by Jackie Ivie
“Yes?”
His voice had never been so deep. The chamber reverberated with it. She blinked slowly. Her eyes were even deeper gold when she reopened them. He locked his arms. Legs. Back. Nothing helped. Mikhal slid both hands forward, inclining his body above her. Not touching. Held aloft by bent arms and legs. In a whorl of barely controlled craving while his shudders shook the bed.
“Are you ever going to kiss me? No. Wait! Don’t answer that. I can’t believe I just said that. Oh. No, Becky. No.”
Her words surprised. Shocked. Stunned. And terrified.
Mikhal barely caught the lunge for her throat. He scrunched his eyes shut, and somehow held back from touching her. He stayed that way; hovering...poised in torment, directly above her. His mate. The one. And only. His heart became its own entity, beating with ragged blows against his ribs. His lower belly was a mass of rage and ache, throbbing with want. Heavy with need.
Every muscle burned as he fought this. Even as he realized he was losing. He couldn’t stop this. The desire was too vast. Too furious. And much too wild.
And then he felt the barest pressure of her lips to his.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She’d been accurate but premature. She really had never felt like this. And the certainty kept increasing. Not only was her entire body vibrating at a sex-siren intense-passion range, which was way outside her normal, but once she kissed Mikhal, it might as well be her first time at that, too. From the first touch of her lips to his, she knew it. A fire-like flicker raced from the contact outward, reaching every finger and every toe before pulling back to center in her lower belly. Throbbing into a sensation of tension. Need.
Gotta-have.
His lips slammed onto hers, pushing her neck back onto pillows. He was as strong as he looked. He hovered above her, keeping her from being crushed by his weight as his lips created all kinds of havoc. Strands of his black hair brushed her cheeks. A slight prick of pain in her mouth was followed instantly by the most wondrous impression of rapture. Becky pulsed up from the mattress, pressing against him for a moment before dropping back. This was insane. Amazing.
Unbelievable.
He might as well be an Incan Sun-god with the way he could kiss.
If this was a dream, she hoped she never woke up.
Becky pulled her arms from beneath the blanket, wrapped them about his shoulders, and pulled him closer. Meshed lips and tongues. Creating and enjoying all sorts of pleasure. Becky’s moans started as she sucked and licked. Her legs gathered him closer, despite the blanket between them. Her khakis. The skirt-thing of his. And whatever else. She couldn’t feel much, but it was enough. He was large. Hard. And drilling against the obstruction of wool about her with a series of lunges that she matched. He broke the kiss, slid his lips along her jaw, whispering words. Familiar words. Mayan words.
“K’abet ten. Yaah. K’aat.”
The words meant ‘I need’. ‘Love’. ‘Want’.
He spoke Mayan?
Questions teased at the back of her mind before another sensation completely overrode them. This one contained glory. And wonder. And absolute amazement. Mikhal had breathed against the sensitive skin of her throat, before he did something that should have pained. He bit into her skin, sending nothing of pain and everything wondrous. Becky saw the room’s colors blend into a waterfall of ecstasy, before she slammed her eyes shut in order to join it. Drumming seemed to start up from somewhere outside reality, sending a deep throb through the room. It hinged on her heartbeats and matched it. Heavy. Hard. Thunderous. A cry tore through her throat, moving his mouth slightly as it filled the room, blending with the vision of dark-blue night sky. Molten gold. And now, it was hued with red.
Blood red.
And then something changed. The room started rotating. Oh no. No, Becky, no. She couldn’t swoon again. And she mustn’t wake up! Not now!
She dragged her eyes open. The room was moving a little quicker than she’d imagined. The star-strewn sky above her was becoming a spiral of white lines on dark blue and purple. She ran her hands down Mikhal’s back. Along his sides. Down his arms and back to his shoulders. The entire time, her fingers gripping and then releasing thick muscle. Hard flesh. Heated skin.
“Mik...hal?”
At her whisper, he went taut. The muscles beneath her fingers even harder. And then he pulled his mouth from her throat. Sucked in a long breath. And sent a heartrending groan into existence. It joined the enigmatic drum beat. Adding to the rhythm. But the pulses of ecstasy he’d been sending had stopped at the same time, leaving her suspended in anticipation and expectation. Becky almost sobbed at the loss.
“Oh. Yaah. My yaah.”
The room’s rotation slowed and then ceased altogether. The white lines disappeared and went back to being twinkling fake stars on the ceiling. Mikhal moved upward, pressing her into the mattress with his weight. And putting perfect male torso in view. Becky ran her hands along his abs. Caressed pecs. Watched as his nipples tightened into tiny darts. And then she moved her gaze higher.
Oh. Look, Becky. He has fangs.
Fangs?
There was a fine line of blood forming a droplet on one of them, too. It was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. Oh. Wait. That was right. He was a vampire sun-god. How could she have forgotten that part?
He lifted an arm, putting all kinds of definition on display. She watched wide-eyed as he sliced at his wrist. And then he did something that should have shocked and scared. And horrified. Instead, it was inevitable. Almost...expected. He lowered his wrist to her lips, bending at the same time so his mouth reached one of her ears.
“Take it, my love. My only love. My mate.”
He whispered it. And she did it. The first taste sent a shockwave through her, lifting her completely from the bed for a moment. A hunger started up, became frenzied. Unbridled. She thirsted to an unimaginable level. It obliterated everything. The strangest sound started up in her ears. Loud and then ebbing. Like the rush of wind. Only to a wild degree. Violent. Harsh. The kind of wind that downed trees, altered landscapes, rearranged time.
She nearly sobbed in vexation as he pulled his arm away, the move startled, and then it angered. And then it ignited. Something basic filled her. Visceral. And totally primal. She felt feral. Wild yet bound. Restricted. By convention. Her upbringing. Her clothing. She had to get this material off her. All of it! And she had to do it now!
Becky rolled, and he rolled with her, giving her a glimpse of massive thigh and buttock. She shoved away from him, and he let that happen as well. She rose to her knees and he matched her, while the bed jounced and swayed at their motions. It didn’t hamper her. She’d been on trampolines before. And it made all kinds of interesting things happen throughout his muscles as he worked to stay in place.
Holy shit. Yet again.
Mikhal was the most stunning male she’d ever seen or imagined. It was impossible to deny or overlook. Still.
Becky tossed the blanket aside and ripped at her shirt, scattering buttons everywhere, before yanking her arms out of the sleeves. She chucked the ruined garment off the side of the bed. She put her shoulders back to face him. She wasn’t overly endowed, but she hadn’t been shafted, either. Most sports bras flattened even a hint of femininity out of existence. Becky had paid a hefty sum for one that cushioned and lifted. It was totally worth every penny now. She watched Mikhal glance to her bosom, and those sky blue eyes of his looked stunned when he met her gaze.
“Well? Don’t just sit there.”
His brows rose. That look was swoon-inducing. Her body pulsed without conscious volition, and his matched. The bed bounced from both movements.
“Lose the skirt. And whatever else you’re wearing.”
His eyes widened. His jaw hardened. And his perfect golden tan started to darken all through his chest. The flush rose up his neck and entered his cheeks. And that was just howling fun to watch. Becky put her head back to laugh with abandonment. Strands of her hair brushed he
r lower back. The bed bounced some more. And something felt very weird about her upper teeth. She ran a tongue along the center. Ran into obstructions. Was...? No. It wasn’t possible. She didn’t have fangs, too?
Oh. This dream just kept getting wilder and wilder. And that matched how she felt. Exactly.
Becky released her belt buckle, unfastened her waist button, and slid the zipper open. She had more strength than normal, because the slider came off in her hand and the seam ripped through the crotch. She didn’t remotely care. The khakis were material. They were confining. And they were now history. She shoved them down her legs, sat to pull them off her feet, and chucked them the way of the shirt. She didn’t check what she was doing, either. Watching Mikhal was much more fun.
He stuck a thigh out one side of his kilt. Damn! He had some fine legs. It matched the rest of him. And she couldn’t wait to see what else his kilt was hiding.
He had a knife strapped onto his leg. Looked like braided leather, with hammered silver emblems. He unfastened the strap, wrapped it about the knife with a quick, vicious gesture, and then he pitched it over his head. She barely heard the clatter it made over the continual throb of drums. The swirl of wind noise. And now, the ghostly hint of pipe music joined in. Wherever it originated, the piper was playing an intense tune. Quick-paced. Exciting.
Becky reached behind her to unhook her bra. The clasp gave her trouble. And so the expensive bra became history, too. She watched Mikhal’s eyes go wide and his jaw dropped open. And that just put his fangs on even better display. And damn! She’d never seen anything as sexy.
“Oh, don’t stop now honey,” she told him. “Tit for tat. Give up some clothing. Like now.”
His skin tone went even darker than before. He couldn’t possibly be embarrassed? Could he? And then he cheated. Becky watched him reach across his chest in order to pull the tie of his armband loose. There was a distinct tan line where the armband had been. That was cute. Barely.
“All right. That’s it.” Becky said.
“I. Uh.”
He wasn’t meeting her gaze. He was blushing severely, and all of that was in major conflict with the large lump at his groin. The one pushing against the leather obstruction of his kilt panel. Everything drew to a screeching halt. The drums ceased. The piper stopped. Even the wind noise halted. All she could hear was her own heart beating. But it had an echo. She tipped her head to one side.
“Don’t tell me you’re new to this, okay? Just don’t. I don’t believe it.”
He glanced at her. Then away again.
“Oh. No way.”
He nodded. Her heart pumped so mightily, it scared her. And all the noise started back up, taking her pulse along. And things were just a little more poignant. Real. And endearing.
“Oh wow. Oh, wow. Oh, wow. You have just gone over the top, Mikhal.”
She launched at him, toppled him onto his back, and jerked the kilt to one side, in order to slam her loins onto a thigh. The man was massive. Primed. And all hers. Becky slipped a finger under the waistband of her briefs, and ripped the side seam open. Mikhal was lunging upward in a series of movements that matched how the bed was bouncing. It wasn’t easy to get a grip. Lift him into position, and slam onto him.
Mikhal wasn’t just large. He was huge. Hot. And perfect. Becky gripped and rode him and soared into a heaven of bliss. She flung her head back to vent the cry of satiation. Ecstasy. Fulfillment. And then she did it again. And again. Each time, her cries ended with a laugh of absolute joy. She’d never felt such pleasure.
Mikhal’s hands wrapped about her waist at some point, gripping her, so he could assist. He was a quick learner. And an avid pupil. And a truly amazing sight as he lifted her up and brought her back down. Time and again. Over and over. His hips moving up each time to meet hers. The thrusts got harder. Deeper. Hotter. Each motion aided by the bounce of the mattress, caressed by the flickers of the fire, and accompanied by the odd mixture of sounds. Drum beats. Steady. Increasing. Getting faster. Stronger. All of it adding up to a sensory experience beyond scope of understanding. All she could do was experience. Enjoy. And careen into wonder.
It was well beyond any dream. She didn’t have enough experience to dream of this.
Becky’s continual cries accompanied his grunts. And then Mikhal’s efforts quickened. His hands started manipulating and working her body against his in piston-like efficiency. Harder. Faster. Deeper. And almost without warning, everything on his body went tight. Rigid. He slammed into her a final time, the force of it lifting them both. And then he was shimmying and groaning, and it sounded like he was sobbing. Becky clung, completely rapt as they rotated. In midair. And she didn’t even question the impossibility of any of it.
His spinning stopped. Moments passed. And then they slowly settled back to the mattress. Mikhal had his eyes closed the entire time. Becky watched, committing this aberration of reality to memory. She was never going to forget this. She’d never known such emotions. Nor felt such a series of release. And never could she have imagined such beauty. Her eyes grew moist at the idea that sooner or later she was going to wake up.
And lose this.
Mikhal had a beatific smile curving his lips around what still looked like fangs. He was breathing hard, lifting her with each inhalation, dropping her with the exhalations. That was another oddity. He was breathing in tandem with her. Exactly.
He opened his eyes. He had an astonished look about him. And then he grinned at her.
And stole her heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mikhal stayed motionless for long moments. The time lengthened, becoming minutes. Anything else might take away from the rapture. He was still joined with his mate. His body twitching. His every cell aglow with richness no gold on earth could buy. She had shown him such marvel. Each second continued to add to the scope of it. Her head was cradled at his shoulder. His arms were crossed about her back, securing her to him. He didn’t remember doing that. It must have happened during the explosion of ecstasy. He didn’t change it now.
Everything was wondrous. Her breath fanned him in rhythmic intervals. Everywhere they touched generated the most incredible warmth. As if she carried the secrets of life within her. He had never experienced such things. For a span he’d been in the place of heaven that all gods ascended to. No wonder men worshiped. Prayed. Sacrificed.
“Mikhal?”
She whispered his name, the sound soothing. Caressive. How had he ever thought her voice grating? He grunted something to show he listened. She seemed to understand.
“That was...um. Wow.”
He grunted again. This time to show agreement. He’d learned English from a missionary he’d befriended for no other reason than the man looked too sickly to drain. They’d worked on his enunciation until the man had grown too old and feeble to continue. Mikhal continued learning on his own. He had shelves filled with all sorts of language books. His English section contained several sets of encyclopedia, dictionaries, picture books, fiction. As each generation added vernacular, he’d studied and learned meaning. But he hadn’t known the real definition of ‘wow’ until right now.
And she was absolutely right.
“That was...your first time? Really?”
Oh yes.
He’d taken a lot of ribbing over it as a youth. He hadn’t cared. He’d been the most decorated warrior in the clan. He had the most kills. Was the most accurate with arrow or spear. He’d honed his body to weapon-firing strength and killing speed. He’d ignored any impulses of the flesh. Refused to rape any of the captured women. Passed by overtures from the easy women. And he truly hadn’t been ready to take a wife! The last thing he’d wanted was a woman with an argumentative tongue!
He had no time for women. His clan had been at war since Mikhal reached manhood, fighting for freedom from the Incan king, Sapa Tupac Inca Yupanqui. There would be time for a wife and women after the Incans were defeated. But then a battle ended his mortal life, brought Akron into his sphere,
and that killed off any desire or need for a woman.
Until now. With her.
“Yes,” he finally answered.
“Oh. Double wow.”
Wow could be doubled? That was new. He didn’t question it, however. He’d gained some insight into the vagaries of language. Making love with Becky had definitely been double wow. His groin stirred. She stiffened.
“Tuka teem?” she asked, using the Mayan tongue for ‘again’.
“Oh, yes,” he answered.
“You know Mayan, too?”
Her voice hadn’t been whispered. Nor was it soft. And she was stirring. The muscles in her back beneath his fingers tightened. He loosened his arms slightly.
“Yes,” he answered.
“How?”
“I had a lot of time. And I did not sit on my ass knotting strings, just as you said.”
“Very funny. Ha. Ha.”
She pushed against him. He let her go. Her move separated them, but she didn’t go farther. She sat atop him and regarded him. And she had such beautiful breasts! They were right in his line of sight. He forced his gaze to hers. Tried for stoicism. It didn’t work. A tremor ran his frame. The sound of his pulse was loud in each ear.
“This is the weirdest dream I’ve ever had,” she told him. “Although I am not complaining. Trust me.”
“You are not dreaming, Yaan.”
“You probably shouldn’t call me that.”
“But it is true.”
“We just met. Nobody falls in love that quickly. But hey. It’s my dream. I guess I can add that in if I want. You say you love me? Well...why not?”
He grinned. Her heart ticked up beat. His glance dropped to her bared breasts. He immediately jerked his gaze back to hers. Tried not to look chagrinned.
“You’ve never seen a woman before either, have you?”
“Well. Uh.” He was flushed again. He felt it entering his cheeks.
“You are really darling, Mikhal. You know that?”
“Uh.”
“Yep. Darling. And gorgeous. And built. I mean...majorly built.”
