by Jenna Barwin
She straightened up and turned, bringing her lips to his, flowing up against his chest, her hips pressing forward until she felt him grow hard against her. He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him, his tongue entwining with hers. The electricity from his kiss flowed straight through her center, making her wet with desire.
He stepped back from her. “If you keep kissing me like that, I won’t be able to restrain myself.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t restrain yourself,” she said softly.
* * *
She didn’t need to tell him twice—every inch of him hungered for her. He swept her up into his arms and carried her into the guesthouse, kissing her as he walked, past the couch to the king-sized bed, and set her on her feet. Feeling for her zipper, he quickly had her out of her dress.
His breath caught at the sight of her, a euphoric feeling of lightheadedness overtaking him as blood rushed to his groin, tightening everything. She had looked so beautiful in her gown, but now, standing before him in a bra and thong, she was stunning. The mound of her breasts above her bra, the slight curve of her waist, the small brown mole on her stomach, the soft, dark area between her thighs—he wanted to devour them all at once.
She tugged on the ends of his tie and the bow came apart, the fabric sliding from around his neck. She dropped it on the nightstand and soon he was shirtless. Rather than wait for her to do it, he quickly undid his belt and fly, and stepped out of his pants while she pulled back the covers of the bed and slid onto the sheets, beckoning him to follow.
He lowered the lights, doffed his underwear, and slid into bed, keeping his hips back so he wouldn’t ram into her. He felt hard as marble, the flow of blood to his pene like liquid fire. He edged closer to her. The musky aroma of lust wafted off her—a good sign, one that aroused him even further.
He brought his lips to hers, sensed her nervousness, and pulled back to stroke her cheek. The slight taste of her fear on his lips made her all the more alluring. He wanted to plunge into her and prove to her she pleased him just by being her. But the mix of fear and excitement in her eyes told him to move slowly. He wanted her to relax, to enjoy being in bed with him. Her pleasure mattered most to him.
She reached out and traced the base of his throat with her fingertips, gliding toward his crucifix. He’d forgotten to take it off. Slipping the chain over his head, he took it from her fingers and kissed it before laying it on the nightstand.
“Why did you take it off?”
He rose up on his elbow to look at her. “Because the only thing I want to tickle your skin is mine,” he replied, stroking her lips with his thumb.
She smiled and reached her hands behind his head, untying the leather string holding back his ponytail. The fine strands settled on his shoulders. She wove her fingers in and pulled him closer, her lips already parted and waiting for him. He took full advantage of it, his tongue caressing hers with rugged need.
The touch of her fingertips tortured him; the silky feel as she swept them down his chest, brushing tentatively along his stomach muscles, and then going lower until she wrapped her whole hand around him. She squeezed gently, flaming his desire. He pulled her to him and kissed the contour of her beautiful neck, sorely tempted to sink his fangs into her soft, fragrant skin, but he couldn’t. Not yet.
Starting at the base of her ear, he planted little kisses down her neck, onto her shoulder, and over the mound of one breast. The bra had to go. He slid his arms around her, unfastening the hooks to free her. He flung the bra at a nearby chair but didn’t wait to see if it landed. Her beautiful breasts had his full attention. Her nipples were crinkled tightly, the brown tips hard. He pressed up against her breasts, sending currents spiking through him. She slid her hands around his waist, pressing her hips to him, forcing his erection against her warm, slick center. Placing gentle kisses all over her face and neck, he slowly worked his way lower to kiss her breasts. The salty taste of her skin felt good on his lips.
When he licked a nipple, she gave a sharp intake of breath. “Don’t stop,” she said softly.
He gave a light chuckle—he had no intention of stopping. He ran his fingers along her body while he continued to caress her nipples with his lips, stopping when he touched the side straps of her thong. Gently lifting her, he pulled the thong down, taking it completely off her, his lips never leaving her breast.
Her hand wrapped around his stiffness again, rubbing and gently squeezing, building the pleasure in him, his heart pumping harder with each squeeze.
He gently raked each nipple with his teeth, but he was careful to keep his fangs sheathed. She sighed when his lips left her breast to travel lower, but with her hand gripping him, he’d have to be a pretzel to reach between her legs with his lips.
Instead, he lightly touched her between her legs with his fingers. She was wet with excitement. He ran his thumb around her clitoris, gently sliding a long finger inside her center, curling it to stroke her in two places at once. The moan she let out told him he’d hit both spots. He continued to stroke her, slowly increasing the pace, watching her eyelids flutter, her face take on a rapturous look—she had never looked more beautiful. He licked a nipple, and she moaned again.
She released him and slid her hands under his arms, urging him to roll on top of her. He wanted to bring her to climax first, but she tugged at his arms again. He gave her breast one last lick and looked into her eyes. “Cerissa?”
“Yes, Henry, yes,” she replied, her voice liquid. “I want you in me.”
He positioned himself between her legs, lowering his hips to enter her slowly, carefully. She let out a little gasp, and he caught it with his lips, kissing her deeply. Her hands glided along his back until she lightly squeezed his butt. Her touch and the feel of her tight sheath wrapped around him almost pushed him over the edge. Not yet.
Extending his arms, he supported himself on the palms of his hands and looked at her. The sight of her below him filled him with warmth, his chest expanding with an emotion he had not felt for a hundred years. She had slipped into his heart just as surely as he had entered her body.
“You are so beautiful, mi amor,” he said, before bringing his lips to hers. Slowly he raised his hips, pulling out and then slowly pushing in. Her hips rose against his, her fingers squeezing his butt, urging him faster. He pushed up on his hands to look at her again.
Her neck lay enticingly before him. He wasn’t free to take her blood yet, and he bit his lip, resisting the urge to bite her. Closing his eyes didn’t help either. Her scent intoxicated him. He lowered himself to kiss her—keeping his mouth busy helped. When she broke from the kiss, she wrapped her arms around him and brought his face down against her shoulder.
Ah, the agony of desire.
He could imagine the feel of his fangs piercing her neck, her warm, tangy taste filling him up. Silently, he recited the batting averages of the Bugles, his favorite baseball team. When the distraction didn’t work, he raised himself up again and focused on the feelings enjoyed by the lower half of his body, creating a different problem. When he could no longer hold out for her, he came, the spasms of pleasure rocketing through him.
He continued to hold her, propped on his forearms, his cheek resting on her chest, his back rounded, trying to stay in her as long as he could. When the fullness of his passion subsided, he gently rolled off her and pulled her onto her side to face him. He kissed her softly on the lips and continued to run his fingers across her back and sides. She did the same, touching his chest with her fingertips, tracing the outline of his pecs. She looked serious, so intense.
If he hadn’t already known, he was now certain: he was lost for good. Not only had she cracked his heart, she owned his soul. There was nothing he could do to fight it.
He slid his hand along her stomach toward her legs. He wanted to taste her, to lick her and watch pleasure shoot through her too. He rose. She stopped him before he reached his destination.
She hadn’t spoken a word, but he underst
ood her message. He would wait, for now, and respect her choice. He hugged her close to him, holding her head against his shoulder. Being close to her neck no longer bothered him. The overpowering relaxation brought on by a different release lessened his desire to feed.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” he said, finally breaking the silence.
Her heartbeat sped up, and he smelled a whiff of fear. He didn’t push for an answer. He didn’t want to embarrass her. He’d had enough experience to know not all women orgasmed the first time—that was why he always left time for a second round. Or did it have to do with her being Lux? Better not to ask just yet.
He kissed the top of her head. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I am thirsty,” she replied.
So was he.
“I’m not sure what we have in the refrigerator. I try to keep it stocked, but I have to admit I hadn’t planned on being out here tonight.”
She looked up at him and smiled her golden smile, reassuring him. “Whatever you have will be fine,” she said.
“Wait here. I will be right back.”
* * *
Cerissa watched him walk away, enjoying the sight of his tight butt and other large, manly parts swaying between his legs as he disappeared into another room. She stretched against the soft sheets. Her nerves had gotten the better of her. What do I know about the art of love? She closed her eyes. A few bad affairs didn’t teach me how to be a real woman in bed.
She inhaled deeply, the lingering scent of cloves and other spice from his cologne caused her to tingle anew, the desire between her legs begging for satisfaction. His touch, the way he filled her up—her muscles clamped down on emptiness. If only she had the courage to let him do what he’d suggested. But what if he tried and she didn’t come?
I need to get out of my own head or this will never work.
She opened her eyes at the sound of his footsteps. He carried a guest robe. She had a brief view of his front before he cinched his own robe shut, blocking a spectacular sight, one causing more sparks to course through her. She liked seeing him naked—his muscular chest, covered in curly black hair, a narrow line of fine hair running down his stomach to point at his other endowments. He offered her a robe before turning away.
She rolled out of bed and slipped on her robe. When Henry had carried her in here, she had tunnel vision, focusing just on him. She looked around the room for the first time. A television and couch created a sitting area, with a king-size bed in the middle of the room and a small kitchenette at the far end, separated from the rest by a granite counter. She sat down on a stool at the counter and watched him.
He took a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and put a glass next to it. Then he opened one of the cupboards and shook his head. He seemed uncertain over what to do next.
“If you’re hungry, we’ll need to return to the main house.” He tried one more cupboard and shrugged.
She cocked her head. His usual self-confidence had vanished. He seemed, well, nervous. At least she wasn’t the only one experiencing that emotion. Or was it something else? He hadn’t tried to bite her. Does he have misgivings because of Zeke? Well, she wasn’t going to raise it if he didn’t.
“Water is fine for now,” she replied, pouring it into the glass.
“Bring your drink and come join me on the couch.”
The couch was deep. He bent one knee, leaning it against the back cushion, leaving room for her between his legs. She cuddled up to him, her back resting on his chest, her legs stretched out, holding the glass of water in one hand. His strong arms wrapped gently around her, and he kissed the back of her neck, sending a pleasant tingle across her skin. Being held by him was pure joy.
“Tell me something about your life you haven’t told me yet,” she said.
He paused before answering her question. It dawned on her how frequently he paused before speaking. She took another sip of water from the glass she held and placed it on the coffee table.
“Looking at the stars,” he finally said, speaking softly near her ear, “reminds me of my first trip to California. I was twenty and my father chose me to claim our land grant, instead of my older brothers. He decided I would start a ranch here and export goods back to Veracruz, even Spain. The journey took many months over land, and I was homesick at first—I missed my mother. She was a good woman, and we were very close while I was growing up.”
“Why did your father choose you to go?”
Another pause. “Because I reminded him of my mother’s father.”
“He didn’t like your grandfather?”
“My abuelito was half Totonac. The Totonacas lived along the Gulf of Mexico before the Spanish conquistadors arrived.”
Bingo! She had guessed he wasn’t part Aztec or Mayan.
“My grandfather’s mother, Antonia, worked for his father Jose. It was not uncommon for the surviving Totonac people to take on the Spanish names of their conquerors. Antonia cooked for the ranch.” He paused again, longer this time. “Jose had no sons by his wife.”
“Your great-grandfather was married to someone else?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
“He had an affair with Antonia. That is probably the politest term for it. She would not have had much choice if my great-grandfather wanted her. When Antonia gave birth to a son, arrangements were made and the child—my grandfather—was presented as his wife’s child.”
“Like the biblical Hagar and Sarah, but with a twist.”
“Indeed. The priest who made the baptismal record was bribed to write español rather than mestizo by his name.”
She didn’t recognize the term “mestizo,” and couldn’t look it up. She had removed her contact lenses before leaving the dance. “Spanish rather than…?”
“Mestizo means mixed race—European with indigenous people.”
“The priests kept track of race?”
“Until it was made illegal, yes. My father married my mother knowing she was a quarter Totonac.”
“If he resented her parentage, why did he marry her?”
“The answer to any question beginning with ‘why’ is ‘money.’”
“Your grandfather’s family had money?”
“And my father’s family did not. My darker skin, my wide Totonac nose and distinctive profile, these reminded my father constantly he had married a mestizo.”
“I love your face!”
She tried to turn around to look at him. His arms held her in place, stopping her. “But my father did not. So he sent me away.”
She thought back to their winery visit. To protect his image in the community, he’d kept Anne-Louise’s hold over him secret. No wonder he craved the respect afforded a founder. His father never gave him the respect all little boys desired.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be.” He kissed the back of her neck lightly. “It led me to this moment, which I would not exchange for anything.”
* * *
Looking at the stars also reminded him of something else: she was not of this world. He’d never seen her real appearance. Could she make love in her Lux body? Aside from her blue, six-fingered hand, she hadn’t volunteered to show him more. In some ways she was like the rabbits he’d raised as a child. If he moved slowly and let the rabbits come to him, he could pet their soft fur, even coax one into his arms. Move too fast and the rabbits would bolt to the back of the cage.
His curiosity could wait.
“What do you think of when you look at the stars?” he asked instead.
Still holding her in his arms, he felt her fingertip run lightly over his wrist. “Freedom,” she replied, sounding wistful.
“Freedom?”
She turned to look at him, and this time he let her. She bent her knees, sitting back on her heels, looking so perfectly nymph-like. “The stars are like a map, pointing the way. I wish I had the freedom to follow them, to go wherever I want, to do what I want, without anyone telling me where
to go or what to do. I look up at the stars and fall into them.” She glanced down at her lap and looked like she was praying. “As a young child, I was taught I have a purpose to fulfill. Being Lux doesn’t leave much room for free choice.”
He tilted her chin back up so he could see her eyes. “What about what you want?”
“My wants don’t matter to the Protectors.”
“Do you always do what they tell you to do?”
“I guess I do.”
“Why?”
“It’s the price for being Lux—for earning their love and approval.”
“You shouldn’t have to earn anyone’s love,” he replied, looking at her intently. He cradled her face between his hands and brought her close to him. “Love should be freely given.”
* * *
She closed her eyes and felt his lips on hers—a soft, gentle kiss; a physical benediction. When he released her, the way he looked at her—there was love in his eyes. She took a deep breath and laid her cheek against his chest, turning her body so she was pressed against him. She let him hold her, accepting from him what she’d always wanted from her family.
Within a few moments, she felt something hard pushing against her side.
“I’m sorry, Cerissa,” Henry said, a smile in his voice. “You have that effect on me.”
She sat back and chuckled. “I’m glad I do.”
She stood and led him back to bed. She untied his bathrobe, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of him naked, to see his bare skin respond when she caressed him.
He kissed her neck, sending a pleasant shiver all the way to her toes as she slipped out of her own robe. Would he bite this time? His lips continued their journey to her breast. Pleasure coursed through her when his long tongue captured her nipple. She pulled him into bed and, lying on her side, slid forward, raising her leg over his hip and taking him into her.