Chapter Twelve
He’d tried to walk away, to do the right thing to save them both the heartache that getting closer would inevitably bring. But her openness stripped his defenses away.
Her pale skin glowed like a beacon in the dim moonlight, luring him. Her torso was slender, her breasts firm and full. Unable to speak past the emotion trapped in his throat, he lifted his hand and cupped one of the firm mounds. Her nipple peaked when he grazed it with the pad of his thumb.
Rather than speak, she wrapped her hand around his wrist and pulled him toward her bedroom. Helpless against the overwhelming desire pulsing through his veins, he followed.
This could be her last night alive. She was oblivious, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. If this was what she wanted, if this would make her happy, how could he walk away?
Yeah, he was a giver all right. He was trying to justify giving in to the uncontrollable desire thrumming in every cell of his body.
Making love with Cilla would irrevocably change him.
No other woman would ever compare. If he did this, he was facing a lifetime of loneliness.
If he didn’t, he’d live with a lifetime of regret.
His existence was already solitary. In the long, empty millennia before him, he’d at least have the memory of this night to console him.
Decision made, he kicked her bedroom door closed behind him. Leaning down, he nuzzled her hair and neck, inhaling the subtle rose scent that clung to her skin. It wasn’t strong enough to be perfume. It was most likely lotion, which meant every inch of her would carry the light fragrance.
His dick was hard as iron, straining against the thick material of his pants, but he wasn’t removing them. Not yet. His restraint was straining at the tethers. He planned on tasting and touching every curve, every hollow until there wasn’t a part of Cilla he hadn’t explored.
Her fingertips glided up his forearms and over his biceps, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
The bite of her nails in his shoulders awakened a hunger deep in his core.
He spun her around until her back was against the door.
Surrounding her with his large body, he palmed the back of her head and slammed his mouth down on hers.
It was a kiss unlike any other.
Wild and tender at turns, he couldn’t get enough of her sweet mouth. His tongue dueled with hers in a battle where there were no losers, only winners. There was no coyness, no game. Cilla left everything out there, telling him without words how much she wanted him.
Gasping for breath, he tore his mouth from hers and left a row of kisses along the line of her jaw all the way to her ear. He captured the small lobe between his teeth and lightly tugged. Her moan, the desperate way she clung to him, signaled her approval.
He stroked his fingers through her fiery hair, wishing he could see the reddish-gold locks, inwardly cursing the suppression of his preternatural senses. Half hidden in shadows, she was something from a dream, one that could slip through his fingers at any moment.
Her mortality would always stand between them, as would her impending death. Don’t think about it. There was nothing he could do to alter it. The only thing in his control was the present.
Tilting her head back, she stared up at him. “Is something wrong? Have you changed your mind?”
Damn it, he’d stopped, too wrapped up in his thoughts and guilt. If he didn’t do better, he’d ruin this special time. He scooped her into his arms and carried her through a small sitting room to her bed. The covers were pushed back and rumpled, a testament to her trouble sleeping.
He lowered her to the bed and followed her down, resting the bulk of his weight on his forearms. When their lower bodies aligned, his erection pressing against her mound, he groaned. “Everything is perfect.”
Taking his time, he teased the seam of her lips with his tongue before slipping inside. Unless the house caught fire or someone attacked them, he wasn’t stopping. It was probably all kinds of wrong to make love to her knowing he was going to reap her soul, but he didn’t want to stop.
The darkness inside him yearned to touch her, hold her, taste her. This was meant to be.
His chest tightened, but he ignored it. Now was not the time for grief. There’d be ample opportunity to mourn when she was gone. Now was about giving and receiving pleasure, of coming together in the intimate way only lovers could.
He sat back on his knees and stroked her slender shoulders and arms, smiling at the way she subtly rolled her hips. “Touch me,” she ordered.
“Where?”
“Here.” When she grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts, the top of his head almost blew off. He loved that she wasn’t afraid to show him what she wanted.
He plumped the mounds in his palms. When her lips parted on a moan, he leaned down and dragged the flat of his tongue over one pert nipple before taking it inside his mouth and sucking.
“Alex!” Her fingers dug into his back, keeping him there.
He lifted his head long enough to correct her. “Alexiares.” The need to hear her say his full name pounded in his blood.
“Alexiares.” It came out as a breathy moan that made his scalp tighten and tingle. “Don’t stop.”
“Never.” His stomach roiled at the lie. He didn’t want to stop, not ever, but the clock was running down on their time together.
Determined to live in the present, he switched to her other breast, giving it the same sensual attention. Her fingers tugged at his hair. She groaned and writhed beneath him. If his balls got any tighter, they’d explode. He couldn’t remember ever being this aroused.
He nuzzled his way down her lean torso. There were several slight bruises from the accident where she’d been brought up hard against her seat belt. He tenderly kissed each one before moving on to nip at the curve of her waist, getting a surprised laugh when he licked her hipbone.
The scent of roses mixed with musky arousal the farther down he went. In an odd way, his senses of smell and touch were more alive than ever, as if to compensate for the suppression of his preternatural hearing and vision. Everything was magnified a hundred fold.
Her breath caught in her throat when his lips skimmed just above the waistband of her thin cotton sleep shorts. “Yes?” He would do nothing she didn’t want him to. Too much of her life was beyond her control. In this, she held all the power.
When she didn’t immediately answer, he raised his head.
For the rest of eternity, he’d never forget the vision she made lying in the meager moonlight streaming through the bedroom window.
Her hair was a molten cloud haloed around her head.
Her eyes were half-shuttered, her lips parted.
She was pure seduction and enticing innocence.
She held his fate in her hands. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
If she told him to leave, he’d go, but it would destroy something inside him.
She pushed upright and cupped his face. No other lover had ever treated him as gently. His heart pounded so hard his chest ached. She placed her hands on his shoulders and slowly eased them downward over his torso, not stopping until she reached the button of his jeans.
He sucked in his stomach when her fingers pushed beneath the fabric. The button opened. The sound of the zipper being lowered reverberated in every cell of his body. When she wrapped her hand around his shaft, time stopped. Dropping his head back, he groaned. It was the most exquisite torture.
“You’re so hard, so hot.” Goose bumps raced up his arms. She was seducing him with both her actions and words.
“You’re softness and strength. I crave your warmth.
” He’d been emotionally cold for so damn long he’d forgotten what it was like to feel something beyond mild annoyance.
It slammed into him like a nuclear blast, shattering the remaining barriers inside him, stripping him bare, leaving him utterly exposed.
He didn’t care. It was worth it to have Cilla touching him.
His chest expanded and contracted like a bellows. Perspiration beaded on his forehead when she tentatively moved her hand up and down. He covered her fingers with his, stopping the motion. “I’m too close to the edge.” His voice was ragged and rough.
Rather than be frightened, she smiled. “Like that, do you?”
His woman was enjoying exercising her sensual wiles.
His woman. His woman. The words echoed in his brain. He shook his head in denial. He wanted her, he liked her, but she couldn’t belong to him. Not now. Not ever.
Leaning forward, he guided her down until she was once again flat on her back. This was about two adults enjoying sexual relations. It was all it could ever be, so he’d damn well make it the best night of both their lives.
He gripped the waistband of her sleep shorts. When she didn’t object, he lowered them down her long, lean legs and tossed them aside. Her mound had a light covering of hair. He longed to know if it was the same fiery color as her hair. “I want to see you. Can I turn on a light?”
She surprised him by reaching out and clicking on a bedside lamp.
She was a woodland nymph. No, a goddess.
He wanted to make love to her in the secluded gazebo, surrounded by the perfume of the roses, serenaded by birdsong.
He lost the ability to speak, mesmerized by the sight of her bare before him, appreciating the tremendous gift he’d been given.
And his question had been answered. The hair on her mound was the same coppery shade as the hair spilling across the pillows.
Her breasts moved up and down with each breath.
Her nipples were hard red buds, begging for attention.
He slid his hands up the insides of her legs and pushed her thighs open. When she made a slight sound of distress, he caught her gaze. “You’re beautiful. Pink and plump and lush. More beautiful than any rose.” A delightful blush tinged her cheeks.