to her knees. He paused a moment, gazing down at her. She smiled. Vanity aside, she was in darn good shape…for her age.
“Pleased with yourself?” he asked, grinning down at her.
“Not yet. I haven’t seen all I want to.”
“It’ll have to wait!”
As she debated the wisdom of ripping her slacks off, he bent over and breathed between her legs.
She almost left the mattress, crying out as his heated mouth covered her. It was wonderful, incredible, but not enough. Was he intending to string this out, to make her wait, to make her beg? He’d go begging!
His mouth was magnificent, but she wanted, needed more. Much more. And he knew it. Wrenching her legs apart, she ripped her slacks. That rather distracted him a bit. “What was that for? I was about to get there!”
“I’m disinclined to wait,” she replied, sitting up enough to kick off the remnants of her slacks and pull off her shirt, tossing it aside.
He seemed happy to stand and watch. Extremely happy going by the convex zipper on his jeans. Tossing aside the last shreds of clothing, she leaped up and stood beside him. “You’ve had your eyeful. Now it’s my turn. She twirled him around, tipped him back on the bed, and unzipped and yanked down his jeans faster than he had time to argue. Not that that was the least likely.
Standing back, she took her time admiring. Beautiful was not the word. His skin was a wonderful golden shade, highlighted by the tawny hair across his chest and the cluster of darker curls at his groin. Fixing her with his dark eyes, he waved his cock as if saluting and, darn his arrogance, settled his hands behind his head and grinned.
Antonia deliberately focused her entire attention on his chest. Not much of a hardship, really. She knelt between his legs as she trailed her fingertips over his chest, down to his navel and just a wee bit lower, skipping the darker curls to stroke the flat of her hand down his thighs. Sweet Abel! The man had muscles. Potting must be harder labor than she’d imagined, or the man worked out like a maniac. It had been decades, maybe centuries, since she’d encountered a mortal body this firm, this…
She met his eyes. “Nice,” she whispered, letting her mouth twitch a little as she trailed one finger up the inside of his thigh, pausing just a hairsbreadth from his balls. “Very nice, in fact.” Brushing them softly, she ran her finger up the side of his cock. “Extraordinarily nice, really.”
So darn nice, it was ridiculous to prolong this any longer.
Moving fast, she straddled him. Positioning herself just a centimeter or two above the tip of his magnificent cock, she ran her hands over his chest and across his shoulders. Hard bodied was not the word. He was as firm as one of his pots warm from the kiln.
And the best part of him would be…she waited no longer and lowered herself. Slowly.
He let out an almost agonized sigh of sheer and utter joy. That much she read in his eyes as she tightened around him and rocked gently.
“Dear saints in heaven!” he gasped. “What in creation are you?”
“I told you!” She laughed, lifting herself just enough to ease half off him before lowering back down, all the time holding him tight. Wondrous was not the word. Magnificent was utterly inadequate. He was…Michael! It was the only word to describe the wonder deep in her cunt.
She murmured his name. Repeatedly. In rhythm with her body, holding his eyes with hers, not by will but by mutual desire.
As her climax rose, a distant part of her mind dimly registered that never had she known a man so strong, so virile. He was her match. Had to be something in that horse’s blood that slowed her, but now was not the time to ponder that.
Sensing him peaking inside her, she leaned down, brushing her breasts against his chest and setting her lips on his skin. He smelled male, alive and horny, and for this moment in time, he was hers. Her desire surged as she eased her lips up to the base of his neck and the richness of his life pulsed against her tongue.
His arms encircled her, holding her, embracing her. Her body sang with need, heat, desire, anticipation of the rightness of his lifeblood, and the rising power of her climax.
She rubbed her fangs over the skin above his vein. Sensed the pulsing heat beneath them as she gently bit.
His body bucked with the power of his orgasm. Wild, guttural feral groans rose from deep in his gut. His hand raked her back, each scratch intensifying her own climax. His hips rocked; his back reared up, and with a tremendous surge within, he rose, turning so now she was underneath. He leaned into her, the weight of their bodies digging his nails deep into her back as her fangs held tight. She was lost in sensation, drowning with sheer and utter blinding pleasure as her body rocked with his and her being absorbed the power of his mighty climax, engulfing his strength in her own soul-rending peak.
Seemed they clung to each other for an eternity, joined in the after-ripples of ecstasy, drowning in wild pleasure and the total joy of their mutual possession.
He was gasping, great breaths that expanded his strong chest and flattened her breasts between them. He was hot, damp with sweat and their bodies melded together. Joined as their minds and emotions had linked a while earlier.
Slowly, sadly, she felt him soften inside her and ease out. She bit back the whimper of disappointment. She was vampire. She was not showing mortal female weakness. Instead, she rolled on her side, and resting a hand on his shoulder, leaned up and licked the wound in his neck, stanching the already slowing flow of blood. Just the taste of him on the tip of her tongue roused a surge of lust. Better restrain herself. She wasn’t leaving him helpless.
She curled up against him, luxuriating in his closeness and maleness. Her eyelids drooped with satiation when he whispered in her ear. “You weren’t kidding about the vampire line, were you?”
Darnation! Sweet Abel, help her! How could she have been so indiscreet? But she had. Easy to take care of. Just take his memory away.
Her hand resting on his chest over his heart, Antonia ran her lips up his neck, pausing just long enough to appreciate the sinews and muscle under his skin, then rested her lips on his forehead and focused on the mind within. Nothing. Utter silence, like a shuttered room or a deserted landscape. Lifting her lips, she looked down at his eyes. Oh, they were intelligent alright. Hazy with the aftermath of sex, but alert, clear, contented.
Was massive brain damage possible? No, he’d barely function in that case, and Michael Langton functioned very nicely. “What are you?”
He smiled up at her, brushing the hair off her forehead. “I told you, the local legend.”
Damn him! So he was the village stud, and she’d fallen for him like a simpering mortal. “Of course you are,” she replied. Fast as she could move, she got out of bed and reached for the remnants of her clothing.
“Hey!” Michael said, jumping out of bed and grabbing her arm. “Where are you going?”
“Home!” Or at least the closest approximation nearby—a nice country house hotel.
“Not yet,” he said. “Stay. You can’t walk away like that. Not after what happened between us.”
Whether she could or couldn’t, she was going to.
