Time Thief: A Time Thief Novel (21 page)

I wanted him on a physical level because I’d have to be dead to do otherwise, but it was that lost, lonely man beneath the handsome covering that made me shiver with desire.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Not just yet. Maybe later,” I answered, my mind filled with all sorts of erotic pictures. Like Peter spread-eagle, naked, and welcoming my attentions.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Or perhaps he should be wet and naked. I glanced at the claw-foot bathtub apparent through the tiny room that contained only the tub and a sink, and wondered if he was at all interested in taking a bubble bath. I pursed my lips at the thought of spreading soap over his sleek, wet flesh. “Thanks.”

“You’re not really listening to me, are you?”

Then again, that session outside on the picnic blanket was pretty wild. I had a sudden yearning to give him a massage—a sensual massage—out there under the light of the moon, the cool, pine-scented breezes encouraging
the warmth of body-to-body contact. Especially as enhanced by massage oil.

“What is it exactly that you’re thinking about?”

“Sliding around on your well-oiled body,” I answered without thinking, the mental vision of doing just that commanding every last bit of my attention.

“Kiya,” Peter said, his voice somewhat strangled.

A hint of something being wrong snapped me out of my reverie. “Yes?”

“Against my better judgment, I must ask that you leave this room immediately.”

I gawked at him, outright gawked, all the happy dreams of molesting him with massage oil dying a sad and cruel death. My cheeks went red-hot as I stammered out, “You want me to leave?”

“If you do not leave right now,” he said, his face rigid and unmoving, “it is quite likely that I will take advantage of the sacred trust placed in me by the Otherworld Watch by doing lascivious things to your delicious thighs. And breasts. And mouth, assuming it’s no longer painful. There are other parts, as well, that would come under my scrutiny, but since I am a gentleman, and gentlemen do not go into details of a personal nature with women they’ve known for such a short amount of time, I will desist from listing exactly what I plan to do to those parts. Instead, I encourage you to leave so you do not have to witness my moral downfall.”

I stared at him, my mind exploding in a wild celebration of joy and desire that left me momentarily speechless.

“You have”—he consulted a clock—“exactly eight seconds before I can no longer restrain myself. Do I make myself clear?”

I blinked a couple of times, not because it helped the thought processes, but because I honestly couldn’t think of anything else to do that didn’t involve shredding the clothes right off his wonderfully warm, hard body.

“Kiya? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nodded.

“You have four seconds left. Leave now if you are intending to escape me slaking my not-insubstantial lust upon your fair and tempting self.”

I blinked again. There really didn’t seem to be much else to do, to be honest.

“Three,” he counted down, his gaze on the clock. “Two.”

“One,” I said just a fraction of a second before I pounced. My action, not expected by him, resulted in us lying in a heap on the bed, Peter solid and warm and smelling oh-so wonderfully good beneath me. “You don’t happen to have any massage oil, do you? The kind that gets warm? Because I can think of a lot of places on you that I’d like to use it.”

“I am the man,” he answered, moaning slightly when I sat up on his thighs and slid my hands into his shirt in order to caress that glorious chest of his. “If there is any usage of massage oil—and no, sadly, I had not thought to bring some with me, but I will rectify that oversight at the earliest convenient moment—then I will be the one to use it first. You may use it only after I’ve had my way with you. How is your bra fastened? It refuses to come off.”

While he spoke, he had been busy removing my shirt, his hands wonderfully warm on my breasts. I stopped stroking his pectoral muscles long enough to undo the hook on the front of my bra, doing a little moaning of my own when his hands cupped my breasts.

“You are so soft,” he murmured, his fingers doing
things to what I had previously thought of as mundane breasts until I arched back, thrusting myself into his hands, glorying in the feel of him. “Soft and warm and begging to be tasted.”

“Tasting is good,” I said breathlessly. He pulled me forward and slightly up so that his mouth could capture one suddenly needful breast. “Tasting is wonderful. Tasting is to be commended. Oh lordy, yes, right there. Do that thing with your tongue again. Wait. You need your pants off.”

“Yes, yes, I do,” he agreed, but refused to release me so I could take them off. What followed no doubt would have looked to a witness like an awkward tangle of arms and legs and jeans and breasts as I struggled to get his clothing off at the same time he tried to remove mine, lavish attention to my breasts, and touch me with what felt like molten fingers of pure sexual rapture.

“You’re supposed to be a magical person,” I said at one point, my voice muffled since my hair had somehow become tangled around one of his shirt buttons, leaving the shirt draped around my head while I tried simultaneously to work free my hair and pull off his remaining shoe so I could shuck his pants. He was likewise trying to remove my jeans, and continue to molest my breasts in a way that left me utterly witless. “Why can’t you just make our clothes disappear so we can be naked together? Get with the program, magic man!”

“We are Travellers, not magicians,” he grumbled around my other breast, paying it due homage because it had complained of being left out of the fun. “We can’t make things disappear.”

“Time,” I gasped, finally getting my hair untangled from his shirt. I flung it onto the ground, growled at the
sight of his now-naked chest, and jerked the jeans right off his body, like a waiter pulling a tablecloth out from under a full set of dishes.

“What about it?” he asked, trying to pull my torso back in range of his mouth at the same time his hands were busy removing my underwear.

“What about what? Holy jebus, man!” His underwear had come off with the jeans. I stared in wonder at the magnificent sight that greeted my eyes. “You are like…woof! That’s…impressive.”

“What is?” he asked, his words obscured by my breast, which was once again quite happily in his mouth. I squirmed in pleasure and tried to twist in such a way that I could reach his very impressive penis, and yet continue to allow him to do all those wonderful things he was doing to me.

“Huh? Oh, your penis.”

“Ah. Thank you.” He looked modest for a moment. “I don’t have any complaints about it, although I will admit that around you it has been a bit less than comfortable. I trust that it won’t pose a problem later?”

“Later?” I stopped nipping at his collarbone, glancing back at where his penis saluted me with a jaunty little bob. “In what way would it pose a problem? Wait a minute, just what are you planning on doing with it? I told you that I’m not into anything kinky! No back-door action! No weird foot fetish stuff! No mushroom stamping!”

“I don’t plan on…what the hell is mushroom stamping?”

I squinted at him. “You don’t need to know.”

Those glorious violet eyes looked heavenward for a couple of seconds. “You referenced my size, Kiya. I was
simply trying to ascertain, without saying it in so many words because, as I’ve mentioned, I am a gentleman, and we do not discuss things like lady parts unless it is absolutely necessary, which I’ve yet to find it to be unless the lady in question was indisposed, and then it’s not so much a discussion of her parts, but of her general sense of disinterest…. Where was I?”

“Lady parts?” I asked hopefully, gesturing to mine.

“Ah. Yes. Very nice.”

“Thank you. I trimmed last night in your honor. Well, to be honest, I was going to trim anyway, because there’s nothing more off-putting than having your pubes running rampant in your pants, but you probably don’t want that mental picture, so we’ll just go back to whatever it is you were saying.”

He took a deep breath. I much appreciated what it did to his chest and gave his nearer nipple a little lick in gratitude. “I was trying to ask you if you anticipated any trouble with your comfort in accommodating such a size.”

I eyed the penis in question. It bobbed again. “You’re not obscenely made. Not like porn-star quality, which is good because there is such a thing as too much. No, you’re just beefy, and that’s fine. I don’t anticipate any problem. Does that ease your mind?”

“Infinitely so.” He returned to kissing a hot, wet path back to my first breast, which made it incredibly happy. “I love your breasts. They are just the perfect size for my hands and mouth. I would like to see them covered in the massage oil that I don’t yet have.”

“I would like that, as well. Whoa, you are really, really hard, aren’t you?” I struggled to get one hand back in
order to touch his genitals, but it was a difficult position to hold. “And hot. Really hot. You don’t have a fever down there, do you? An infection or something?”

He released my breast with a wet popping noise, and leveled an outraged look at me. “Are you saying that I look like I have a venereal disease?”

“No! Of course not! I would never! It’s just that your penis is really hot. Is that normal?”

His brows lowered. “It is perfectly normal. You are simply consumed with lust and thus can’t differentiate between a normal penis temperature and that of one that is infected. Now cease moving around so that I can lick your belly. I wish to admire your job of trimming, and plan on taking in the scenery on the way down there.”

I giggled, allowing him to pull me up even higher. “I like how you talk. It’s part formal, part old-world. And you get bonus points for doing more than grunting right now. Most men don’t like to talk during sex.”

“This isn’t sex. This is foreplay. And I was born in a small village in Romania, so much of my linguistic pattern comes from there.”

“I thought you said your mom was—oh merciful heavens, yes! Your thumb! Do that again!—I thought she was American?”

His fingers, which had preceded his mouth, had done an intricate little dance in my aforementioned lady parts, leaving me cross-eyed and twitching with all sorts of wonderful emotions.

“I said she was mortal, and she was. Will you cease attempting to escape my hold? I wish to do wicked things to you with my tongue.”

“Oh, I’m totally on board with that, but I want you to feel the love, too.”

He stopped kissing my belly and looked up at me with round eyes.

“So to speak,” I added, bending backward to wrap my fingers around his penis. As I said, it wasn’t a comfortable position, but I was determined that he have his share of the fun, too. “I am nothing if not a thoughtful lover,” I informed him.

“I can tell that you are,” he said, and for a few seconds, his eyes crossed, as well, as I started up a rhythm that I felt he’d enjoy. “However, at this moment, I’m more interested in driving you wild with desire.”

“You’re succeeding,” I gasped when he flipped me over onto my back, and nipped at my hip before continuing his tour to regions southward. “Peter, I—no, seriously, that is the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life—I don’t think I’m going to last much longer.”

“Then, my easily aroused beauty, I believe we have come to the part of the evening where I ask you if you prefer that I use a condom.”

“I would, yes. It’s not that I’m not using something myself, but I just think until we know each other better that it would be a good idea.”

He gave my belly button a lick and a kiss, rolled off me, and padded over to where his duffel bag was sitting on a small table.

“You have the nicest butt I’ve ever seen on a man,” I said conversationally.

“And you’ve seen a lot of men’s asses?” he asked, parroting my comment earlier.

“No, actually, I haven’t. Just a couple in person, but you know, there are such things as pictures and movies,
and I have a pretty good idea of what the general male populace sits on, and you, sir, have a very nice specimen.”

“I will be happy to return the compliment,” he said, handing me a condom package.

“Oooh. I get to put it on you?”

“I thought it might help you resolve yourself to my beefiness,” he said pleasantly, but that was basically the last coherent thing he said for the next sixty seconds. He moaned, he groaned, he muttered things in a language I didn’t understand, he clutched huge handfuls of the sheet, and writhed in absolute pleasure as I worked the condom down the length of him.

“Was it good for you?” I asked, laughing, as he panted beneath me.

He opened both of his eyes and glared at me.

“You did that on purpose.”

“Did what?” I batted my lashes in innocence.

He growled, flipped me onto the side of the bed, and, before I knew it, had me spread-eagle, and was looming above me. “You made that the best condom application ever performed.”

“Well, I don’t want to appear immodest, but I did try to make it a memorable experience since I know most men don’t like wearing them, and I wanted to show my appreciation for the fact that you offered, which was really niiiiiiiiiiiii! Peter!”

Suddenly, he was there, beefy-filled condom and all, thrusting inside me in a manner that left me as the incoherent one. The way he moved was pure magic, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he had been gifted with some supernatural sex powers, because it wasn’t more than a few minutes before I was shattering into the most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced.

Luckily for all my overly sensitive parts, he was just as quick off the mark as I was, and I dug my fingers into the thick muscles of his behind as he arched his back, and gave himself up to his own moment of rapture.

“You’re fast,” I told him some minutes later, when I could think again. I was grateful that my egos and id were so sated by the experience that they didn’t have a thing to say other than to weakly demand that we do it again.

He opened one eye to look at where I was draped across his still-heaving and damp chest, my legs tangled around his, my chin resting on my hands. His hands moved to my butt, where he squeezed a cheek. “That is not a nice thing to say, woman.”