“I think you can feel that I am.”
She certainly could and rocked against him, thigh muscles bunching as pleasure darted through her. “I meant . . .” She moaned as he slid one hand up to cup her other breast and knead it before his fingers went to work on the sensitive tip. “I meant . . . your head . . .”
“My head aches,” he muttered, “but I couldn’t care less. I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks.”
He abandoned her breast and reclaimed her lips. Falling backward on the bed, he rolled her beneath him. Jenna gasped as he inserted a knee between her legs and began to apply rhythmic pressure.
She loved the feel of him above her, his weight pressing down on her, his heat surrounding her. She loved him.
He trailed kisses down her neck, her chest, stroking one breast, then the other as he rose onto his knees. His tongue found her belly button the same time his fingers clasped the elastic waistband of her pants. “I love yoga pants,” he murmured.
Jenna laughed and shifted her hips as he drew them down, taking her panties with them, and tossed them on the floor.
“Now you,” she insisted.
His boxers landed on the dresser.
He had the hottest body. All muscle and sinew. Strong and perfect.
She felt a moment of insecurity. While she had managed to keep her weight down over the years, having a baby, then lacking both the time and energy to exercise hadn’t exactly left her with the tightest, most fit physique.
“You’re so beautiful, Jenna,” he murmured, those large warm hands exploring every inch of her as he raised eyes that glowed with desire to meet hers.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
Growling, he slid farther down the bed, slid his arms beneath her knees and lowered his head to take her with his mouth.
Jenna threw back her head and gripped the sheets as pleasure scalded her, heating her blood. Moaning, she reached down and clutched his hair with desperate hands. His mouth was so warm, his tongue doing things she didn’t even know a tongue could do until ecstasy exploded within her.
Crying out, she rode the wave as Richart continued to play, prolonging her orgasm, then sending her off into another.
Panting, she collapsed against the sheets.
Richart rose above her, his expression fierce and triumphant and full of longing.
Jenna planted a hand on his chest and gave him a little push. He fell back, watching her with those hypnotic amber eyes as she rose and straddled his knees.
“My turn,” she said, then grasped his heavy erection and engaged in a little play of her own, stroking, squeezing, reveling in every groan she elicited.
“Jenna.”
Smiling, she lowered her head and closed her mouth around the warm soft tip. He moaned and muttered something in French.
She hadn’t done this in a very long time, but any concern she felt that she might not be doing it well fled when he tunneled his fingers through her hair and urged her on.
“So good,” he murmured.
His pleasure sparked a return of hers. She loved the way he tasted, the way he reacted to every long draw, every stroke of her tongue. And she loved the ecstasy that swept his handsome features as he came hard, calling her name.
Easing up to lie beside him, she watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
He turned his head, met her gaze. “That was incredible.” Rolling onto his side, he smiled. “My headache is gone.”
Jenna laughed. “Good.”
He leaned in, brushed her lips with his. “Very good. Because I’m not finished with you.”
Her breath caught as he fondled her breast. “You aren’t?”
He shook his head, a mischievous gleam entering his glowing eyes as he slid his hand down her stomach to the heart of her and teased the sensitive nub hidden there.
She wouldn’t have thought she would be able to orgasm again, but the need that rapidly rose told her otherwise.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered, rising up to settle between her thighs. “I want to be inside you the next time you come.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “And I want you there.”
Richart stared down at Jenna’s pretty face, flushed with pleasure. Positioning his cock at her entrance, he slid inside.
She was warm and tight and delightfully eager.
She slid her hands down to grip his ass.
Richart lowered his head to take her lips once more, kneaded her breast as he withdrew, then drove home again. And again. And again. The pleasure once more rising. Even better this time with her body clutching his.
He had known it would be like this. All those nights he had imagined being right here, moving inside Jenna, his feet hanging off the too-short bed, he had known it would be better than anything he had ever experienced before. And, when she threw back her head and cried out as another orgasm claimed her, her inner muscles tightening convulsively around him and driving him into his own, he knew he was lost. There would never be another for him.
Jenna was it. She was the one.
Rolling to his side, Richart held her close.
And tried not to think what the future would hold for them.
The weeks that followed were perhaps the most blissful of Jenna’s life. She and Richart were inseparable. When they weren’t working, they were together. When he was working and she was at home, they talked on the phone or texted, pausing only long enough for him to slay vampires, which was bizarre.
She learned something new about him every day. None of it frightened her, though, despite his concern that each revelation would be too much, that this or that would be the thing that was just too weird for her.
One night Richart hefted her effortlessly onto his back and raced through the countryside at preternatural speeds. It was scary and exhilarating and so much fun. Richart could outrun cars. And did so just to impress her, his eyes sparkling with boyish pleasure as she laughed.
He made her feel like a teenager again. Carefree and young, despite the fatigue that pulled at her. Working all night and playing with Richart nearly all day was taking its toll. But it was totally worth it.
They never spoke of the future. Never discussed what might happen to their relationship long-term. What would happen when she began to age and he stayed young.
He had mentioned once that, if she wished, she could have her DNA tested to see if she could be transformed without turning vampire. Jenna suspected he hadn’t mentioned it again because he feared what the test may reveal and wanted to hold on to hope for just a little longer.
The fact that she was actually a brunette seemed to please him. Jenna had been dyeing her hair off and on ever since she had begun to go gray prematurely at the age of twenty. An overwhelming majority of gifted ones apparently had black hair. He did know of two, however, who had brown hair.
He hadn’t asked her if she wanted to be transformed, probably because it wasn’t as easy a decision to make as one might think. If she were transformed, Jenna would outlive her son, the grandchildren he would give her in the future, and their grandchildren, too.
Shaking off the somber thoughts, Jenna finished washing the breakfast dishes and dried her hands on the towel hanging beside the sink.
“What time is Richart coming over?” John asked, still poring over one of his textbooks at the table. He wouldn’t have to leave for his first class for another hour.
“I don’t know. He said it might be a late night and didn’t want to talk because his sister and another immortal were with him and would overhear.”
“Ahh.”
In the next breath, Richart appeared in the living room. He wore his usual vampire hunting togs: black shirt, black pants, long black coat, daggers and throwing stars in every loop and pocket and sheath. Smudges of blood adorned his upper lip and chin, as if someone had punched him hard enough to break his nose. His eyes glowed a vibrant amber. His features, when he caught and held her gaze, bore an intensity that sucked the breath from her lungs.
“What happened?” Jenna asked, closing the distance between them.
Looping an arm around her waist, he yanked her to him and claimed her lips in a long, passionate kiss.
Jenna forgot everything as fire burned through her and every nerve ending sprang to life. Forgot the blood on his chin. Forgot the weapons weighing him down and poking her as he pressed her against him. Forgot her son.
By the time Richart raised his head, she was as breathless as though she had just run the 400-meter relay.
Richart looked over her shoulder and nodded abruptly. “John.”
“Hey,” John said, sounding stunned.
“Excuse us, please.” As soon as Richart finished the husky proclamation, he whisked them to his bedroom in his home.
Jenna had no time to ask him what was wrong. He went to work, removing their clothing at preternatural speeds. His kiss was fierce, his hands aggressive in their exploration of her, turning her body to liquid fire.
Richart said nothing, the need to touch Jenna, to feel her against him, overwhelming. He was so desperate for her. He worried he might be hurting her until she wrapped her legs around him and begged for more.
Tossing her onto the bed, he dove after her. There was little foreplay this time. He needed her too much. As soon as he felt how wet she was for him, he sank inside, taking her fast and hard with strong, powerful strokes.
