by Ann Macela
“No, we—” he started to say. She used her hands to shake his head, then held it still.
“Yes,” she said.
And she kissed him.
Marcus tried to say something more, but it was damned difficult with her tongue in his mouth. And her legs around him and his arms around her. Oh, hell, she felt, and smelled, and tasted so good. So right. So perfect.
So, he kissed her back.
Despite the warning bells going off in his head.
Because his cock had sprung to attention and was clamoring for release from his jeans. For release, period.
Because the last three days had been torture. Erotic dreams had haunted his sleep, vivid memories of the episode in her hotel room had surfaced every time he stopped consciously concentrating on something else, and, to top it off, his center had plagued him painfully unless he was thinking of her.
All right, he had finally admitted out loud to the fiendish SMI, he wanted her. Their mating had been ecstasy. More powerful than any sex he’d ever had. His protests had made no difference; he still hurt.
With her in his arms again, however, he could only think of one objection: it had been too damn long.
She hummed, and the vibration ran from her chest to his and all the way down to his toes.
Their magic centers picked it up and increased the reverberation until they were both quivering with the sound. He held her tighter and kissed her harder. She reciprocated. He barely managed to remain standing.
She broke the kiss by pulling his head back. With a conqueror’s smile, she stared into his eyes for several seconds, and he felt her heat warm him to his core. Unlocking her legs from around him, she slid down his body, tormenting him every inch of the way. He supported her until she had her feet under her. She pushed on his shoulders and took a step back.
Where was she going? He reached for her, and the next thing he knew, he was flat on the floor with her on top straddling him. How did he end up here? Surely she couldn’t have thrown him, could she? He tried to put his hands on her waist to lift her off, but she captured them, laced her fingers with his, and held their joined hands between them.
Okay, he’d simply push her back.
She didn’t move. Back, that was. Instead, she pushed forward until his hands were on the floor on either side of his head.
He struggled a little, carefully. He didn’t want to hurt her.
She didn’t budge. He struggled harder.
How strong was this woman? She didn’t weigh more than a feather and certainly didn’t bulge with muscles, yet he couldn’t move her or himself.
She grinned—and he could see both delight and determination in her eyes.
“Now, darlin’,” she whispered, “we’re going to have some fun.”
He was in trouble—maybe not too much. At least the imperative hadn’t taken over his mind. He was still in control of his thoughts and his actions. He could resist her.
He held that thought for about five seconds—until she lowered her hips to right above the juncture of his thighs and his body, then sank a little lower, and a little lower still. And rubbed herself up and down the length of his rigid cock.
Which, despite the layers of cloth between them, almost took the release it desperately wanted.
What was left of the blood in his head went south in a hurry. The extent of his vocabulary? “Uhhhhhh.”
She released his hands and sat back on his thighs. When she slowly, one button at a time, unbuttoned her red shirt, then took it off entirely, he felt his eyes bulge. When she reached behind her and undid the clasp on her oh-my-god-red bra, he was sure his eyeballs stretched out of his head on stalks.
When she slipped off the bra and dropped it to the floor, his hands itched like fire to touch the gorgeous breasts and rosy nipples she’d uncovered. He raised his hands to do so, and she slapped them, took his wrists, and positioned his arms straight out from his sides.
“No. Stay.”
He stayed. Her breasts were so tantalizingly close, her fragrance so enveloping, and he wanted so much to touch, to taste. But he stayed.
She put her hands on the neck of his T-shirt, took a good hold, and ripped it right down the middle.
Before he had time to wonder at her actions, she laid herself on him and kissed him again.
This time, for a change, they were flesh to flesh, no barriers. In his dreams, they’d been naked. Those imaginary figments of his overheated libido went up in smoke with the reality of her skin against his.
He revised his estimate of the situation. He was in deep shit.
He had to touch her and prayed she would let him. When he raised his hands and slid them down her back, down her soft, smooth skin to her butt, she rubbed her breasts across his chest. Their magic centers hummed louder.
He was reaching for those breasts when she grasped his hands again and brought them to their previous position. Momentarily bereft, he told himself with the tiny part of his brain still operating that he could move when he wanted to. He’d simply go along with her for the moment. Surely she’d let him touch her again.
With another of those devilish smiles, she sat up and wiggled—it almost killed him—until her skirt was free from between them. She unbuttoned the waistline and lowered the zipper. Gathered the folds in her hands and pulled it over her head.
He almost swallowed his tongue. She was not wearing panties.
His hands jerked of their own accord, but she waggled a finger and said, “Not yet.”
After scooting down to his knees, she quickly undid his belt buckle, lowered the zipper, and pulled his jeans and briefs down. He was so relieved to have his throbbing cock free, he didn’t even question how she accomplished the feat.
Somehow he lifted his gaze from her body to her face. She was intently studying that jutting part of his anatomy.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand move toward it, and fear of premature disaster forced the word out of his mouth. “No!”
“No?”
“No.” He had to swallow, but he managed to get more out of his dry mouth. “Come here.”
She went up on her hands and knees over his body. He put his hands on her waist and drew her down until she was stretched out on top of him, his erection nestled between her legs at the juncture of her thighs. Oh, God, yes.
He gathered her close, and this time, he kissed her.
Good, he was cooperating, Gloriana smiled to herself as she returned his kiss. More than cooperating. An added bonus? Distracting though the man’s kisses and caresses and the humming in her center were, she still had her wits about her.
She practically wallowed in the feel of him. His dark blond chest hair stimulated and tickled at the same time. His hands found sensitive spots on her back, especially her butt, she never knew she had. His erection fit perfectly between her legs, and she pumped her hips to rub herself against it. When he groaned, she figured he liked it. She certainly did.
It wasn’t enough. She slid her knees to the floor and basically did a pushup to break the kiss and lift her chest. The second she did, he found her breasts with his hands and gazed at them with a half smile while he fondled. Ooooh, much better than having clothes on.
When he lifted his head to lick and suckle, too, the energy that arced through her straight to her womb stunned her. She’d had no clue how exquisitely sensitive her body was, how a touch could excite the core of her being. She arched her back to give him better access. That female part of her in contact with the male part of him started aching. Desire and need rushed through her like a tidal surge, buoying her up and up to light-headedness.
She refused, however, to surrender her ability to think. No matter what, she would be fully conscious. The experience was too good to miss.
Marcus broke their kiss, and she opened her eyes and frowned at him.
“Lift up,” he said in a low, raspy voice that sent shivers down her backbone. He put his hands on her waist to help.
She raised her h
ips, and he looked down, between them, and she did, too. Ah, that’s what he wanted. His erection seemed to be reaching for her.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Let me in. Please.”
Carefully, she positioned her entrance over his broad tip and sank down. As she watched him disappear into her, she could feel her body stretching, accommodating his thickness.
She raised up a little bit and slid down a little farther. And again. He was so hot, so strong, so hard. Oh, how glorious it was, to have him in her. How astonishing. How erotic to watch, to feel.
He groaned, and she looked up. His head was back, his neck arched, and he had a grimace on his face like he was in great pain. He was breathing very hard. Good. She was, too. She wasn’t alone in the wonder, the splendor, the sheer exhilaration of making love.
She slid up and down once more, taking him all. If she thought his touch on her breasts had been exquisite, his thick presence in her body doubled, tripled, quadrupled that effect. She felt full and connected. To him and to the universe. It was an act so trusting, so private, so fundamental, so intimate, she could have cried.
She raised and lowered herself again, marveling at the sensations rippling through her—desire, pleasure, rightness, completeness.
When she tensed to rise again, he held her lower body stationary with one hand and used the other to bring her head down for another kiss—a ravenous, devouring kiss. He began to thrust up with his hips.
Their magic centers hummed at a faster tempo.
The combination of kiss, hum, and their connection stole her breath, increased her heartbeat, and battered at her thought processes. She surrendered to the imperative and to him, especially to him. All she could do was respond in kind, meeting his thrusts, kissing him back, lifting her chest to give him better access to her breasts. Their thrusts grew faster, harder, their kisses hungrier, wilder, until she had to fist her hands in his hair to hold on.
The humming in her body, in his, grew louder, its pulse beating in her ears in rhythm with their movements. Ultimate pleasure beckoned, just out of reach. She felt her muscles tightening, straining, almost there …
He added a twist to his hips that brought her nerve-filled nub into rubbing contact with him. The friction created a chain reaction of energy bursts throughout her body and propelled her in a flash into complete ecstasy. She cried out as she convulsed in a long series of shudders and contractions answered by his even more powerful thrusts and explosive release.
After they stilled, he held her tightly for a long moment. With a sigh of pure contentment, she relaxed and laid her head on his shoulder.
She may have dozed or simply blissfully lay there, but when her conscious self reasserted itself, she was still on top of him, and he was caressing her back. She could feel his heartbeat slowly descending from the heights; hers beat in unison. He was still inside of her, and his breath gave a little hitch when she tightened certain muscles.
She raised up to see his face. His eyes were shut. How had she never noticed how long his eyelashes were?
He opened those light blue eyes with their charcoal rims. At first he stared at the ceiling, but soon focused on her. “What did you do to me?”
“I mated with you.”
“Why?”
“Because it was the only way I could think of to get your attention and put you in a position where you couldn’t refuse to talk to me. You didn’t seem convinced of the soul-mate fact in Chicago. Yet you know we are, we have to be, or we wouldn’t be able to mate. I wanted to make sure you couldn’t pretend that instance was some sort of aberration. I also hoped both of us would take part in the process fully conscious—not because the imperative had taken over our minds. I knew everything I was doing—or up until the very end—and I had the feeling you did, too.”
“You’ve accomplished your mission.” He tried to push her up and off his body, and she reinforced her strength spell and held him down.
He glared at her, but she smiled and sat up, her hands on his shoulders. They weren’t finished yet.
“Let me up.”
“No, not until you promise to tell me what you have against being someone’s soul mate.”
“All right, I promise.”
“I mean a real promise, not simply a statement to get me off your … uh, front. We really do have to talk about it, Marcus, and come to some agreement if we’re to live any kind of life, together or not. I need to understand you and vice versa.”
“Did you cast a spell on me?”
“What are you talking about? No, I didn’t cast a spell on you. I can’t. Remember?”
“How did you overpower me?”
“I’ll tell you later. That’s beside the point. If you think you’re going to deflect me with questions or avoid telling me your reasons, you’re wrong. Give me a real promise, and I’ll let you up, we’ll get dressed and talk. I’m not leaving here otherwise, and I still have some persuasive techniques.” To punctuate her statement, she tightened her inner muscles.
He caught his breath, scowled at her, but said nothing.
Honestly, the man was impossible. He was even more stubborn than her brother. Okay, she’d appeal to reason—again. “I’m not going to beg, Marcus. We are soul mates, and if you’re going to reject the phenomenon, the imperative, and me, you should explain why. It affects me as much as it does you since I’m going to have to live with your conclusions.”
Marcus stared up at her. He tried to ignore his feelings of guilt at her words. Unfortunately for him, she was correct. He owed her an explanation. Distasteful though it was to rehash the past, vulnerable as it made him, and however revealing of his family’s life, it was the least he could do. They were both stuck in this mess. He gritted his teeth and said, “Yes, I do promise.”
“Start talking.”
“Can we get up off the floor and dressed first?”
Although she didn’t look happy about giving up her position, she acquiesced. “Okay, just remember, you can’t throw me out until I’m satisfied you’ve told me everything. I’m strong enough to resist being manhandled.”
“Fine.”
She raised her hips until they came apart—oh, how his cock, momentarily happy and ever hungry around her, regretted that—and scooted back on hands and knees until she could move sideways and sit on the floor. Grabbing her shirt and skirt, she dragged the skirt over her head and slipped into the blouse.
He watched all that loveliness disappear from view before arching on his shoulders and heels to pull up his pants.
She stood before he could help her up, and picked up her bra and purse. “Where to?”
“This way.” He led her down to the guest room on the lower level, taking off his T-shirt remnants on the way. He opened the door and stood back. “Bathroom’s through there. Towels and soap are in the cabinet.”
She walked into the room and turned to face him, but he couldn’t gauge her mood. She didn’t seem to be triumphant. If anything, she looked apprehensive. All she said was, “Thanks. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Take your time. I’ll meet you upstairs.” Forcing himself to move slowly so he wouldn’t appear to be fleeing, he climbed the stairs with a measured tread and a heavy heart. He didn’t look forward to opening himself up, even to her. Especially to her. A comment his father often used came to him: “Always look the truth in the face, Marcus. It may not be pleasant, but deceiving yourself is worse.”
He hadn’t been following that advice. He hadn’t recognized—hadn’t wanted to recognize—the truth of their being soul mates. He knew, however, at this moment, on this subject, he was correct.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
I’m going to lose her. The words battered the inside of his skull the way the shower water beat on the outside. Despite his resolve to reject a soul mate, his excellent reasons for doing so, his refusal to perpetuate a recurring cycle of behavior bringing only heartache, the very real chance that he would not have Gloriana in his life after the
next hour made him want to pound his head against the wall to stop the pain.
But… her seduction replayed itself in his mind, and his body responded. What he would have done if she hadn’t let him into her body, he didn’t want to contemplate. And when she had, his entire being opened up, accepted her, and gave itself to her.
He had to look the truth in the eye. He’d ruin all her loveliness, her giving nature. Better to make a clean break.
Hell! The conversation was going to be difficult. He shut off the water and toweled himself dry. Be a man, damn it! Face it and get it over with.
Dressed again—in different clothes since the jeans he had been wearing still smelled of her and she’d wrecked his shirt—he straightened his shoulders and went down to the living room.
Five minutes later, he paced in front of the windows, wondering how best to begin and cursing himself for his ambivalence. Would she understand? Would she agree with him? What if she did? She’d be gone in a heartbeat. He sucked in his breath as a great hole opened inside him.
No, he had to be strong. His reasons were true and good. Their not being together was in everyone’s best interests.
When she came up the stairs, his throat went dry. Rushing into the kitchen, he prepared glasses of ice water and carried them back out.
“Thanks,” she said with a brilliant smile that he felt down to his toes.
He waved her to a seat on the couch and remained standing. Better to face the catastrophe on his feet—otherwise, he might end up on his knees.
She took a sip of water and looked at him expectantly. She was so beautiful, so colorful in her red and blue against the neutral colors of his house that he almost smiled—until he remembered his purpose.
He cleared his throat, but still began with a rough voice. “The soul-mate imperative and the whole phenomenon are supposed to never make a mistake. The bond is supposed to make for strong marriages and from that, strong families, for the kind of relationships and feelings I can see in your family. Right?”
She nodded.
