He teased the little sensitive areas under her ribs where her chi dwelt, allowed himself to briefly cup her flank—he’d approach her from behind another time—and feathered his fingers over her belly. Warming her, awakening her chi to his touch.
She moaned and arched, opening herself up to him, supple as a cat.
Goddess, help him to think for a little longer!
He nuzzled her waist, breathing in her musky scent, and played with her breast band. It was definitely very pliable.
He took a chance.
Propping himself on his elbow, he guided Danae into the crook of his arm. Then he slipped his hand under the fabric loop and tried to peel it off her, in the same motion he’d use to strip hoops off a barrel. It flexed, rippled, and flowed off her, aided immeasurably when she luxuriously flung her arms over her head.
“Danae.”
He brushed his hair over her beautiful belly and she bucked against him. “Alek! What the hell!”
He teased her again. She twisted and fought to catch his head. But he tumbled her onto the bed and caught her hands. “Danae.”
He kissed her belly, licked lower, swirled his tongue over her hip bones. She was strong, very strong, with muscle there—and very wet, too. He smiled privately and slid one hand between her thighs to stop her from rubbing them together.
“Alek, please.” She thrashed under him, her hips driving against his hands. Musk filled the air and his pulse drummed in his ears. His skin was hot and tight over his chest.
“Dearling . . .” He purred. Cream coated his fingers, her sweet drugging wine.
“Alek.” She bucked again, falling into a ragged rhythm. She was close, very close to fulfillment—but only he could take her over.
He fanned his fingers wide and forced her legs to spread. “Please, soon,” she moaned.
He slowly licked his fingers. Starbursts of delight leaped into his blood and his bones, richer and deeper with every taste.
He swirled his tongue through her most intimate folds. He found her pearl and brought it to stand even more proudly erect. He found her woman’s portal and drummed it with his fingers, stretching her—and rejoicing in the cream she granted him. More effervescent than the finest champagne, more fiery than the most superb whiskey, more complex than the most famous brandy. There was not enough cream in this world to satisfy him—yet he was always guided by the delight pouring through his Danae’s veins.
She tumbled into ecstasy, sobbing her rapture. His rod ached for fulfillment yet he drove her onward again. She was beautiful, so beautiful, and far sweeter than honey.
Did she take her pleasure three or four times before he slowed? His breath was coming hard and fast, heat spiking through his veins and into his balls. He had to regain command of himself.
He rolled over after a moment and fought to stop his lungs from rising and falling like demon-possessed bellows.
“Alek,” she whispered hoarsely.
“What?”
The drawer slammed shut and the bed creaked. He hastily pulled his arm away from his eyes.
“You foolish, foolish man.” She cautiously crawled down the bed to kneel over him. By the Mother of All Life, her portal looked even more delectable now than it had before.
He fought to remember his manners.
“You must be exhausted,” he growled.
“You’re stubborn and stupid,” she shot back and ripped open one of those small metal packets holding a condom.
His rod promptly surged higher into life, pleading its eagerness with drops of hot liquor.
She squeezed him hard. A jolt of lust rocked through him, from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He hissed and clenched his hands in the bedcovers. His rod faded slightly.
She dipped her head and captured it in her mouth, pressing a long, loving kiss down its entire length.
Alekhsiy gaped at her, beyond words. She’d rolled the condom onto him with her mouth?
“Two can play at this game, Alekhsiy, and it’s called sixty-nine.” She came up onto her knees and looked back at him, smiling slightly, her lips lightly bruised and her green eyes dark with lust.
He caught her hips, controlling their tempting little dance.
“Now I’m tired as hell of seeing you play the gentleman and be frustrated. Will you just have a good time?”
“My timing,” he warned her, wondering how he could form a thought, let alone speak it.
“If you insist.” She shrugged and ran her tongue over her lips. Her slender fingers tickled his balls.
His eyes almost crossed. An instant later, his tongue was savoring her hot cream once again. Her mouth clasped his rod and he privately cursed his greater height, then twisted and squirmed until somehow they reached an accommodation. Her happy sigh and the swift spike of fire through his balls rewarded him.
By the Goddess’s Dance, could there be any pleasure greater than this?
He encouraged Danae’s rapture more fiercely than before, shocked when her attentions to his rod soon matched his rhythm. What temple priestess had the strength to do so when he was this deep in rut?
Lust pounded in their heartbeats and hunger echoed in their breath. His pulse drummed through his bones and in his ears like the waterfall of life until he could hear nothing else. Two made one in an endless loop of chi, spiraling ever higher and higher.
It was time, beyond time, to go further.
Alekhsiy pressed down on her woman’s pearl and Danae took her pleasure yet again, rapturously granting him her cream.
He started to catch his breath—and she lashed his rod with her tongue directly under the tip in that most sensitive spot of all.
He gasped.
She gathered him in her hands and took him down her throat, embracing him intimately, warmly, moistly.
Ecstasy flashed through him, from her mouth over his rod to his lips still kissing her yoni. He yowled like a tiger—and spilled his seed without mortal thought or wisdom, only sinew and nerves knowing the time was now. Fire poured through his bones and balls, lifting him into a realm where neither flesh nor blood existed, only ecstasy. Stars spun like dragonflight at the Goddess’s Dance and he died the little death.
He cradled her afterward in a sweaty tumble of sticky skin and tangled hair, grateful Danae preferred to sleep rather than talk. Words weren’t something he would have enjoyed finding, even to share solely with himself.
THREE
Danae wriggled her fingers through the thick pelt on Alek’s chest and felt, more than saw, him look down on her.
“I thought dancers preferred men with clean-shaven bodies,” he remarked lazily.
“Some might, especially if they’re gay.” Which was true both on Torhtremer and on Earth. On the other hand, she’d seen so many pretty boys while dancing, their looks had blurred together.
She puffed a breath and chortled when his treasure trail’s little hairs lifted, exposing his gorgeous six-pack abs. “This girl likes furry men.”
“Do you ever become tired of playing?” Alek ruffled the far longer strands on her scalp.
“Are you objecting?” They’d already had multiple naps and shared a shower. That had turned into a truly delicious romp, before ending up back here in bed. Thank God for hotel housekeeping, who changed sheets regularly. They’d have quite a job cleaning up in the morning
“Not at all.” His big hand continued to idly rub her shoulders, the rough calluses sending shivers through her bones. His textures were nothing like the guys she usually wound up with, the money men who funded ballet troupes. They could be strong—heck, she preferred that—but their muscles had been built in a gym and their fingers were always smoothly manicured.
She slithered farther down the bed, happily nuzzling Alek’s belly. His cock rose lazily in welcome, too sated to surge.
She smiled fondly, agreeing with its inclination for slow morning loving. For just a quick fling at a con, her body’s instincts and Alek’s matched remarkably well. And even if he d
idn’t resemble Hollywood’s idea of Alekhsiy Iskandronovich of Torhtremer, he definitely fit hers.
She’d opened the blackout curtains earlier but left the gauze ones underneath closed. The early morning light allowed her to look at him in a glowing golden haze, softer than anything the stage easily produced.
He was handsome—almost beautiful—roped with muscle yet not an ounce of fat, as if he could burst into action at any moment. Golden fur accented his lines in a thick pelt across his chest, slimming to the tempting treasure trail running down to his superb cock, and thickening to the darker nest near his balls. Brighter gold dusted his legs and arms, allowing her to see his belly’s creamy skin.
She stroked his hip and he agreeably let one leg fall to the side, opening himself to any exploration she cared to make. Had there ever been a more generous lover?
She gave his cock a quick thank-you kiss and he chuckled, a bit huskily.
But that wasn’t what she wanted to look at.
The branching blue lines of his veins and the clean sweeps of his sinews ran swiftly across his torso and legs, sweeping his arms as elegantly as any Greek vase painting. But while in the shower, she’d thought there might be some nicks marring those graceful sweeps. Any money man would have quickly removed such imperfections.
Danae stroked Alek’s hip. She shuddered slightly when her fingertips sank into the warm hollow leading to his ass; it so perfectly reflected the leashed strength of his entire body.
“Danae?” he queried.
“I’m fine, just looking.”
“As you wish.” He relaxed again.
She’d better shift so she was doing something more innocuous, like looking at his leg. She could always return to the direct approach.
His legs had big slabs of muscle, making the kneecap seem the finely tuned joint it was between thigh and calf, rather than an equal partner in the long line. Just another mark of the difference between working man and pretty boy.
She gently kneaded his thigh from the knee up, using both hands, and he purred like a great lion. “You’ve been well-taught, my lady.”
“All dancers learn how to look after their legs and to help others’.” She smiled, enjoying his slit-eyed pleasure.
“I still say you’re very good.”
“I’ve been lucky enough never to have been severely injured,” she admitted, pleased with him. “But I work hard to protect myself.”
A small knot made her frown and she pushed the sheet aside so she could place her hands completely on the offending spot. It was a nasty one, too, very old and quite deep. She had to close her eyes to truly focus on it.
Stroke, stroke, glide, glide, always carefully, carefully—and the lump yielded. She crooned softly and delicately petted him, urging his muscle to relax and completely heal.
His muscle heated lightly, exactly where she’d been working. Good, now he should heal.
She settled back on her heels and thoroughly scrutinized his thigh for the first time. Was there more to the old injury than this? Muscles, tendons, bones, up the leg toward his hip. Front of his leg or on the side . . .
Her breath choked to a stop.
A great, puckered scar leered just below his hip. Dark red and multi-fanged, it clawed at his healthy flesh like a ravenous beast. Only the golden circle around it seemed to stop it from spreading throughout his body.
Alekhsiy had taken a wound just like this—high up in his left leg—from one of the Imperial Terrapin’s ice demons at the ice fortress, just before the Amazons broke the siege and rescued the few remaining fragments of that beleaguered garrison. He’d very nearly died.
For the first time, she felt cold, very cold.
She’d seen it before many times, in exactly the same shape, down to the obscenely deep pit at its center. She’d written about it, too—odes to the delight of celebrating survival and life, while being fucked by the strong man who had survived such a blow.
A scar which she’d always said could be covered by her hand.
But she was a fanfic author. All she’d done was take the original author’s few words and imagine their image, right? Right.
That wasn’t the same as seeing exactly that vision, here and now, in the flesh. The only person who’d know for sure was Corinne Carson, author of the Torhtremer Saga.
“What is it, Danae?”
She waved him to silence, unable to find words.
She reached out slowly, agonizingly slowly—and the scar disappeared under her palm. She covered her mouth.
“Danae, it’s just a scar.” He rolled to face her, his wonderful blue eyes concerned.
But ice demon poison was foul, worse than anything except an ice serpent!
What was she thinking—to speak of ice demons as if they were real? And yet—and yet, the scar’s shape was so distinctive. It was more complicated than a finely etched Japanese maple leaf. The colors were also very significant, with the dark red and purple of ancient infection. And how else could he have gotten the golden circle around it unless Khyber, the Imperial Dragon, had cauterized it with his breath to stop the poison from spreading? He was Torhtremer’s patron, but he’d been known to show a sneaking fondness for Mykhayl’s younger brother.
Only one person would know and she might just be able to tell her, too.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Danae.” Alek’s hand locked around her wrist.
“Let me go!” She wrenched herself free and his hand fell away immediately. He sat up, his face closing into an icy mask in the mirror.
Danae barely glanced at him, racing instead for her scrapbook.
Corinne Carson had died, along with her sister, Celeste, in a great fire seven years earlier. But her last project had been to work on the movie adaptation of the Torhtremer Saga—or at least the first six books, since she’d never written the seventh. She’d scrutinized everything—sets, costumes, makeup, language—as attested to by behind-the-scenes interviews and crew notes.
Most Torhtremer movie memorabilia was pricey, but Danae used her damned inheritance to collect what she chose. Even so, the piece she wanted now had been a gift from one of the few theatrical friends who knew of her obsession.
Every movie actor’s makeup was controlled by continuity charts, which ensured it would remain the same from scene to scene. This was especially critical for details like tattoos and scars. Those charts weren’t glamorous enough to be collectible items for fans. The Torhtremer Saga’s makeup and F/X designers were always willing to talk about how much Corinne Carson had been involved in their area.
Danae skidded to a stop on her knees and tossed aside her favorite rock star hoodie, with its Chinese phoenix. She’d shown Larissa her latest clippings yesterday so the scrapbook had to be somewhere on the floor, underneath something.
“Don’t you ever get tired of the mess?” Alek’s tone cut like a knife.
“I’ve never lost anything important yet.” And she wasn’t about to start now.
Ah, there was its leather corner! She lunged for it and started flipping pages.
Even after six movies, Alekhsiy’s body makeup continuity chart was still exactly the way Corinne Carson had approved it. However, he’d never appeared in a movie with bare legs, on or off the cutting room floor. The movies were so popular, even the deleted scenes had made it into the public’s hands somehow.
But Danae’s buddy, a theatrical makeup artist who’d seen Danae’s extensive collection of all things Alekhsiy, had acquired Alekhsiy’s chart from a coworker and given it to Danae.
The book fell open to the desired page.
She smacked her palm down to hold it open and looked up.
Alekhsiy Iskandronovich stared down at her, ice demon scar on his thigh, imperial cadet brand on his shoulder—Why hadn’t she noticed that before? Did it truly fade into insignificance for enemies and reemerge for friends?—and knife scar nicking his jaw.
She squeaked and prostrated herself in the finest Dragon Hoard style, as she’d learned to perform on
e of the Torhtremer ballets.
Alekhsiy dragged the scrapbook out from underneath her hand and stared at it. “Where in the Seven Hells did you obtain this?”
“Corinne Carson left it behind when she died and a friend gave it to me.” That axe had to be Fire Wind, didn’t it? Oh shit. Maybe she should add something obsequious. “Uh, my lord.”
“Don’t start calling me ‘my lord’ now; it doesn’t become you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And don’t bow.”
She sat back on her heels with a relieved sigh and tried not to stare. Wow, Corinne had definitely left a lot of things out, starting with how gorgeous he was.
“They’re not perfect.” He spun the scrapbook on the desk.
“But fairly close—Alekhsiy?” She dared to come to her feet.
“Too damn accurate.” He shoved his hand through his hair and considered her. The amber pendant at his throat glowed softly on its gold chain. “What the hell do we do now?”
“How can I help?” She instinctively wrapped her arms around him, her ring nestling comfortably against his amber jewelry.
He choked, spluttered, and hugged her. “Is that all you have to say?”
“You’re behaving exactly like Alekhsiy Iskandronovich, younger half brother of Mykhayl Rhodyonovich, High King of Torhtremer.” She rolled the names over on her tongue, startled at how solid they sounded when spoken out loud. That was always her test for a truly good sentence. She gulped and took another step along the path of true belief.
“I sure don’t want to believe that, but nothing else fits all the facts. You have the manners and the clothes. Your armor is extraordinarily lightweight and flexible, for example, judging by how easily it adapted when I rubbed myself over you last night.”
“But I didn’t feel you nearly as well.” A big hand fondled her ass.
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