by Evie Byrne
Grunting, he grabbed hold of her hips, hoisted them high and thrust into her over and over, while she hung limp in his hands, destroyed by pleasure.
“Alya!” He thrust once more and held. She shuddered in response. One last echoing spasm passed through them—and they spun to earth in freefall.
Mikhail raised his face from Alya’s shoulder. Snowflakes spangled her black hair. Her mind was quiet. Unreadable.
“Love?” he turned her over. Her eyes were unfocused. Dirt smeared her face. The wadded up glove distorted her beautiful mouth. He plucked it out and threw it aside, then drew her to his chest.
With anxious hands he swept her hair out of her face. “Where have you gone?”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Here.”
“You’re okay?”
“Mmm,” she said, burying her face against his shoulder, radiating quiet affection, her fingers, as always, seeking out the A. He stroked her head, relieved.
At first, he’d been closely attuned to her, and he’d known how much the danger of his pursuit had excited her. But once he had her pinned down, he’d tuned her out and claimed her like a knyaz. Like all those princes had claimed her when she was young and on the run from her father.
He’d never done that before. Usually he let her lead in the bedroom, and given that freedom, she tested the limits of his body and mind. And usually that was exactly what he wanted. Sometimes he preferred to lead, and she trusted him enough to let him take control. But he’d never pushed her this far. He prayed he hadn’t violated her trust.
With gentle fingers she stroked his cheek and gave him a wry smile. “I make all sorts of exceptions for you.”
“I was thinking too loud.”
“You’re not like them. I didn’t feel trapped just now. I felt…mmm.”
He kissed her brow and pulled her even closer. She sighed, a wonderful, contented noise.
“But that doesn’t mean you’re not going to meet my strap-on when you come to LA.”
He snorted. They laughed, burying their mouths in each other’s coats so passersby wouldn’t hear them.
When they stopped laughing he said, “I came inside.”
He had a condom in his pocket, but once he started stalking her, it hadn’t crossed his mind again.
“I know.” The snow was falling harder now. A few flakes clung to her lashes. In the dark he perceived her eyes as luminous grey instead of amber.
She cleared her throat, choosing to speak aloud. “I’ve been thinking it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to get knocked up.”
He wondered if she’d ever stop surprising him.
“I need an heir.”
“Oh, I see. This doesn’t have anything to do with Alex and Helena?”
“Me, competitive?” Grinning, she toyed with the buttons on his coat. “No, like I said, why build an empire if it breaks into a hundred pieces when you die? I want our child to have it.” She gave him a sly glance. “If you’re good, I’ll make an heir for you, too.”
“I’m surprised by this sudden turn to the maternal.”
“Well, the second kid is conditional. We’ll see if I like the first one.”
“I told you, I don’t expect an heir.”
“But I’d like you to have one.” For an instant she turned sincere. “I want us to make a child together.” Love shone in her eyes, so honest and unabashed it hurt. It frightened him that he could love her so much in return. Fortunately for both of them, she retreated to safer ground. “Besides, considering the genes we’ve got between us, I reckon it’s our duty to breed super vamps and conquer the race.”
“The world will tremble before us.”
“Won’t it?” She grinned, satisfied at the thought. But she sobered quickly and touched his cheek. “But she might turn out to be a clumsy, nearsighted little bookworm.”
“And?”
“And I’ll love her anyway.” She spoke in a half whisper, the true weight of her decision settling in her eyes. He understood. She knew he understood. A prescient shiver passed through him.
“It might have started tonight.”
“It’s a good spot for it.” Alya rolled onto her stomach and pointed down the hill to a silvered pond and the stand of barren willows that framed it. He rolled over, too, and rested his chin on her shoulder. They’d first made love under those willows, long ago.
“Look at the moon’s reflection on the water,” she said.
“It’s a perfect circle.”
“You don’t suppose our kid would be a dork, do you?”
Mikhail nipped her ear and she rolled away, laughing.
From the other side of the shrubbery they heard a dreadful groan, like a bear waking with a hangover. Alya’s supper had finally come-to. Stealthy as ghosts, they slipped down the hill to skip stones in the pond.
About the Author
Many author biographies claim that the author has been writing stories since she could first wrap her stubby little fingers around a crayon. Not me. All my life, I’ve been an artist. If I picked up a crayon or pencil, I drew a picture with it. Now I'm drawing with words and have never been happier.
Please visit me at www.eviebyrne.com, or send email to [email protected]. I’d love to hear from you!
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