by Ann Macela
Still, she might have some mating surprises for him, thanks to her discussion with the Whipples and her father.
She and Jim had already experienced power between them, but the exchange was probably minuscule compared to actual mating. She couldn’t even imagine what would happen when they actually came together. Her center fluttered in anticipation.
She didn’t have time to think about it, however, because once in the darkened bedroom, he lowered her feet to the floor and kissed her again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
And fell into a maelstrom of longing and wanting and craving.
She couldn’t get enough of him. Couldn’t tangle tongues enough, couldn’t run her hands over him enough, couldn’t rub herself against him enough. She groaned, both in eager expectation and in response to his touch holding her head, then sliding down her back, around to the front over her breasts, and finally to her waist, to pull her even tighter against him.
When their centers aligned and vibrated in harmony, their heartbeats synchronized, and they drew back and looked straight into each other’s eyes.
“You’re mine,” he murmured.
“You’re mine,” she answered.
He took her mouth again, hungrier, more demanding, and she reveled in their frenzy of kisses and touching.
Soon, even kisses were not enough. She needed more.
He began to unbutton her blouse. Yes, that was it. They needed less. They had too many clothes on.
She shrugged off her blouse, and he pulled his shirt over his head. She reached behind to undo her bra while he slid the straps down. When the bra hit the floor, she practically threw herself at him.
Oooohhhh! The sensation of being skin to skin was glorious. He was hot as a fireball and as hard as a stone wall. When he fondled her breasts and rubbed her suddenly so-sensitive nipples, internal sparks traveled from them to her center and below. She began to ache.
When he pulled back, she protested and tried to recapture his hands. He grabbed hers instead.
“Wait, honey, and let me look at you for a minute.” He released her hands to turn on the bedside lamp.
Oh, good idea. If she had enjoyed observing his bare chest before, the sight of him now stopped her breath. The soft light beautifully illuminated him, all broad shoulders and strong muscles and a light dusting of brown hair on his chest. Her fingers itched to explore.
At the same time, he looked at her, and she could feel the path his gaze took over her own body. When she took a deep breath, trying to get much needed air into her lungs, he groaned.
He swooped her up and deposited her on the bed. Mumbling something about where the unfasten spell was when he needed it, he opened her belt buckle, pants button, and zipper. He slid her pants down and off, taking her underwear, shoes, and socks with them.
“Oh, Irenee, you are so beautiful,” he murmured while he leaned over her and raised her hand to his lips. He kissed her palm, and the simple caress made her toes curl.
He placed her hand by her side and straightened to make quick work of taking off the rest of his clothes, while he continued to study her.
She was surprised to realize she had no sense of modesty or shyness at all. In fact, she enjoyed being looked at—by him. He obviously liked it—the heat coming from his gaze would have melted every flake in a twelve-inch Chicago snowfall.
She did some studying of her own. From his muscle definition, he must work out, although he was by no means a bodybuilder. More like extremely fit. The ripple of the muscles under his skin as he bent and rose fascinated her. She noted some scars, one a long gash on his left side, evidence of his dangerous occupation. His sex rose proudly from its nest of dark curls, and even though she knew better, she couldn’t help wondering a little if it would fit.
When he lay down beside her and took her in his arms, their bodies met from top to bottom. She ceased worrying about anything.
If she thought it pleasant to be skin to skin with their chests, full body contact far surpassed that mild delight. To touch and be touched was enchanting. To curl a leg around his and slide a foot along his calf was thrilling. To feel his thigh pressing against the aching junction between her legs was marvelous. To kiss and be kissed was glorious.
It was too much to take in all at once, so she gave up trying. The most she could concentrate on was one piece at a time.
First, his mouth. His lips were soft, but firm, his tongue agile as she returned his kiss. When he ended the kiss, he nibbled his way to her ear and neck. She discovered she was ticklish in one particular spot, and he chuckled when she squirmed. He paused to lick the pulse point in her neck—which only made her heart beat faster—before continuing to her shoulder and collarbone.
Then, his hand—large, rough, and callused. He leaned on one elbow above her and with the other hand caressed her from her foot up her leg and her hip to stop right under her breast.
Oh, how she wanted him to touch her there. She could feel her nipples tightening, her breasts swelling, and she pushed the side of her body up as much as she could to give him a hint. When he didn’t take it, she ran her fingers into his hair and tugged.
He raised his head and kissed her on the lips before she could tell him what she wanted. His kiss did nothing to lessen her need, so she put her hand on top of his and dragged it up to where she wanted it.
He raised his head again, gave her a devilish smile, and swirled his fingers around her breast, finally tweaking the nipple. She gasped as the contact increased the ache between her legs. She didn’t have time, however, to process how it was affecting her because, without a pause, he took her into his mouth and suckled.
Oh, yes! She closed her eyes, arched her back to give him better access, and moaned when new nerve endings sparked again, in her breasts, in her center, in her womb. He kissed his way to her other breast, and the effects doubled.
They tripled when he cupped her curls and stroked a finger into her folds. They quadrupled when he slid the finger into her. They went off the scale when he also rubbed his thumb over her little nub of nerve endings. She moaned again when every muscle in her clenched.
“Irenee.” His voice was hoarse and low.
She opened her eyes. He was staring at her, his face stark, a flush on his cheekbones, his eyes so dark that only a rim of golden green showed.
“I’m yours. Are you mine?”
“Yes,” she answered, her voice as throaty as his. “I’m yours, and you’re mine.”
He gave her a soft kiss, moved between her legs, and braced himself on his arms above her. “Guide me into you.”
She took him in her hands, marveling for a second at the heated steel beneath the silky covering before raising her hips and positioning him at her entrance. She lifted her eyes to his, and he slowly pushed inside.
“Jim?” A little panic struck her when the pressure increased and she felt herself stretching. It only hurt a little, and she told herself to relax. It wasn’t easy to do, however, as he filled her.
“Shhh. It’s all right,” Jim assured her in a grating tone. “You’re so tight and so wet, and it feels so good.” He leaned down and took her mouth, his tongue pushing deep, retreating, plunging deep again.
His hot kiss took her mind off everything except returning it, and when he raised his head again, she realized he was completely inside her. If there had been pain, she hadn’t felt it. She did feel stretched, but not uncomfortable. In fact, when she looked at them joined together, a sense of completeness filled her. Her center fluttered happily. This was the way they were supposed to be.
“Put your legs around me,” he grated out.
When she did, he began to move.
Slowly at first. Faster as she picked up his rhythm. He started adding a little twist to his hips when they met hers, a movement that touched her nub and sent shooting stars through her system. She had to be incandescent by now.
He came down on his elbows and kissed her again—deeper, a little more roughly
. A claiming, possessive, I’m-yours-you’re-mine kiss. She returned it.
Magic energy began to hum around them.
Irenee’s world narrowed to Jim’s kiss and their bodies moving together. His tongue was matching his body in rhythm. She gripped first his arms, then his sides, as his hips rose and fell. Energy sparked throughout her body, increasingly so where they touched. As she met his thrusts, pressure began to build inside her, a pressure that arched her back, pushed her upward, tightened all her muscles.
She was climbing, striving to reach a point she couldn’t see, but knew was just there only a few inches beyond her reach. He must be trying to get there, too, because they were both groaning with each thrust.
The fireworks within her burst faster, bigger, became Roman candles and sparkling flowers on the back of her eyelids and within her.
Just as she reached the peak, the shooting stars, the lightning bolts, the fireballs, all exploded into a conflagration of colors and heat and light... and ecstasy.
The shock waves buffeted them both for what seemed like hours and left them tangled together, breathless and exhausted.
The world slowly came back into perspective. He slid off to her side, an action that disconnected them and left her momentarily disoriented. His pulling her against him and her arms about him settled her equilibrium.
How splendid, she thought when her brain began functioning again. How marvelous making love was. How absolutely incredible her soul mate. She kissed his shoulder, the only part of him her lips could reach, and hugged him tight.
After his breathing slowed to a normal rate, he opened his eyes, looked deep into hers, and whispered, “Oh, wow!”
“Holy shit,” she answered with a smile.
He laughed and loosened his arms. Leaning back, he brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and gave her a soft kiss.
“I think I was hit by a magic bombshell,” she said.
“Good. I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way” He ran a finger down her shoulder and around her breast.
She put her hand on top of his to stop his exploration so she could think about what had happened. “Did you hear the energy hum?”
“All I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. What does a hum mean? Are we bonded now?”
“I don’t know about the hum, but I don’t think so about the bonding. There’s something we need to do in the middle of it. Bridget was explicit.”
He didn’t let her hand stop him from fondling, when he asked, “Bridget? What’s she got to do with us and this?”
“She gave me some tips for mating.” She grabbed hold of his busy hand and laced her fingers with his. She looked into his eyes and felt her body respond. She didn’t seem to be as tired as all the exertion should have made her. “I’ll show you the next time. How soon can we do it again?”
He groaned, seemed to think for a minute, then grinned. “It looks like I’m beginning to recover already. Maybe there’s something to the soul-mate stuff after all. Fergus did say something about increased stamina, didn’t he? Let me get something to clean us up.”
He left the bed for the bathroom and returned in a minute with a damp washcloth.
When he sat on the bed with the clear intention of helping her “clean up,” she took the cloth out of his hand. The idea was suddenly too much, too new, too personal. She rose, saying, “I’ll be right back.”
He was sitting on top of the bedspread, so she couldn’t even try to wrap it around her. Naked, she scooted into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Men, or at least this one, had no sense of propriety, of modesty. She looked at herself in the mirror and rolled her eyes. Of course, considering the intimacy of what they’d been doing . . . She shook her head and watched her hair fly. It was still too much.
Everything else was, however, just right. She gave herself a big grin and turned on the water.
After she’d taken care of the necessities and run a brush through her hair, she opened the door and peeked around it. He had laid the spread back and was sprawled across the bed. Sleeping? She stood for a moment with her hands on her hips. Wasn’t that exactly like the stereotype of a man? Falling asleep right away?
She ought to give him some time to recuperate. “Men aren’t machines,” Fergus had said.
She already knew they weren’t, of course. Come to think of it, after the day she’d put in, she could use a nap, too. She climbed into the bed next to him, nudged him until he moved over so she had enough room, and lay down.
She didn’t think he woke up, but his arms went around her, and he spooned against her backside.
Oh, wow, was it wonderful, snuggled up against her soul mate. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off, her last thought how stupendous bonding would be.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Feeling absolutely wonderful, Jim floated on his back on the bed while warm, smooth hands glided over his body, massaging his tired muscles, soothing his aches. If he was a big cat, he’d be purring. He tried a purr, sort of a grunting hum. Life was good.
The hands worked on his shoulders, slowly moved to his chest. Not too hard, not too soft, the pressure was just right. They continued down his rib cage and went around the end of his breastbone. His center was quiet, for which he was grateful. Damned disturbing—and painful—the way it intruded itself into his business.
He would have frowned, except he felt too damn . . . content. That was the word, content. He didn’t even have the energy to open his eyes. He did a purr again. Life was really good.
The hands moved to his sides and met in the middle over his navel. His cock twitched. It wanted those hands lower. It grew and hardened, in anticipation—or was it invitation?
Whatever.
Slowly, so slowly, the hands drifted farther. By the time they reached its base, his cock was fully erect and wanted to be touched so badly, it was almost crying.
He squirmed, trying to bring it in contact with those hands.
The hands moved again, encircled him, slid up ... and down ... and up—oh, yes!—and down ... and stopped.
The hands were attached to a woman—his soul mate. He knew and was glad, but he wanted more. She was straddling his legs and hadn’t let go of him. Could he hope ... ?
He felt her warm breath on him. He froze, hoping, praying . . .
She gave him a little lick. Then another. And took him in her mouth.
Thank you, God!
The pleasure speared through him so acutely that he opened his eyes—and stared right into two pools of twinkling dark chocolate. She gave him another lick and sat up.
“I wondered when you’d wake up,” she said as she played with him, running those clever fingers up and down his length, giving him a little swirl over the tip. She was smiling and looked like temptation personified.
The combination of her touch and his vision tightened every muscle in his body and made him harder than steel.
He held out his arms. “Come here.” The words came out in a rasp. His throat was so tight, his blood nowhere near his brain, he was surprised he could think, much less speak, at all.
She released her hold and moved up on her hands and knees to hover over him.
Perfect. All he had to do was reach up and fondle to his heart’s content. Which he did.
She settled her lower half right where he wanted it, with his cock between her legs. Smirking at him, she slid her slick folds up and down along him. His eyes almost crossed with pleasure.
She grinned. Bent over and gave him a little kiss. Grinned some more.
“You’re pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he managed to force out.
“Yep,” she answered, “and I have something to show you.”
“Yeah?” What was left? He’d seen it all.
“Yeah.” She raised up, positioned him, and took him inside her all the way.
As her tight muscles enveloped him, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes at the sheer satisfaction of being back inside her.
God in heaven, the practitioners had it right with this no-barriers stuff. His hips made a little thrust up without his thinking about it.
“You need to take your hands off my chest for a minute,” she said.
He opened his eyes at the suggestion. She was serious. His center gave a lurch, seemed to rev up its vibrations. He moved his hands to her hips.
“To bond, we need to be making love and to touch each other’s center at the same time.”
“That’s it?”
“Bridget’s instructions. The man needs to be inside the woman.”
Despite the “location” right where he wanted to be, the process seemed weird, too simple, and somewhat anticlimactic to him. Being inside her was fine. Only touching her center? He shrugged mentally. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to go along with her, however—especially with the “inside” part.
“So, I touch you . . .” He placed the tips of the fingers of his right hand on her breastbone. “Do you feel anything?”
“Not really. Put your whole hand on me.”
He did so.
“Hmmm. Still nothing. Maybe if I ...” She did the same to him with her right hand. “Ahhh.”
“Yeah, my center started vibrating.” Not to be left out of their activities, his cock started throbbing to remind him exactly where it was and what it wanted.
“Mine, too. I can feel warmth spreading, but it’s not different from before.” She frowned. “I wonder what we’re doing wrong.”
“Maybe it will come to us. Right now ...” He ran his free hand up her side. “Right now, let’s not waste the opportunity. I’m inside you, and if one of us doesn’t start moving, I’m going to suffer great bodily harm.”
Her eyebrows went up, and she said in a mock-serious tone, “Oh, by all means, we don’t want that to happen.”
With his free hand, he pulled her down and kissed her. Their hands still caught between them, she began to move also. He set a slow rhythm she easily matched, and he took his time with the kisses, teasing her tongue, giving her little pecks, then delving deep.