“No man belongs here, but me.” He shooed the cats out with a directive hand and they obeyed.
She placed her head on his shoulder as he carried her—all parts touching, flawed or not. She breathed deeply for the room to stop spinning before she could speak. “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”
Disproving her theory, he had a one-handed fight with the bedroom door, mumbling something she didn’t quite catch. “Jagidy?” she asked. “Who’s Jagidy?”
“Imaginary friend. Don’t want him watching.”
“Have you seen a shrink?”
“Shrink. I looked up this word. Vivica said I needed one. It means to make smaller. But tonight, since I saw you from outside, I have experienced a continued enlargement; no shrinkage at all.”
He lowered her to the bed so she lost interest in word games, though she got his meaning loud and clear. How could she not, given its pulsing presence? She kept her legs around Darkwyn when he would straighten and yanked him down on top of her. She could tell from the befuddled look on his face that he hadn’t expected to lose his control or his breath.
“Bemusing Bronte, you’re quite the seductress.”
“What? My clothes didn’t give me away the first day?”
“I saw only your heart.”
“Hah! Tell me another.” She shoved his shoulder. “Before we do anything,” she said. “We do have a couple of big problems.”
“No, I have only one. If I had two, I might not have come here tonight. Would two feel twice as good, I wonder? Or would the extra just get in the way?”
Bronte raised herself on her elbows. “What?”
He seemed to come back to himself. “Oh, you think you have problems?”
TWELVE
“I do have a problem,” she said, “and it’s a biggie.”
Darkwyn didn’t care. “Is it because you’re ugly? I mean, I don’t care, but—”
Like being splashed with ice water, she rose on her elbows. “You think I’m ugly?”
“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the universe, but you wear a mask, so either you are scarred or you think you’re ugly.”
She shoved him so hard he fell from hovering above her to bounce against the red striped wall beside her bed. She hoped he sprained his perfect head.
“I’m not ugly,” she snapped, getting up. “I’m old. Years older than you, more than a decade, maybe fifteen years older. You’re about twenty-three, right?”
“Give or take a millennium or twenty.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down on top of him, then he tilted his head to nibble and lick that spot low between her breasts. “A decade is ten years, yes?” he confirmed, peeking up at her.
He’d come up for air when she least wanted him to, leaving her nipples standing and shouting, “Here! I’m over here.” Slow on the uptake much? “Yes, a decade is ten years. You don’t have to rub it in.”
His head came up fast, his eyes wide and eager. “Rub? What would you like me to rub?”
She huffed, horny and achy and frustrated as hell. “Stick to the point!”
Darkwyn did what she wished but not what she wanted. He didn’t explain his point about being millenniums older but raised his hips so they met at exactly the perfect place, and if she’d stopped sniping she might have a big surprise in store. She ground her hips against his generous offer. “You have a pretty impressive point there.”
He fingered her hair, brought it to his lips, romantic and sweet, and getting her hotter. “Ah, my impressive point,” he said, sliding her hair against his cheek, then tickling her chin with it. “My impressive point is our other big problem.”
“I don’t think so. It’s more than hard enough, quite thick, incredibly long—”
“And incredibly deformed.”
“You jest.”
“I do not know how to jest. I will take lessons if I must, but—”
“Not ‘joust,’ ‘jest.’ ”
“That is what I said. One problem at a time, please. You are decades older than I am, you think. Wrong. I am centuries older than you.”
“Be serious,” she said. “I was born the day man first walked on the moon.”
Darkwyn dropped her hair and furrowed his brows, making him look that much more yummy. “An earth man walked on its moon?”
“What, you don’t watch the news? Never mind. You hadn’t been born yet, but surely in American history, you learned—”
“American history!” he said, snapping his fingers. “Vivica said I should not skip that, but I did, to get here faster.”
Bronte rolled off her frustrating boy toy and sat with her back against the wall. “You talk in circles.”
“Well, this earth of yours is a convoluted place.”
“Hah!” she said, pulling her favorite throw over herself, holding it up to her neck. “Tell me about it.”
He stroked the bottom of her left foot.
“I’m not ticklish.”
“You are not a ‘tickle-me-toy’?”
She tilted her head. “Well, I am, actually, but you sound as though you just came from kindergarten.”
“I learned that on television. I never watched kindergarten.”
She crossed her ankles and rested them in his delightful lap. “You’re the strangest man.”
“And the most desirable?”
“Certainly the most confusing. I’m worried about our age difference,” she said. “You should be, too.”
He reached for her mask. “Take it off so I can see what an old crone you are.”
She slapped his hand. “Stop that. Everyone who works here wears a mask. It’s the rule. I never, ever, take mine off.” Except when she slept, or had a minute alone in her room, behind closed doors. “Neither does Zachary. What our employees do on their time is up to them, but when they get here, they’re masked.”
“You are a bossy old woman.”
“I will be your boss if you take the job as Master Vampire, which encompasses the jobs of bouncer and maître d’.”
“I might be too old to be a vampire.”
Bronte ran her fingers back and forth against the stubble on his godlike face. “Real vampires are ancient.”
“Shall we discuss our ages, our jobs, and even vampires, after sex?” he suggested. “Your elders walked on the moon, mine discovered fire. It is, as humans say, a wash. You will never be as old as I am.”
“Now you sound like Zachary.”
“He is a child. You are a woman. One who is young enough to have sex with me without breaking a hip?”
“I’m not that old.”
“Too old to appreciate a man in your bed?”
“You really don’t care that I’m old enough to be your—”
“Lover. You are the perfect age to be my lover. Whereas, I am older than dirt and have a trick dick.”
“Is it magick?” she asked, getting hot all over again. “Sounds tantalizing.”
“It is magick, as am I, but it is also not like any you might have seen.”
“Your magick also bears discussion,” she said. “Don’t worry. I haven’t seen that many dicks.”
“Neither have I, except in pictures. You will be disappointed if you like the average everyday type.”
“Are you . . . longer than average?”
“Too long.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Bronte felt a foreign urge to grin, maybe, but she fought it as she rose to her knees. “Is it thicker?”
“Afraid so.”
“It probably does magick better than I do, I hope.”
He knelt to face her. “According to my brothers, magick in the bedroom is a specialty of ours.”
She shuddered with anticipation but his manner distracted her. “Your vocabulary is decidedly odd.”
“I never learn what I should in the order I should. I found a book of sex slang in the Works Like Magick library. That is how I learned ‘trick dick.’ ” He shrugged. “It seemed to fit. A man’s sex has many me
anings, but historically speaking, I also thought that ‘battering ram’ fit.”
“Oh my.”
He cupped her at her center, caught her by surprise, and found her pulsing. “You like that idea.”
Intrigued by his description of himself, she did rather enjoy his word play, the weirdest foreplay ever.
“Unfortunately, I read the meaning of it out loud,” Darkwyn said, “and the bird remembers more than I do.”
“Oh, no, not the bird? He’ll ruin the mood.”
“He’s not here now, and when he is, he’ll stay in his cage, unless he takes what he calls ‘a road trip for a bit of tail,’ though he never does use the road. Do not worry, though, he will come back. And never with a tail to spare.”
“Lucky us,” Bronte said, instantly regretting her sarcasm as she went for Darkwyn’s zipper. “Lucky us, we’re taking trick dick out for a test spin.”
Darkwyn reared back. “It is supposed to spin?”
“I’d settle for that battering ram.”
“Coming up, and I mean that in the truest sense.”
“And up,” she agreed watching some tantalizing super action beneath his zipper. Yowsa! But far be it for her to question a well-endowed stud who had the hots for her.
She unzipped his fly and—“Holy battering ram, Batman!”
THIRTEEN
“Wait” Bronte said, raising herself of on her elbows. “That was a compliment, not an insult. Don’t zip up. We haven’t played hide the salami yet.”
Mortified, Darkwyn tried to stow the frisky thing, but, no use. “I cannot put it away. It takes up too much room when not this ready, but having appalled you, it will not stay hard for long.” He turned away from her and got off the bed.
“Fool,” he called himself. Mad bad dragon man, angry because the sex object of his choice did not like the look of his beastly erection.
Bronte came around to face him, not a sex object, he reminded himself, but his heart mate, causing further indignity, because his shrinking Charlie did not yet fit into its mouse house. “If you do not wish to see it, stay behind me,” he snapped.
She cupped his face between her hands.
He huffed. “Your nearness does not help shrink it, Bronte. It may be deformed, but it is no slacker.”
“You misjudged my exclamation as that of disdain. A better shout would have been ‘Yowsa, baby, give it to me, now.’ ”
He frowned. “It would never be this big on a baby, not even a baby dragon.”
“You are from a land far away.”
“ ‘A distant galaxy,’ dare I quote. Vivica made me watch movies. I was first inclined to call it a ‘light saber’ in your language. It does more than the saber in the movie, except that it does not glow. Oh, I should not have brought the tricky thing up, if I want it to go down.”
“Great pun.”
“Define ‘pun.’ ”
“Strange man.”
“Yes, well, I may be a pun, but I am definitely not a bargain. I have no experience of women, and I come with a deformed member, as you saw.”
“That’s the problem. I didn’t see well enough. I want to hold it in my hand and learn everything about it.”
“Stop,” he said. “You are making it grow.”
“I know.” She winked, again, and unlaced the skin-colored top on her filmy night wisp, so her breasts fell nearly into his hands. He reached for one of her breasts, and with a finger at the wide outside edge of one, he began tracing a circle, raising his finger higher, making the circle smaller, until with her silent permission, he got near to capturing a nipple. He stopped. “You are trying to seduce me.”
“Ya think?”
“I will take that as permission to continue.” He cupped a breast, noting that Bronte’s breathing sped up, her eyes nearly rolling back in her head. His sex quickened and rose to the occasion.
While stroking his length through his jeans, and driving him happily insane, she caught her breath. “Tomorrow, remind me to ask how you got this way”—her nipple grew hard beneath his palm—“but tonight,” she said, “we will work the sturdy thing until it faints, yes?”
“Yes. Tomorrow I will explain,” he said, glad she did not step back for getting stroked exactly where he wanted to put himself—bull’s-eye. “Tonight, I will show you how it works. There are several variations.”
Her wide-eyed sigh nearly made him ejaculate. From what he understood, that would be in bad form before Bronte experienced her own rapture.
“Let’s get naked,” she said, and his part danced.
“Hey,” she said, playfully. “Careful, you’ll put an eye out with that thing.”
He understood now that her jokes lightened the mood, that playful sex, especially with Bronte, could be fulfilling, that cavorting with her could be the ultimate sex play for man or beast.
Instinctively, he reached for her mask.
“No, Darkwyn, the mask stays on, a story for another day, but no. I wore a mask when you met me. Please accept me as I am.”
“Of course. We must accept each other. One worry: I learned sex from books, Bronte, but I would make it good for you, so you will please tell me what you like?”
“There is a god,” she whispered, unlacing her nightie to her waist to give him better access to her body. “Let’s do something erotic,” she suggested. “Let’s face each other on the bed and kiss but don’t touch.”
“Oh, that will be hard,” he said. “My hands, they want you as much as my dick does.”
“Just for a few minutes to give us a slow start, like stoking a fire.”
“Ah,” he said. “Chapter three. Foreplay. You should know, however, that my fire is already stoked, but then the next step would be to touch each other in one special place, yes?”
She fell against him, making a muffled sound against his shirt like a little baby porcupig.
“Are you mocking me?” he asked, standing straighter.
“Darkwyn, I am having the time of my life, but . . . please don’t make me fall in love with you.”
“I do not know how.” He wished he did.
“There’s the danger. Artlessness coupled with gentleness, kindness in the midst of unbridled sexuality. I’m not strong enough, I tell you.”
FOURTEEN
“No falling in love,” he said. “Eventually, though, you will touch this big boy begging for your attention, will you not? You are not repulsed by it? You are certain?”
“Darkwyn, given the fact it doesn’t have a battery, it’s the largest, most ingenious sex toy to hit my bed in . . . forever.”
“I did not hit the bed, Bronte. When first we got on the bed, before we got off, you pulled me down. If I hit it, you made me.”
“Yes,” she said, wrapping her hand around his arrow-tipped beast. “This is hard and ready. I see we will have to give it the old ‘fast and furious’ before we can do a slow burn, because you are so far ahead of me, you might finish on your way to the mattress.”
He groaned as she pushed him, and he let himself fall backward. “This means you will have your wicked way with me, does it not? Thank you.”
Before she got wicked, she got curious, for which he thanked the universe. “This beastly thing of yours is more than a battering ram or even a trick dick. It’s shaped like a dragon tail. You said something about a dragon that I took as a comparative description; what was that? Never mind,” she added. “This is fascinating and exotically beautiful, not to mention stimulating times infinity.”
Bronte’s excitement seemed to double with his size, and Darkwyn rose so fast toward rapture, with her hands all over his cock that way, he didn’t know which of them would reach completion first. He tried to wait for her, but this close to the edge, any hope for his staying power became laughable.
“Is this a result of plastic surgery?” she asked, stroking every facet of his dragon-tail.
“Magick,” Darkwyn hissed, still holding his breath.
“Ah,” she said, “someone else’s
magick backfires.”
“Clashing spells,” he said, jaw rigid, “white magick versus black.”
“Note to me: add clashing spells to future discussion. Right now, Darkwyn, shh, I’m exploring new territory. Enjoy. Let yourself go and come if you want to. Your first ejaculation will not be your last. We’ll both come, alone and together, over and over again, all night, I swear. I’m that horny.”
With little thought beyond the permission granted him, Darkwyn clutched the back of Bronte’s nightie and tore it away, laces flying, breasts in his face for his delectation, more stimulation than he could take, and take, and take, and he came, cresting so hard and high, he couldn’t have done it with anyone but his heart mate.
As he came, he claimed her with his gaze, eye to eye, heart to heart, in a way she couldn’t deny, then he rolled against her, nestled his temporarily sated sex between her knees and placed an arm around her to pull her forward to claim a breast.
Starving for her, he suckled her hard, enough to make her writhe and whimper, and gasp her release, a sight that revamped his sex, so he insinuated it between her knees like a heat-seeking missile.
She clamped those knees tight.
He pulled on her nipple and let it pop from his mouth.
She gasped and shuddered again, as a result. “Darkwyn, you do know how to rev my womanly engine.”
“Yes, but I do not understand the meaning of closed knees.”
“Find me a man who does. I simply cannot get enough of your superior and unusual self, and find I want to explore the amazing thing one last time before my body swallows it whole.”
His heart palpitating, Darkwyn rolled to his back, deep joy rising in him, a foreign sensation, nearly comfortable, and wholly attributable to Bronte McBride, heart mate.
“May I have it to play with for another short while?” she asked.
Truth to tell, he could easily sleep, which wouldn’t last long with his cock in her hand.
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