Burning Skies (36 page)

But the implied threat worked her like nothing else.

Your blood is intoxicating,
he sent.

She lay trembling, her hips rocking into his hand, his mouth pressed close to her sex as he drank from her. That she was giving to him as he gave to her also wound her up. But the friction of his fingers was heaven, dragging out, pushing in, going faster and faster until the pleasure reached the knife-edge. She trembled as ecstasy streaked over the most tender part of her, drove up her core and punched at her in a blaze of orgasm so powerful she cried out then screamed, his arm a piston as he worked his fingers in and out, over and over, his lips sucking her essence from her vein.

Oh, God.

Only as her hips settled did he stop the motion of his hand and arm, then finally withdraw from the vein. He kissed her skin above the two red points where his fangs had sunk deep. He kissed her over and over and with the back of one finger stroked her gently between her legs.

After a minute or two, he once more sat on his heels and looked at her. His eyes were hazy and he had her blood on his lips. He looked so pumped, even wired. She wanted to reach up and touch him because he looked dazed. “You okay?” she asked, her breaths still in little gasps.

He nodded. He closed his eyes and took deep gulps of air. His muscles looked larger, just as they had the last time. He flexed his pecs, opened his eyes, then looked down at his erection.

He was massive. She clenched unexpectedly as she saw that he wept from the tip. She wanted him so much. For all the incredible pleasure he had just given her, she wanted him inside her, joined to her, connected,
one.

“Marcus,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze. “Out of respect for you, so long as you are with me on Second, I will not form another link. I hereby make this solemn promise.”

His smile was slow, and he looked satisfied, like a man who had gone on a hunt and brought down his prey. He nodded. “Good.”

She felt the shields release one after the other, soft little pops of power. She flexed her arms and drew her legs up, bending at the knee. But she kept her legs spread wide … for him.

He settled between her thighs, his cock at her opening, pressing just a little. He leaned over her, planting his hands on either side of her shoulders. She put her hands on his chest and in slow strokes covered the breadth of his pecs. She flicked his nipples. His head arched and he moaned. She drifted her hands down his sculpted abdomen, lower and lower until she had her palms against his groin. “I want to take you there.” She pressed her fingers against his vein and stroked upward. “I want my fangs in you and sucking your blood just as you took mine.”

His hips bucked. “Havily, this is madness.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “A very sweet kind of madness.” She reached her right hand low and surrounded his cock. “Inside. Now, Warrior. All the way.”

His eyes flared as he met her gaze. He moved fast, jabbed, and in a single smooth stroke penetrated her. She cried out at the invasion and the pleasure, both of which made her so happy. But he was big and it took a minute to adjust to his size. In this, he took his time, moving in short strokes and grinding against her in a circle as her body stretched and accommodated him. She slid her arms around his neck and held on.

This wouldn’t take long. He was worked up and she was ready again, her body trembling, the fire of the potion gripping the core of her. She clenched around him, stroking him, savoring the feel of him deep inside.

As he started pumping into her, she closed her eyes and eased back on the bed, letting her arms slide over his shoulders. She focused on the beautiful sensation of being taken by him. There were many sexual pleasures, but this one, of having what was most essentially male driving into her, affected her the most, not just physically but emotionally. Her chest filled with an ache she couldn’t explain but which grew more profound the longer he pumped into her.

Havily,
he sent.
I want in. Now.

She could feel his mind press against her mental shields. Her body was on fire again, but this was different, this would change things. Adrenaline joined the mix and though she felt like she should tell him no, she couldn’t resist. She wanted Marcus in her head, taking her in deep mind-engagement, one more step along the path to full communion.

Yes,
she whispered, and the last of her reserves fled as he entered her mind.

Marcus was so powerful that when his mind moved inside hers, she was at first overwhelmed by his presence. He groaned and his hips jerked against her. He dove through her thoughts and her memories. Her body responded, the pleasure she had felt turning from a solid blaze into an enormous bonfire. His presence in her mind, the fire in her breasts, and the deep pleasure between her legs converged. She was all arms and legs, stroking, holding, hugging, wrapping, and undulating under him until his hips moved faster.

With her legs, she locked him against her, arched her back, and screamed as he pushed her once more over the edge. He joined her, also arching back, pulling away and shouting his release.

Oh. God. Pleasure barreled through her up and up until even her chest was filled with ecstasy. She screamed again and then his mouth was on hers as he pumped the last few bits of his seed into her, his harsh breaths battling her own deep pants.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered against his lips. Her body was locked around his, her legs entwined and holding him seated against her, both her arms snaked around him, one surrounding his back, the other his neck, her fingers trapped in his hair.

He lay on her, breathing hard, his mouth on her neck.

“Havily. Havily,” he said against her skin. He kissed her and she smiled, her head falling from one side to the next and back. His kisses followed. She was so happy, glowing, content, and he was still inside her head. She could feel him, a warm comforting presence.

For the first time in fifteen years, since Eric died, she didn’t feel alone. She smiled at the ceiling and sucked in more much-needed air. Her shoulders relaxed and her legs finally released him but she hoped he would remain inside her, both his mind and his cock. She didn’t want this moment to end, not now, not yet, maybe not ever.

Oh. God.

*   *   *

Marcus was in trouble.

He knew that now. He hadn’t gotten it before, but reality was starting to sink in.

He’d been inside Havily’s mind and though it was impossible to see everything about a person in a single mind-penetration, he had seen her, really seen her, the depth of her, even though she pretended not to have depth, the kindness of her, though she could take what was dealt her, the breadth of her ability to love, though she kept her emotions tight, controlled, remote.

Yeah, her ability to love swamped him, not that she was loving him right now but that she had such profound capacity, and he yearned for that as though he’d never had a yearning before. He wanted her love, now and forever.

He dipped his arms beneath her back and held her to him, wanting that heart of hers to press against his chest and slide inside. Then he drew back, his arms as well. He put his lips to hers and kissed her. He kissed her, full-bodied kisses, his tongue dipping and tasting, reaching her, the depth of her.

He kept kissing her until her body once more moved and undulated. He hadn’t meant to suggest that he make love to her again, but he was still connected and when her hips moved and created more friction he was ready with just a few strokes. This time he kept his connection to her mouth until she was moaning once more. He was still inside her mind.
I want you, Havily, all of you,
he sent.

You have me
returned.

He didn’t have her, though, at least not yet. But somehow making love to her made him want her as he hadn’t wanted a woman in over a millennia. He felt anxious in the midst of the pleasuring and connection. With so much flowing between them, with the taking of her mind, just how easy was it going to be, once he’d made her safe on Second, to step away from her and let her live her life without him?

His heart seized and he forced the difficult thoughts away. She was here, she was his
now.
He never broke the connection of his mouth to her mouth or his mind to her mind. He just kept working his hips, moving against her in strong pulses, pushing then drawing back.

You’re mine.

I’m yours.

He sped up, and he took her again. He took her until she was screaming at the ceiling, pinning her legs around his hips, again and again and again.

What is age,

But a state of mind.

—
Collected Proverbs,
Beatrice of Fourth

CHAPTER 15

Parisa was a very wicked woman.

She sat barefoot on the bottom step of the stairs that led corkscrew fashion up to the turret room. She had been in the second-story room for half an hour then decided to come downstairs to fix something to eat.

She’d gotten as far as the bottom step when she’d heard the throaty cries from all the way down the hall. If she hadn’t known
who
was in the house, or if she hadn’t already slept in the room opposite Havily and Marcus, she might have wondered if a crime was being committed.

The trouble was, she had finally come to understand the nature of the power she possessed, a power that allowed her to
see
what others were doing.

When she had told Havily about her visions, that they most often if not always involved Warrior Medichi, she had believed they were connected to him.

Not so. In the past few minutes of having focused on the activity in the southern part of the house, she had opened a sort of window to the events in Marcus and Havily’s room, and she had watched the lovemaking like a voyeur, like one who prowls outside windows at night and looks in to see what’s going on. Only it wasn’t nighttime and she wasn’t outside a window.

And yet she could see into the couple’s room as surely as she could see the planked floor beneath her feet. Even now, she watched Marcus and Havily and she just couldn’t seem to look away.

She leaned over and planted her elbows on her knees, her fists cradling her cheeks.

She had never seen anything so beautiful as the way Marcus kissed Havily while he made love to her. Their bodies glowed with tendrils of light, some pale green, others a golden brown, but all sparkling like diamonds. Yes, so beautiful. Marcus had to be
in love
with Havily but did he know it? Did she?

Her fingers were wet.

She glanced down then swiped her cheeks. She’d been weeping.

And why wouldn’t she be when she was so moved? Her heart ached at the sight of them together, connected at their hips, joined fully, for she had even seen him enter her.

But she really was a wicked woman to be watching.

Her conscience finally smote her and she drew out of the room, closing the mental window.

So all this time, that’s what had been happening to her. That’s why she’d been able to see all these warriors, especially Antony Medichi. For some strange, impossible reason, she had the ability to
see
these people, to
see
Warrior Medichi, to watch them all in the midst of their lives, while they ate, made war, made love.

She sat back and stared at the small sunroom across from the stairs. The view opened onto the front lawn. To the left was a pathway arched with vines and a lovely purple flower.

She didn’t know what to think of this world. If Havily was to be believed, then Parisa was Warrior Medichi’s
breh.
But that seemed so absurd. She was a librarian on Mortal Earth, and she really didn’t see how she could possibly fit into Medichi’s warrior lifestyle.

Beyond that, she didn’t want to be here, not really. She didn’t ask to have these powers, to be able to knock the Supreme High Administrator backward with what Alison told her was a hand-blast. She didn’t ask to have wings, or to have this freakish ability to spy on others without their knowing. It was so wrong.

She sighed heavily. She wanted to go home, pour herself a goblet of Cabernet Sauvignon, prepare a bubble bath in her soaking tub, put on Holst’s
The Planets,
sink to her neck, and get lost in the music for the next century.

She wasn’t built for this world or for a warrior who was as tall as an NBA player.

She covered her face with her hands because one particular image of Medichi zoomed through her mind—that moment when he had appeared in the doorway of the kitchen and dropped his towel to expose himself to her.

The tears ran faster now.

How could she explain how much she loved,
loved,
that he had done that for her—as though, on a very elemental level, he trusted her. But in the same way, she trusted him because she already
knew him.
After all, she’d been
spying
on him for over a year, and she knew that in the depths of his being he longed for the same things she did—to be touched, caressed, kissed, made love to.