, heartbreak, and bizarre relocation to another realm of existence, and the first fucking thing my darling germ of a Bob does is torture me with his favorite sex game: orgasm control. At least there was no need for all that worry about what it would be like after so long. We come together with the same intense heat that started most of our lovemaking, although truth be told, we did as much fucking as making love. I arch my chest toward him, hungry for the skin-to-skin contact I’ve missed so much.
“Let’s get this off.” Bob’s voice takes on the hint of a deep growl as if he’s a jungle cat about to mate. I arch the appropriate parts of my anatomy at the appropriate times as he slides off the black silk sleeveless V-neck tunic and pajama pants I’m wearing. He lowers his bulk onto mine enough so that we’re skin-to-skin without him smothering me. I make an instinctive whimper of happiness.
“Gods, how I missed that sound.” Bob brings his mouth to mine. Another whimper escapes as I breathe in his minty breath. I have a split second to wonder when he brushed his teeth and whether he’ll die from my halitosis before he sucks my tongue into his mouth. Obviously, he’s not afraid of dropping from bad-breath-itis. He kisses me until I’m panting, as much from oxygen deprivation as desire. When we come up for air, he starts to work his way down my neck. I grab his hair and pull his head back to mine. I need his mouth.
“Fuck me hard. Claim me. Make me yours.” Never on earth have I said words like this unabashed and out loud unless Bob was tickling my ass with a flogger until I spat the dirty words out.
This lack of ability to talk dirty was probably one of the reasons Bob encouraged me to write out my fantasies. That and he probably got sick and tired of the stuttering fits I fell into whenever he asked me to talk dirty. The poor man had had his hands full pulling the inhibitions out of me when we first started the romp that grew into our enduring love. And now I have him back.
Bob rears back and watches me with that look of intense heat I’ve only ever seen during our sex. More wet pools between my legs as I part them to welcome him home.
“Hold on to the headboard, and don’t let go.”
It’s not so tall that I can’t clamp my hands over the top of it. I do as I’m told. While holding his weight on his left arm, Bob’s cock is engorged and ruddy, the veins standing out. He guides his perfect crown to my impatient cunt. He slides in a couple of inches and stops, transferring the cock hand to my arching hip to still me. He gives his head a small shake that defies the raw need shining in his eyes. Holding me still, he slides his cock in inch by torturing inch as my cunt, tight from lack of use, stretches to take him. I moan and try not to writhe, impatient for the deep thrust, that feeling of absolute bliss as his cock throbs against my swollen cervix, vaginal walls contracting with need.
But my Bob’s definition of a quickie has nothing to do with speed. It was his nod to relenting from driving me over the edge with orgasm after orgasm before he’d let me anywhere near his cock. His upper lip curls back over his teeth, increasing the look of feral heat he pours over me. I stare up at my mate, overcome that he’s really here.
I gasp as he adjusts our hips to increase contact with my clit. I stay quiet as much as I can, listening for the small sounds he makes until I’m lost in a sea of sensation, and my moans drown his. With each thrust, he rolls forward so that his pelvis massages my clit. Slowly and rhythmically, he works me, his eyes never leaving my face. And, my gods, the man hasn’t lost any of his stamina. I close my eyes and sink into the oblivion of Bob-space, that special place I learned to go to during our sex. I meet each thrust of his cock with a thrust and grind of my own.
I open myself to the darts of sensation shooting through me waking the erotic tension that I walled in an emotional fortress over the past year and a half. His hammering heart pushes mine to a frenetic pace as he slowly thrusts me to orgasm. The uncontrollable tingles surging through my body dive to my gut and pool just behind my belly button. I arch and gasp, waiting for the tsunami to hit, my fingers digging into the wood of the bed frame.
I’m not prepared for the force of the wave. Violent contractions grip my vagina, and my hips jolt upward from the force. Every cell in my body feels upended, and I come apart, released. Bob roars, grabs my hips, and pistons over my G-spot, prolonging my climax as he blows through his own. We still, our positions frozen as the contractions and our pulses slowly subside. Finally, Bob falls panting beside me and pulls me, panting equally hard, into his arms. He reaches down and pulls a sheet over us. I slip toward the oblivion of contented sleep. I have my Bob back.
He kisses the top of my head. His “Gods, I’ve missed you,” slips with me into a deep, dreamless slumber.
“Good morning, sunshine.” I sit on the bedside, holding a breakfast tray. She’s really here. My heart’s bursting. I’d have loved to make breakfast for Tate myself, but I wasn’t willing to leave her alone with Caleb. Something I know I’ll have to get over. But I want to keep her to myself a while longer. After all, don’t we deserve a celebration?
She tugs the sheet under her arms and props herself on her elbows while she looks around the room. “Are we alone?”
I drop the tray over her legs and climb onto the bed beside her. “Sure are. I told them in no uncertain terms they were not to come in. I told them we’d come to them in an hour or so.”
“And they went for that? Even Francis?” She spreads orange marmalade on a slice of toast and takes a hefty bite, sighing as she chews. I watch her, mesmerized by the familiar—every movement of every muscle. My wife. Mine. She swallows and grins back at me. “He strikes me as very anal.”
“Oh, he’s anal all right. He’s probably the poster child for anal. He wasn’t at all happy with a loosey-goosey timeframe, so we agreed to meet in the study at nine thirty. That gives us an hour.”
Tate takes another bite of toast and smiles over at me. “One whole hour, eh? Will that allow your little anal soul enough time to get ready?”
“I’m not anal. I’ve always been easygoing,” I huff out, playing my role in one of our verbal dances. One prized molecule in the unique DNA of our relationship.
“Yeah, right. Not when it comes to business, you aren’t. Then you’re all, ‘Let’s get there early, get this over and done with, and get the hell out of Dodge.’”
“Good thing you’ve got that tray in front of you, babe, or I’d so tickle the hell out of you.”
She opens her mouth. I put my finger over it and smile down at her. “Be careful.”
She snaps those luscious lips shut, but I see speculation whirling around in her eyes. Her shy smile tells me just what she’s speculating about. I grin back, something I seem to do all the time now. I can’t wipe the damned thing off my face, not that I want to. I’m just so glad to be back with Tate. Together, we can face whatever the future holds. Gods know I’ve been miserable the past six months without her, and the prospect of waiting decades to meet again had been more than I wanted to bear. Now, here she is. For a month. And she’s all mine. For a month. I give my head an angry shake to get rid of the persistent negative vibe. I think back to her hospital chart. Prognosis poor. My heart lifts and then guilt sinks it like a lead weight. What kind of man hopes for his wife to die early so he won’t have to miss her?
“You okay?” Tate’s concern is immediate. She’s always been highly intuitive, especially when it comes to my moods. My grin blasts away the clouds. I pop a chocolate-covered strawberry into her mouth and follow it with a quick kiss. The tray is in the way of what I’m hungry for, so I focus on getting rid of it. I can’t wait to get my hands on Tate’s body again. I want to relearn every curve.
“Never better. You?” And it’s true. I’m eager to greet this new world of possibilities now that I have Tate back. I pop another strawberry in the moment she parts her lips. Her smile lights up my galaxy. Hell, we’re both sending out so much wattage we’re probably lighting up the entire universe.
She cups my cheek in that gesture that never ceases to turn me into a puddle at her feet. “Never better.” I brush my lips over hers once again.
Tate's Tale Page 9
