by H. A. Fowler
With a cry, Hart drove into her, and she was, after all. He bent over her, capturing her in the mesmerizing green of his gaze, gone perfect emerald with lust.
"May I taste more of you, Kimber?"
She felt the low plea deep in her throbbing womb. “God, yes!” she cried, and offered her throat.
He struck like a viper—a quick sting of fangs piercing flesh, and then a rush of warmth that seared her from head to toe and back again. She clung to him as he pounded into her, drew her life's essence into him. She heard herself screaming as if from a great distance, her body and soul flying apart as she climaxed from the ultimate possession, and felt one last jolt of joy when he pulled away from her throat with a cry of his own as he joined her. Then she knew nothing but soothing darkness and the strong press of their bodies entwined.
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Chapter Six
Ashamed of his body or no, it was nonetheless much more pleasant to stand before the council fully clothed and armed. Hart told them how Dirk had been released to terrorize Kimber, and about his five other former captures he'd had to kill in the few weeks since. The most difficult part was admitting how difficult those battles were without his Guardian powers. He was badly injured and weak, and healing at a slow pace even with regular infusions of his mate's willfully given blood.
He hadn't come to plea for reinstatement, but only for help in protecting Kimber, who remained the target for returning demons. She had moved into his home, as it had become impossible to protect her apartment, and to Kimber's dismay, she was starting to think she was going to have to stop working, as she couldn't keep risking Tiff, the store and its customers with her presence. Tiff's coven was working to find a counter-spell to the original one that had torn the veil, but so far weren't having much luck. As powerful as its members were, the spell was accidental, and it was difficult to determine how to reverse it without fully understanding its origin.
The Councilors were hidden in shadow as usual, so he was unable to read their expressions as they considered his report. This time, however, he had the comfort of Nasim standing by him to add weight to his testimony. His partner had been instrumental in keeping Kimber safe since Hart's dismissal. That he got to spend time with the lovely and enchanting Tiffany was only a happy side effect—or so the Guardian said.
"We owe you an apology, Hart Campbell,” chorused the Council. “We were unaware of the ramifications of stripping a long standing Guardian of his powers. The Mortis Guardia have never lost a member by other than final death, and such a result has never happened before."
"We understand you followed your conscience and your nature in your dealings with the human, Kimber Andrews, and that by your honor there was no alternative. It is unconscionable to this body that, ancient law or no, a loyal warrior—and ultimately, those he is charged to protect—be punished for the gifts of love and compassion. Therefore, we hereby reinstate you to full Guardian status. And furthermore, declare the First Vow under official reconsideration until such time as we can determine how best to re-envision its underlying meaning and purpose."
The table appeared before the two Guardians, and Hart's amulet and sword glowed as if happy to be with him again. Next to Kimber, there was no finer sensation than his beloved sword in his hands, or the warm glow of magick from the amulet as he hung it around his neck. He smiled as he reclaimed them and turned back to his friend.
Nasim's grin shone in the dark. “Well, this is a satisfying ending to a strange story."
Hart clasped his friend on the shoulder. “I hardly think this is the end, a caraid. The demons will never stop trying to find a way here. And if we're not successful in closing the rift Kimber opened...” He shook his head, though affection for his flighty lass sparkled in his green eyes.
"Job security, aye, mate?” Kasim drawled.
"Just because I'm re-bound to my vows doesn't mean I won't knock you on your Bedouin arse, brother,” he teased in return, throwing his arm over his partner's shoulder and heading for home.
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Kimber drifted somewhere in a world of liquid pleasure, floating weightless, mere flotsam on a tide of bliss that moved her along, back and forth, back and forth, rocking ever closer to shore. She didn't wonder where it was taking her. Faith and experience told her that wherever she ended would be the right place to be.
The water shifted, its volume displaced as a large, solid object slid into its depths. The movement released the scents of the water—roses, jasmine, and lavender—like a puff of magick into the air. But it was the note of musky male beneath that interested her, the familiar scent of clean, aroused man. It made her suspect that he'd been watching her float in the large tub for some time.
He murmured a greeting in Gaelic, which she understood to mean something along the lines of, ‘Hello my delicious darling,’ and she grinned. To be the Intimate of an incubus was no hardship: that was for sure. As much as he demanded from her, she gladly gave, and took equal measure in return. But it was more than just this—the endless sensual pleasure of his presence. The feeling of complete safety in his home, in his arms, in his heart. There was friendship blooming, too. They were each learning the other's world day-by-day: she showed him movies and TV shows she loved; he taught her how to handle a sword and told her fairy tales from his youth in Scotland. They made each other laugh. She felt as though she helped him to break out of his sometimes too-staid practicality, and he helped keep her feet on the ground even as her head remained in her beloved clouds. He liked her cooking. She liked his talent for building things. They both loved food and wine, velvet and silk, and long, steaming bubble baths with magickal herbs steeping inside.
It was, as Tiff was so fond of saying—a match made in CrazyWonderfulville.
Something snaked up out of the water between her legs and cupped her mons firmly. She smiled, but didn't open her eyes. “Oh no, I'm being attacked by an evil love snaaahhh...” Her jibe trailed off into a sigh as a strong thumb slipped into her wet heat and expertly found her clit. The rough pad circled, then brushed up and down the path of hypersensitive nerves at her center, then repeated the whole process again ... and again ... and again ... Soon she was no longer floating peacefully, but writhing in the foam she generated with her frantic motions, rocking hard against his hand as he worked his magick on her. She came in a rush like standing up too fast and riding in a runaway elevator all at the same time, and it made her blissful cry into a burst of laughter at the joy of it.
He chuckled in response and crawled to her, gathering her into his arms for a long, succulent kiss. Their tongues tangled and danced, tasting lips and teeth, hands measuring hardness and wetness as they laughed and grasped at each other in the hot, foamy water. Hart urged her to turn over and brace her hands on the edge of the tub, legs spread wide, exposing every vulnerable inch of her flesh to his hungry eyes. He drew up behind and prodded her aching pussy with the pulsing head of his cock, pleading for entry. She replied with an arch of her hips and a thrust backward that sheathed him to the hilt in one stroke.
There was nothing quite like the feeling of Hart inside her, as if she was the mold from which he had been formed. They fit together perfectly—he caressed every inch of her, and she squeezed and clutched him with her strong inner muscles. He blanketed her with a moan as she clenched him, his blunt teeth clamping down on the back of her neck like a wolf stilling his mate while he mounted her. Submitting to his powerful alpha male needs turned her on so much sometimes that possession was all it took to make her come. This time, it took a hand sliding down her belly to reclaim her already hypersensitive clit, stroking it roughly in time with his pounding thrusts.
"Oh, god, yes! Fuck me! Please!"
He growled and bit down hard on the flesh of her shoulder, and she exploded, snarling and crying like the animal he made her as she plummeted over the edge. He had no mercy today, and kept right on taking her long after she begged him to stop. It was too much. Too good. Too hard and just t
oo everything. He cupped her mound in his hand, his long middle finger still abrading her clit as he pounded ever harder and faster inside her. When she came again, he followed after with a heaving gasp that reminded her that the French called orgasm The Little Death.
He cursed fluently in Gaelic as he flipped over onto his back. Kimber cuddled happily into his arms and watched as he reached for the faucet with his big toe and turned the hot water on to reheat the bathwater.
"I take it the meeting went well?” she purred, still quivering with a million orgasmic aftershocks firing inside her.
"Mmm? Oh, aye. Verra well."
She loved how his accent went broad and lazy whenever he was deeply satisfied. “And?"
"And ... I've my job back. Nasim and I will go to see the High Priestess of Tiffany's coven tomorrow to see what we can do about the portal. It may take some time, but we're confident we can turn you off before too long."
She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Oh, I doubt that very much.” She rolled all the way over so that her small frame rested full length along his much larger one. “Congratulations. I'm sorry I've been such a pain."
His smile was so gentle, the sight of it was like a tender fist squeezing her heart. “Lass, if what you've given me is pain, then I must confess myself a masochist, for I can but want for more."
Kimber settled against him with a happy sigh, and wondered at how the shy, lonely woman she'd been on Valentine's Day had vanished in the warm wake of her demon's love. The next ritual she planned would be the burning of her Perfect Man card. Now that she had the real thing, it was just taking up space in her wallet.
The End
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Author Bio
Heather lives in the farthest reaches of Upstate New York with an enormous cat called Pig and enough books to start her own shop. She is a full-time daydreamer, TV junkie and yoga student working on her MFA in Creative Writing. She has had an unhealthy obsession with vampires since she was nine years old and read Interview With The Vampire. Decades later, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel only made matters worse. Having realized she is an incurable vampire-loving freak, she has decided to make writing about them her life's work.
Heather loves to hear from readers! To contact her, stop by her website—www.hafowler.com.
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