by Jackie Ivie
And her.
He licked the puncture holes closed. “Don’t let them ruin this, Ashley...please?”
“But Lucien—”
She lifted her head, speared his gaze with hers. Looking deep. He didn’t know what she was looking for, so he gave her the most innocent look he could manage and held it while she just stayed there, regarding him for countless moments. His heart beat with a ragged rhythm that matched hers.
“Ashley...please? I don’t know what happens next. But I really want to find out. Please?”
“You shoulder...could...separate again.”
She was having trouble with her words. She was also sitting upright again, her hands splayed across his chest, subconsciously kneading his pecs, when he’d much rather her fingers were back around his cock. A push of his hips upward gave every indication of it. She didn’t seem to understand.
“No. No. It won’t happen again.” And even if – by some chance - it did, he wasn’t going to say a word. Not even a whisper.
“You certain?”
“Please?”
The word was guttural and accompanied by a lunge of his groin against the wall of material she was wearing. She tipped her head to one side and lifted one eyebrow, making his heart do another swoop in his chest. And then, before his completely rapt gaze, she moved one hand to the zipper at her throat and started pulling it down.
Oh...sweet, sweet paradise!
Lucien’s entire body lurched upward, lifting her with it. She had the cutest smile on her face as she forced him back down, settling them into the space between a mass of mangled wood and the rock wall. She didn’t take her eyes off his, and he was determined not to move. Not a hair. But then he lost the fight and his vision dipped, following the opening she created, revealing skin...and the swell of breasts.
Breasts!
Oh...oh. Oh! He was going to actually see them. Really see! And touch! Real breasts. Oh heavens! Paradise! Only hers looked better than any Renaissance painting he’d surreptitiously studied in his adolescence. Warmer. More luscious. And as he watched, a series of shivers raised bumps on the skin.
The zipper stopped at her navel. He watched as she parted the material and then shrugged it off, as if it was nothing!
“I don’t wear a bra. I don’t like rules and restrictions. It’s my mini-revolt. Uh...you don’t mind, do you?”
“A what?”
She giggled. Oh. She had perfect breasts. Not large. Not saggy. Perfect...with small, tight-tipped nipples. Lucien had his hands cupped about either one, kneading flesh, while experiencing sparks that went from her erect nipples right through his palms.
“Lucien...you have to let go.”
“No.”
“I can’t get the suit off if you don’t. Oh—fine. I never liked it that much anyway.”
She solved the problem by slipping her hands into the opening at her waist and yanking the outfit open, busting seams, and then she took him. All the way into her cavern. Where it was wet. And hot. And tight. Encasing him...
And Lucien went crazy.
He grabbed her hips and started pumping, alternately lifting her. Bringing her back atop him. Pushing her off. Pulling back down. Out. In. Out. Oh! Nobody could’ve described the combination of sensations he was experiencing. Tension that built along his spinal cord, sparks of heat that hit his limbs. The rapture. The scope. His heartbeat thumped mightily. Each breath grew harsh. He watched, enrapt, as Ashley flung her head back and keened the most eerie sound into existence.
And then there was the thumping sound. It was back. Hounding him. Pushing him. Matching every thrust, every shove...every bit of momentum. It was choreographing something momentous. Existence altering. The certainty hovered just at the edge of consciousness; sometimes coming closer, bringing a bluish cast to the inferno about them. Sometimes it was yellow. But always it contained red. Hot. Fiery. Smoke and heat filled. His buttocks tensed. Ashley added to it, with another shuddering release and another sobbed cry.
Glimmers of wonder came closer. Teasing. Tempting. Motivating. Lucien pumped harder. Faster. And Ashley kept going into all sorts of gyrations of bliss, her cavern matching it as it milked and held and loved.
Again.
And again.
And so many times, he lost count. And still his mate rode him. Educating as she gripped at him, engendering all kinds of mind-boggling effects. The room wasn’t just whirling anymore, it was wildly rotating. The lights careened into a mixture of colors. And still Ashley rode him. Gripping. Slamming him fully into her. Releasing him. Encasing him. Releasing. Sensation mounted atop sensation. Heat built to flame. Red turned to maroon. The color and texture of blood. The sensation went higher. Loomed bigger. Broader.
Lucien was more than laughing. He was caught in a vortex of joy. A carousel of pleasure. An altar of delight. His body finding all kinds of pleasures with each thrust. Harder. Deeper.
Her breath got deeper. More strident. His matched. He panted. Shoving air out before sucking in more. And every move slapped his buttocks into the slate floor, while every push upward encased him in an ever-increasing torrent. Pressure built, hovering at his back before moving. It reached buttocks. His groin. His balls. And then it entered his cock, and then...
“Ash! Ley!”
He cried her name, splitting it in two parts just before his entire existence shattered, exploding into a white-hot sensation that burned. Annihilated. Cleansed.
Renewed.
He might have been surrounded by a swirl of reddish-orange, but with every pulse he gave, it altered, becoming every color. In every hue. With every sort of intensity. He’d watch, but he’d clenched his eyes tight as everything shuddered in non-rhythmic, disjointed shudders. Every breath burned. Every beat of his heart thrilled. And every vein carried massive bliss.
They dropped with a thud back onto his robe. Lucien hadn’t even known they’d risen. His body still trembled, adrift in thrill. He’d never felt such wonder. Words of description failed him. Awareness took some time to intrude. Gain substance. Value. Credence. And nothing on him desired any of that.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Lucien?”
Lucien didn’t hear Ashley at first. His entire being seemed surrounded by a bubble of bliss. Satiation. Contentment. Sound didn’t break through. Neither did smell. He was having a bit of trouble bringing anything into visual focus, as well. He only knew she spoke because of the vibration of her chest against his. And then she slid an arm to his cheek and tipped his head toward where she rested. At his side. In his arms.
“Lucien?”
Oh. Wow. She took his breath away. Well beyond any painting he’d studied or dream he might have pursued. Some of her hair had come undone from the braid, for tendrils of it trailed along her cheeks, framing her face with red-brown tones that brought out her beauty. He smiled and watched her eyes drop due to what the expression must’ve done to the marked side of his face. He blanked his expression and cleared his throat.
“Yes?”
“What did you do?”
Oh...hell.
His vision blurred with tears. He was thankful she was looking at his scar and seemed to miss them. He didn’t know how to answer. He’d done it wrong? How could the most incredible experience of his life have been wrong? Had he hurt her? Shamed her? Or was there something worse that he didn’t know?
He might have stiffened, but weakness seemed to accompany the horrid realization that he was near sobs. He decided then he’d rather be facing the torturer’s rack, or even the Strappado, where they tied a victim’s hands behind their back before dropping them in a series of jerks, sometimes even adding additional weight to make it more effective. Those behind The Inquisition had been monsters, but they were effective. They’d stop at nothing to get a confession. They usually succeeded.
And that actually sounded better than answering her query.
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
She had a hint of tears in her voice, adding to his to
rment! Using such pain-lanced words! Lucien rolled his head slowly, facing the ceiling again. It wasn’t a fire-filled blend of colors and scent. It was back to normal. Chiseled and shaped black rock, interspersed with long tubular fluorescent lights. Examination bright. For his experiments.
“Aren’t we mates?”
“Yes.”
The word was croaked, but emotionless. It didn’t match the series of goose bumps lifting his skin. Or alter the moisture that just kept filling his eyes, no matter how he blinked. Clearing. Blurring. Clearing. He could only hope she didn’t notice.
“Then tell me. What did you do?”
Lucien pulled in a long breath and answered. Maybe if he’d had a bit of time to recuperate, he wouldn’t be shaking, baring everything.
Maybe.
“Forgive me, Ashley. I can’t tell you...because I don’t know. I—.” Damn everything. This was difficult! He had to swallow again. “I’ve never been with a woman before. I don’t know what I did wrong, and—”
“What?!”
She sat up, and then put both hands about his head and pulled him into a sitting position as well. Cross-legged. She’d also made certain he faced her before she let go.
“Oh no, Lucien. No. No. I only wanted to know why they stuck you on a rack...and you thought—? I’m asking about your imprisonment. Your punishment! You did nothing wrong. Nothing at all. I’m telling you, Lucien, if this wasn’t so tragic, I’d be laughing. No. I’d be throwing shit around. And I mean massive shit. Like mass spectrometer-sized shit.”
“You would?”
“Yeah. Anger does that, and I’m trying like hell to rein mine in at the moment. What on earth did those bastards do to you? Or could it be that you really are a misogynist? You really don’t hate women...do you?”
“I’ve never been around any.”
“What about your mother?”
“I entered the monastery at age five, Ashley. I don’t recall much of her.”
“Well, surely you met women in your life. They crossed your path. You talked with them. Maybe...flirted a bit?”
He shook his head.
“Never?”
He shook his head again, wondering if the awkward, uncomfortable sensation overtaking his body was a flush.
“Oh, Lucien. Wow. You just went way over-the-top perfect. But we need to get something straight. You didn’t do anything wrong. What just happened between us? Well...um. If I was still human, I’d probably have trouble walking.”
“You would?”
“It’s a phrase for how good you are. And how wonderful it was. Oh, Lucien. That was the most amazing experience of my life. There are no words for—oh. Wait. Yes there are. Rapture. Ecstasy. Pleasure. I got delivered into seventh heaven. Is any of this getting through?”
“Uh.”
He didn’t know what to say. Her voice went harsher the longer she spoke. The words were coming faster, too. They didn’t match what she was saying. She sounded more angry than pleasured.
“And if you ever apologize for it again, I’m warning you. I’ll have a hard time holding back anger. Things will get ugly.”
“They will?”
“Oh. I’m starting already. You have been down here within this rock laboratory for too long, because I got news for you. And these words better get through. You are an incredible lover. On top of being drop-dead gorgeous. Okay? And you’re unbelievably sexy. You’re beyond dream-worthy. Very nicely equipped and packaged. I can’t believe I have to point it out. I’m thoroughly amazed women weren’t attacking you on sight. You must have been locked in a tower your entire life. And I swear...if you weren’t already dead, you might want to start running. You hear me?”
She’d moved her hands and gestured with them while she spoke. It was visual as well as extremely loud. Hearing shouldn’t be an option. Lucien was wide-eyed. And his jaw had dropped.
“Well? Don’t just sit there. Start talking. And you better use good words this time. You hear that, too?”
She folded her arms, lifting and highlighting her perfect bosom. He forced his gaze up. She was blinking back tears. Or something that looked close.
“Heresy,” he told her.
“What?”
His heart missed a beat, and when it started back up, the rhythm was faster and a lot harder. She should probably put something on. He was doing his utmost to remain unmoved. He wasn’t succeeding. His hands dropped to his lap, and then he used both of them to hide his erection. He pushed down and somehow managed to answer her coherently.
“You asked...why I was placed on the rack. The charge was heresy.”
The look she gave him, the set of her jaw...well. They looked pretty argumentative. And stubborn. She also tipped her head just slightly to the side before speaking. He’d been right about the argumentative.
“Oh. You have to do better than that, mister.”
“With what?”
He wasn’t pretending the confusion. Not only wasn’t she making sense, but he was having a difficult time concentrating. He was too new at this and the continual sight of so much skin was beyond tempting. He fought to keep his gaze on her face and ignore everything else.
“The next thing you’ll say is you were charged with blasphemy.”
“Oh. Yes. That too, actually.”
“Come on, Lucien. Everyone got hit with heresy and blasphemy. Those were catch-all reasons. I want to know exactly what you did. Exactly. I mean, were you weaving spells? Drawing graffiti? Causing a riot in the congregation during services? What?”
His lip lifted. She was quite amusing. “I wouldn’t stay silent.”
“Not good enough. I’m going to guess that’s part of the blasphemy bit. What did you really do?”
His smile fell. “Why do you want to know?”
“I have my reasons.”
She shrugged. It lifted her bosom. Lucien rocked, his nostrils flared, eyes widened, his buttocks tightened. His cock wasn’t fond of the shove he gave it, either. It pulsed against his palms, in little twinges. And this was ridiculous. He couldn’t be craving his mate again, could he?
So soon? Truly? Shouldn’t satiation last longer than this? And who was he supposed to ask? The object of his issue? Oh no. Not Ashley. She was giving him too much attention now. Anymore and he’d be begging for a repeat. Was this normal? Or did the vampire side make it this...urgent? Desired? Necessary? He’d spent so much time on mental acuity, he was unsure and confused about this physical reaction. That was what made his voice tremble. But maybe she wouldn’t notice.
“I found sponsors for his treatise Magia Mathematica. I made certain it was printed and distributed. I wrote petitions. Ceaselessly. I worked tirelessly at trying to gain his release from prison. Seven years of trying.”
“Magia Mathematica? Isn’t that like...a spell book? Nearly impossible to find? And the only known copies are in Latin? Wait. Do you have a copy?”
She craned her neck and looked over at the half of his table that was still standing. That just put all of her in perfect display and right in his line of sight.
Lucien straightened. That was a mistake. He couldn’t cover and hide his excitement as it was. If she chanced a glance down, she’d know it. If they weren’t sitting atop his robe, he’d be gathering it into his lap. He barely had time to look innocent again as she turned back at him.
“Well?”
“Uh...what did you ask again?”
Lucien had to say it, and then he had to concentrate on holding her gaze as she set her mouth and narrowed her eyes slightly. Even that look sent all kinds of signals his loins didn’t have any trouble receiving. If he could flush, he was flushing. And when she spoke, it was with perfectly enunciated words, as if he was having trouble with hearing and understanding, and not mired in testosterone quicksand.
“Do you have a copy of Bruno’s manuscript entitled Mathematical Magic?”
“Oh. Yes. But I also have the original,” he answered.
Her mouth dropped open. It matc
hed her eyes. And then she jiggled as if with excitement. And her breasts bounced with it.
“Holy shit,” she told him.
She could say that again. His fangs were even betraying him, growing until they reached his lower lip. He had to resort to tightening every muscle at his command and even that just sent heat where he didn’t need it. The floor beneath the robe under his buttocks resembled a warming pad more than chilled slate. Oh. Damn. He shouldn’t have thought of what was beneath him because then he actually had to work at staying grounded. His entire groin area was alert. Hot. And ready. Everything she said and did just ratcheted it higher. Despite every restriction he placed on himself. Holy shit wasn’t remotely apt enough.
“You’re probably wondering how I know so much about him. Aren’t you?”
He nodded. That worked at keeping her talking as well as anything.
“I studied Filippo Bruno in my junior year at Ohio State.”
“You know his...birth name?”
“I just told you I studied him. I also know he called himself Il Nolano. I know some of his quotes. I’m especially fond of the one about how time is the father of all truth, and its mother is our mind. Or something like that.”
“But? How? Why?”
“If you believe in fate, its fate. If you believe in coincidence, its coincidence. If you’re a fan of luck. Well. Fill in the blank.”
“Luck?”
“I’m not sure which I’ll go with. I just know my professor handed out Alchemist names in a random fashion, and required us to study and write an essay on them. Mine was Giordano Bruno. So. I studied him. I read everything I could find about him. All his translated works...what is it now?”
His mouth gaped open. He didn’t know what to say. So he shut it.
“You aren’t going to pull the gender card, are you?”
“Gender card?”
“I already told you. You want to debate the sexes? You aren’t going to win. Brain size is not dependent on plumbing.”