The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance

by Sonia Florens

  He felt a bit closer to normal when he returned to the bed, though exhaustion continued to drag at him. Tired. So tired, he ached. With his eyes heavy, he returned to the bed, sliding in between the blanket and the pitiful excuse of a sheet. Perhaps if he kept that between them it might help. Between the sheet and his own exhaustion, perhaps he could even forget that he was lying in bed with Greta, a woman he was coming to want as much as he wanted his next breath.

  Actually, more. Breathing wasn’t quite as necessary for the Grimm as it was for mortals.

  Heat.

  It surrounded her. Cradled her.

  She sighed and shifted, unconsciously pressing closer. Her lips brushed against a bare chest and she smiled.

  A dream …

  It must be a dream, because when she was awake, she knew she’d never be this relaxed, this at ease with a man so close. The warmth of his body, the scent of him, the feel of him, everything about him combined to flood her senses and overwhelm her, leaving her loose and limp.

  When his hand skimmed up her back, she arched against him and, to her delight, she found herself pressing against him in a new, altogether delightful way. Her legs parted, one on either side of his hips and now he pressed snug against the sensitive flesh between her thighs. The full, firm length of his cock twitched. She groaned and rubbed against him.

  He swore, his voice low and rough.

  The dreamlike state around her shattered.

  Greta tensed, driving her hands down against the lumpy, miserably uncomfortable mattress and lifted up. Eyes wide, she stared down at Rip’s face in shock. She lay atop him, draped over him like a living, breathing blanket, with his hands on her waist and the only thing between them her clothes and one very thin, worn sheet.

  His dark, dark brown eyes stared up at hers, burning hot – so hot and hungry, it scalded her.

  Blood rushed to her face.

  Shuddering under the raging weight of her own hunger, she licked her lips, tasted him on her mouth.

  Beneath the hunger, old fears surfaced.

  Always the problem.

  She had never been able to get this close to a man without those fears rising to haunt her. None of them she’d been with had interested her enough to try and work past them. No … not entirely true, there had been a few. But upon learning the truth of her life, they had withdrawn, and it came to the point that Greta stopped reaching out.

  She stopped wanting to reach out. But Rip …

  Her hands flexed on the hard, yet yielding muscles of his chest. Her voice rigid and stiff, she said, “I beg your pardon.”

  “I’m willing to beg for a lot more,” Rip said quietly, watching her from under his lashes. His hands rested on her hips, holding her loosely, but there was nothing confining about the way he held her, nothing imprisoning.

  Move, you idiot, she chastised herself.

  But she couldn’t. She felt frozen. And she didn’t want to move.

  Her mouth dry, she licked her lips. in shock. closed his eyes and groaned. “Darling girl, if you do not want me to turn into a slobbering fool and do something we might both regret, you really need to move.”

  “And what if we didn’t regret it?”

  Her eyes widened. Oh, no. The words … had they really just come from her?

  Rip studied her with a narrowed gaze. She couldn’t read anything from him. Nothing … and she sure wished to. When he lifted a hand from her hip and reached up, tracing the line of her mouth with his finger, she held still. As he stroked lower, hooking the tip of his finger in the silver chain that held her medallion, her breath caught in her lungs.

  “But wouldn’t you regret it, darling girl?” he asked, his voice soft and low, a stroke of velvet against her senses. “Even now, you watch me with this strange mix of fear and nerves. You do not seem to know if you want to remain where you are, or run as fast as you can.”

  “If I really wanted to run, I would.”

  He tugged on the chain, drawing her closer. Greta swallowed and let him. Her bound breasts pressed against his chest and she was acutely aware of the fact that the only thing separating them was her clothing and the sheet twisted somewhere around his hips.

  His eyes remained on hers as he kissed her – a gentle, questing kiss, light and soft.

  Greta felt blood rush to her cheeks and her lashes fluttered low.

  “No,” he murmured, quietly. “Look at me. Let me see you. I ache for you. Every day I see you, I ache more.”

  She ached, as well. It was the first time she’d truly understood that desire could be a sweet, sweet ache and she wasn’t sure she knew how to handle it.

  Start with this … stop thinking. As his mouth returned to hers, she kept her eyes open, staring into the dark, seductive depths of his eyes.

  It was more intimate, she realized … made it so much harder to hide. Harder to hide from how it made her feel, and harder to hide from what it did to him as well. No way to hide from it, and no way to pretend she was still just dreaming.

  But she didn’t close her eyes.

  * * *

  Rip traced the line of her lips with his tongue and teased her into opening for him. She undid him, left him shaken by how much he needed her. Left him stunned and reeling by how much more he needed from her. Already.

  He had loved before. Had wanted. Had needed.

  But he had never needed like this before. Never wanted like this. And although they had known each other but a few days, he thought perhaps he already loved her.

  She would fear that. All of them were gifted with special skills when they crossed through Death’s door and back into to become a Grimm. Rip’s skills were those of a hunter. He knew weaknesses and strengths – all he ever needed was a simple look.

  One simple look was all he needed to size up his opponent, and although Greta was no opponent, he saw her strengths, her weaknesses just as easily.

  Greta would fear anything she saw as intimacy, so until she could trust him, he would keep his feelings quiet.

  Until she trusted him … until she needed him as much as he was coming to need her.

  Her body relaxed against his as he kissed her, reining in his body’s needs. He combed his hand through her dark hair and, when his fingertips brushed against her nape, she shivered. Sensitive, he discovered. She was so sensitive … the lightest touch could make her gasp, and the merest brush could make her moan.

  He trailed his fingers down the centre of her torso, watching for any sign of fear, any sign of trepidation. Slipping the button of her trousers freedays, hused … waited.

  Her lashes fluttered low as he eased the trousers lower. They only went so low before catching on her thighs. He could see just the faintest glimpse of dark, tight curls, the pale curve of her hips. “We could have a bit more fun if you’d lose the trousers, darling girl,” he murmured.

  “Hmm? Oh. Oh …” She blushed, catching her lip between her teeth.

  When she rolled to her side and started to shimmy out of them, Rip caught her hands. “Let me,” he murmured, gathering the fabric in his hands and drawing it down, staring at the rich, ivory curves being revealed to him.

  So perfect. So lush and soft. Catching her hips, he tugged her to the edge of the mattress and knelt before her. He wanted, needed, to touch her, taste her, feel her, but every instinct he had warned him she wouldn’t take well to his weight crushing down on her, not yet. Not just yet. Kneeling on the floor, he reached for the simple buttons on her shirt, freeing them one at a time. “You’re a lovely woman,” he murmured, staring at her face, only her face. Though he could see the full, soft curves of her breasts now, pressed flat and straining against the binding she’d used, he wanted to see her, watch her. Let her see him.

  Easing her upright, he smoothed the shirt from her shoulders and dealt with the thick cloth she’d wrapped around herself to press her breasts flat. Greta might look soft and gentle, but she had the strength to deal with any man who might try to take advantage of the picture she prese
nted.

  Still, such things often interfered with their work, which was why many of the women chose to dress as men. Greta had been dressed in the guise of a waifish boy when he’d first seen her. The disguise hadn’t fooled him.

  As he unwrapped the cloth, he saw the faint red marks the bindings had left on her skin and he brushed his thumb over them, then dipped his head to follow that path with his lips. “Such soft, delicate skin,” he murmured.

  When he kissed the hard, pointed tip of one nipple, she cried out.

  Lifting his head, he studied her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and startled … and hungry.

  Smiling, he dipped his head and kissed that pretty rose peak again and this time he sucked it into his mouth, lightly scoring the flesh with his teeth. She whimpered and arched, squirming closer.

  Resting one hand against her thigh, he skimmed it higher. Between her thighs, he found her hot, wet … ready, so ready. When he touched the tip of his finger to her slick, sensitive folds, she cried out again, his name a surprised cry on her lips. Slowly, he circled the stiffened peak of her clitoris once, twice … but as he started to make the third rotation, she bucked against him and, to his utter shock, she started to come.

  Her head fell back, her eyes staring blindly at him, as she rocked and moved against him, desperately riding the hand between her thighs.

  She moved with blind, determined hunger and, as she pushed against him, Rip let her overbalance him, falling back to the floor, with her cradled against him. Her knees settled on either side of his hips and she shivered as that position had his cock rubbing against her sensitive sex.

  “Put me inside you,” he whispered, staring up at her.

  For a moment, she looked confused. Arching his hips against her, he said, “Put me inside you … please, Greta … you’re killing me.”

  Her fingers closed around his cock, cool, soft, strong.

  Rip groaned at the light touch and, unable to hold still, reached down and closed his fingers around hers, tightening her grip as he drove himself into her fist. “Fuck, that feels perfect … just … like … that …”

  “Is that how Irubsupposed to have you inside me?” Greta asked, giving him a look of wide-eyed innocence. Then she shifted and rubbed against him, reminding him of a softer, slicker embrace.

  “No. But it feels pretty damn good,” Rip muttered, reluctantly drawing his hand away.

  She gave him a cheeky smile. “But mostly one-sided.”

  “Then put me inside you, and I’ll see to it that both of us feel pretty damn good,” he promised. He just hoped he could keep that promise and not explode like a boy the moment he had his cock seated inside her.

  Pretty damn good, he had said.

  Oh. Oh, dear. Not even close, Greta thought as she slowly sank down on him. He stretched her, filled her. It hurt … a sweet, sweet pain. With his hands on her hips, he held her steady as she took him inch by slow inch.

  He flooded her.

  Filled her.

  In so many ways …

  Tears stung her eyes and she swayed forwards, gasping as the movement drove him deeper, but she couldn’t continue to watch him, couldn’t continue to let him watch her. Too intimate. He saw too much.

  Burying her face against his neck, she shuddered, twisted her hips to relieve the aching fullness inside her.

  Rip turned his head and pressed his lips to her temple. “Shhh,” he murmured.

  She lifted her hips, tried to move and he swore, a half-strangled sound. Pain sliced through Greta and he growled. “Damn it, you’re hurting yourself,” he snarled. One strong, elegant hand closed over her hip, holding her still even as he slipped the other between them.

  When he touched that tight, aching bundle of nerves, Greta gasped. As he started to move, slowly, keeping his thrusts easy and shallow, she shuddered.

  In under a minute, he had her keening out his name and he was wrong. Pretty damn good did not quite describe how he had made her feel.

  Amazing did not even touch it.

  Nothing could describe it …

  He stole the breath from her lungs with a hot, deep kiss and, as she struggled to get it back, he rolled them over on to their sides, his body half-poised over hers. He stared down at her, his dark gaze commanding, devouring.

  “Look at me …” he rasped. “I want to see you.”

  She stared at him.

  A slow smile curled his lips. “So lovely,” he muttered. Her lashes fluttered down and he reached up, tangled a hand in her hair. “No. Do not close your eyes … see me. Look at me.”

  Even as the orgasm broke open inside her, Greta forced her lids up, staring at him. Look at you? See you?

  Moaning out his name, she shuddered under the force of the pleasure cascading through her body. So good … he felt so good inside her. Over her. Within her.

  Just being near him felt good. Felt right.

  If ever in her life there was a night she wished would last for ever, it was this one. This one night, she thought. She wanted to preserve it, for ever, locked in crystalline clarity.

  And not just the way he touched her, not just the heat he made her feel, although that was something miraculous.

  He made her laugh. He made her feel. He made her think.

  For the first time in several centuries, Greta actually felt complete.

  And in just that moment, she felt slightly drunk. But it had nothing to do with the wine that he had produced from somewhere. While she dozed, he had slipped out of the room and managed to find more food – a meal, rather than the light fare she had gotten, dishes and wine.

  She hadn’t had good wine in an age.

  With her back braced against the wall, a glass of wine in her hand, she stared down at the top of his head and tried not to blush as he trailed a juicy tip of a peach around her navel.

  “If I had known you were going to play with your food,” she told him, “I wouldn’t have let you have the last one.”

  “Oh, I plan on eating it.” He glanced at her from under his lashes and nipped a bite from the peach. After he swallowed, he dipped his head and licked the juice from her belly. “I can’t decide which tastes better: the peach or you.”

  “Oh, the peach. Wherever did you find peaches this time of year? I haven’t had peaches in months.”

  “A bit of money in the right hand will land you almost anything.” He shrugged. “Fortunately, I didn’t lose mine when we had our swim through the harbour.”

  Greta found herself enraptured by the play of muscle under his skin. Then she blushed as his eyes caught hers. As his lips curled, she realized her mouth had gone dry. Lifting her wine to her lips, she took a sip.

  He ate some of his peach and then he lowered his head.

  Greta’s hand shook and she almost spilled what remained of the wine. As he parted the flesh between her thighs, she set the glass down before it fell. He licked her, slowly, thoroughly, taking his time, as though he was trying to commit her taste to memory.

  A strangled moan escaped her lips and she reached down, fisted her hands in his hair.

  “It’s not the peach,” he muttered against her flesh. “It’s you.”

  “Peach?”

  He lifted his head and stared at her with glittering eyes. “You … Fuck me, Greta, the taste of you. It’s addictive.” He tossed what was left of the fruit to the floor and cupped her hips in his hands, lifting her up to his mouth.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying out, barely muffling the cries as he licked and stroked and teased her. But just when she knew one more touch was all she needed, he stopped.

  Whimpering and desperate, she opened her eyes to glare at him, but he was sitting crouched between her thighs. “I want you,” he muttered, a look of such naked, raw hunger on his face.

  The sound of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Greta lifted her hand. “Then have me.”

  “For how long?” he rasped, settling his long, lean weight against her body, tucking the head o
f his cock against the wet, soft folds of her sex.

  Watching him through slitted eyes, she tried to ignore the flutter in her heart. There was a world of worry, a world of needs in that question. No simple answers …

  But instead of answering him, she lifted her face to his. “Take me, Rip. We have now, don’t we? Isn’t that all that matters?”

  He cupped her chin and, as he claimed her body, his tongue claimed her mouth. Part of her wondered at it … that she could take the weight of him without panic, without fear.

  But another part of her revelled in it. Revelled in him.

  Bringing her legs up, she wrapped them around his hips and arched against him.

  “Little witch,” he muttered against her mouth.

  She was trying to drive him mad, even as she was breaking his heart, Rip suspected. Time … that was all she needed. Just some time. All they’d had together was a few days.

  He worked a hand between them and pressed one finger against the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing it, stroking the sensitive flesh where she stretched so tight around him.

  She was so slick, so hot and tight. The taste of her was still on his tongue, a tangy, salty musk that was uniquely Greta – uniquely her.

  The muscles in her th contracted around him, milking him, pushing him dangerously close – no. No – gritting his teeth, he eased back, tried to slow down and she tightened her legs, opening her eyes to stare at him.

  “You’re driving me mad.”

  A smile bowed her lips upwards. “You started it,” she replied, licking the soft, full curve of her lower lip.

  Pushing up to his knees, he gripped her hips. “You really are a witch,” he muttered.

  That teasing smile on her lips spread and she brought up her hand to rest it on her belly. With a glint in her eyes, she trailed her fingers lower and lower, until she could stroke the rigid flesh of her clit.

  It was wholly unexpected – the sight of that teasing smile on her lips, and the wicked play of her fingers over her pink, wet flesh. Swearing, Rip fell back over her and, with a growl, he slammed into her.