At That Hour (2 page)

“You know what it means to call me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in her words.

He was only a breath away from her now and she could make out the structure of his face, dangerously beautiful with its firm lines and lush mouth. His dusky colored skin provided the perfect contrast to his thickly lashed emerald eyes and she could see both promise and desire reflected in them. When he smiled, those perfect teeth of his peeked out from a mouth made for kissing and the tiny little points of his fangs signaled his desire. She shuddered with pleasure

She wondered what it would feel like when he dragged them slowly across the sensitive skin of her neck. Nipping and sucking, simulating what it would be like when he took that final plunge and truly broke the last barrier between them, taking what she had to offer and giving more than she could ever expect. Her body flushed with the intensity of her desire and she let it be reflected back at him through her eyes.

This time when he smiled it was there, the knowledge that she was his and he practically glowed from within.

“Then come to me,” he whispered.

III

There was no pretense when he gathered her in his arms, no hesitancy, or awkwardness. His mouth found hers and he devoured it as if it was the most delicious of all rare delicacies. She had never felt anything like it before and she knew that she never would unless it was with his mouth on hers and his hands on her body, working their way under the loose fabric of her dress. She clutched at his shoulders encapsulated in his leather jacket because her legs had long since failed to support her weight. She was awash in senses, and minor things like fine motor skills were of no use to her.

“Maram,” she whispered, when he pulled back to allow her a breath he did not need.

 He watched her with his darkly dangerous intensity and she realized she had used his name for the first time since that night she had called him. The sound of her labored breathing and the rapid thudding of her heart drumming to a beat both primal and enticing were the only sound she heard as he stared at her. His hands abandoned their journey along her thighs and instead moved to cradle her head between them. When he leaned down and placed the softest of kisses upon her lips she felt as if she had shattered and reformed in an image that only he could recognize.

“So long. I have waited so long.” He breathed the words against her lips as if he was breathing life itself into her and she sighed from the pleasure of it.

This time when he kissed her it was slow and measured in its  intensity. His hands resumed their forgotten journey, but there was a purpose that had been lacking before and as the tips of his fingers found her wet and waiting, a shudder gripped her body that she felt all the way to her toes. This time she wouldn’t need whispered words of desire, or slick skin pressed against slick skin, or the gentle give and take of two bodies dictating their own unique rhythm. No, as he lowered them to the ground, lifting her skirt as he moved her panties aside, she knew that the first time would be wanton and primal. Arching her back, she lifted her neck as an invitation only he would get and as he pushed himself inside of her and sank his teeth even deeper she reveled in the intensity of this moment and thought fondly of the many more yet to come. 

JANET

To read similar stories by Janet, check out:

Love Unfurled

J
ANET
E
CKFORD

Like most great superheroes (or super-villains, depending on who’s telling the story) Janet Eckford lives a double life. By day Janet is a mild-mannered crusader for justice (or nefarious deeds, depending on who’s telling the story) and by night an indestructible creator of prose (or pathological liar, depending on who’s telling the story) while munching on her favorite cookies—oatmeal raisin. A native West Coaster who hails from the sunny state of California Janet, has loved the romance genre ever since she convinced her dad it was required reading when she was eleven. Janet believes love shouldn’t have a color code and strives to create stories that represent that belief.

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