by Mary Hughes
It was a bit freaky to realize they’d understood me all along, maybe better than I did.
“Of course we expect you to come home to visit,” my mother added briskly.
“And we know you’ll send a little money home,” my father said. Then he hugged me and added, “But most important, be safe and happy.”
“Now you must go.” Mom made shooing motions. “Or you will be late.”
I had to go. Glynn, if he came back, wouldn’t find me here.
Follow my heart… If I truly followed my heart, it would take me on the swim of my life. Maybe I could use a kayak.
Instead I picked up my suitcase and instruments, and reluctantly headed for the airport.
Entr’acte
Glynn pushed his way through the masses at O’Hare, thought about turning on his phone but decided against it yet again. Why? It wasn’t like Junior would have called.
He’d been packed in airborne sardine cans for most of the last three-plus days, racing through his mission to get to Wales, only to turn around almost immediately for Chicago. Even with his preternatural vampire resiliency, his butt was dragging.
Awareness struck him like Elias’s size twenty boot in the face. His taste buds sang and his nose quivered. He snapped straight, all fatigue gone.
Junior was here.
He breathed deep. Luxuriated in the awareness, until its significance struck him. No one knew he was returning. What was Junior doing here at the airport?
For a moment he dreamed she was flying to Wales, yearning for him as much as he was for her. But no, she was probably just headed to New York.
She had New York and she had Meiers Corners. She’d never consider Glynn her duty or her dream.
It was why he’d finally given in and come back. He’d fought his attraction because he didn’t want to give up his home for anybody. Fought until he was so miserable he’d been forced to admit he’d give up anything for her.
At Heathrow, waiting in a private vampire lounge, he’d realized that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t giving up his dreams of a home, not for her or anyone.
But how to tell her so that she’d understand? He’d tried to find the right words the whole trip. Nothing had come. Now he was back and she was here and his time had run out.
He closed his eyes and located her in his mind. With the ease of centuries, he used the blood-memory to single her essence out of a thousand beating hearts, her smell/taste his burning beacon of joy. He opened his eyes and ran.
He saw her moments later, winding her way through the crowds. He couldn’t help himself. He shouted her name.
She looked up. Their eyes met and it was like a fist to his gut. Elias’s, as oversized and iron-hard as his boots.
They stood frozen in time. And then she was running toward him and he toward her—
A flash of scarlet intervened. A hand planted on his chest and pushed with inhuman strength. He stopped more out of surprise than anything.
“Hello, Glynn.” An exotically beautiful face smiled up at him, green eyes glittering.
“Camille.” He stepped back with a growl vibrating up from his belly, ripe with his disgust and anger.
“Now, now, darling. Is that any way to greet your old flame?” She touched a red nail playfully to his chest. He remembered how quickly her touch could turn from play to pain.
His eyes flicked behind her as he tried to calculate how much danger Junior might be in. She was still a few feet away but closing fast.
Camille growled. “Don’t pay attention to your whore, Glynn. It will only make things worse for her. And you.”
His eyes snapped back to Camille’s exotic face. How could he have thought it beautiful? “Lay one finger on Junior and I’ll destroy you.”
Camille’s red nail dug deep. “You’re not in any position to make threats, Gly—”
Junior slapped Camille on the back. “Hiya, v-bitch. How’s it goin’?”
Camille’s finger slipped and her nail broke. “Why, you…” She spun, nails sharpening into claws.
Junior danced out of range with a grin. “I mean, how’s it goin’ considering your club’s nothing but rubble and the mayor won’t give you another building permit and Julian’s tied your lawyers up for months?” Her normally sweet face was lit with a smug expression that Glynn could only think of as owned.
Camille’s eyes flashed back to Glynn. Her smile turned distinctly predatory. “How interesting you brought that up, human. That’s why I’m here.”
Glynn heaved a mental sigh. He’d rather not have Junior involved in whatever shit Camille was about to dish out. But telling his Junior to back off wasn’t smart. It would only make her more determined to stay.
So he snagged Junior by the neck, tugged her into his side and sheltered her under his arm before challenging the other vampire. “That’s right, Camille. Why don’t you tell us your oh-so-nefarious scheme?”
He hated the little smile on the vampire’s plump, glistening lips. Hated even more the triumphant twinkle in her eyes. “It’s simple, darling. I have your tchotchkes.”
Junior sucked in a breath. He soothed her shoulder. “They survived the explosion? So?”
“So if you go back to Wales and stay there—and I’ll know if you don’t—I’ll send them to you after an appropriate interval. If not—” She ground her palms together then made a poof.
Under his arm Junior started struggling. “You bitch!”
Though he knew Junior had martial arts training, he rather thought from the way she squirmed that if he let her go, she might have tried to scratch Camille’s eyes out.
Camille’s smile thinned. “Careful, human cunt.”
Glynn growled, short and savage.
“Excuse me, human female. Remember, you’re in Lestat territory now. We have minions everywhere.”
Junior snorted. “Ask me if I care.”
Glynn glanced down. She stood with her chest puffed out, her eyes blazing gold. He was so proud of her. He couldn’t let her take Camille’s wrath. “Let me get this straight. You want me to move to Wales, permanently. I get a home, something I’ve always wanted, and my mementos returned.”
“That’s it.” Camille’s full-lipped smile returned. “A win-win.”
“Except Elias loses one of his best trackers and bodyguards. The Alliance loses a knight.”
“A rook, darling.” Camille’s lips plumped fuller as her smile turned coquettish. “You’re a more valuable piece than a knight.”
“Elias doesn’t consider us chessmen, Camille. How did you find me anyway? Today, here at the airport?”
“Why, darling. The blood scent/taste, of course.” She flashed eyes at Junior. “You remember our bedroom romps got a little…strenuous.”
“We were never that intimate, Camille. Nosferatu has an eye on O’Hare traffic, doesn’t he?”
“Pooh.” She moued. “Well, it doesn’t matter how I found you. I have your little knickknacks. I hold the cards. Either you make your home permanently elsewhere, or I take the things you care about most…” Her eyes wandered again to Junior. “…and destroy them.”
Glynn’s gums flared hot, his fangs fighting to descend. “If you even touch Junior—”
“Darling, no.” Camille fell a step back. “Your tchotchkes only. I wouldn’t dream of threatening your little whore.” Yet her gaze was predatory, resting on Junior.
“Whore?” Glynn’s vision went red, his talons throbbed to extend. “For the last time, that is not an acceptable term.”
Camille took another step back. “Fine. Your little friend. I won’t touch her.” Her chin kicked up. “But make no mistake, I’ll happily destroy your pipe and dragon, your cookie cutter and the child’s sweetly bronzed shoe.”
Glynn smiled. “Go ahead. Destroy them.”
Under his arm, Junior started struggling. “Glynn, you can’t. They mean everything to you.”
He took in her pained expression, wanted to kiss the frown off her face, kiss her forehead, he
r eyes, her lips and never stop.
But this first. “You think you’re offering me the world, don’t you, Camille? Everything I want—not only my symbols of home, but a permanent home. But I was just in Wales, the only place I’ve ever known peace, and you know what? I enjoyed it for all of two minutes. Then I thought about showing Wales to Junior. Of taking her the places I’d been, of us seeing all the places I haven’t been yet. And then I was thinking only about her. I even have a tchotchke for her, see?” He took the clarinet reed from his pocket.
Camille frowned.
“But this isn’t a replacement for Junior.” He stared deeply into Camille’s eyes, trying to make her truly understand, trying to reach even a ghost of the fledgling she’d been. “None of those things, the pipe, the dragon and the shoe—not even the cookie press—is a replacement for what I lost. My childhood was stolen from me. I’ll never replace it. I can only face the fact and go on.”
Camille sneered. “You’re a fool.”
He shook his head. Camille’s exotic beauty had intrigued him at one time, even captivated him, ensnaring his imagination and his cock. It was nothing compared to Junior, who’d invaded him heart and soul. “All my life I’ve wanted a home, a place to feel safe and secure. I wasn’t going to give up dreams of a home, not for Junior or anyone.
“But I don’t have to, you see. Home is where I can be safe, and if that doesn’t describe Junior, I don’t know what does. She’s my home.” He crushed the reed in his hand. “You can keep the rest.”
It was a brave speech. His mementos had grounded him for a long, long time. He’d miss them.
But they were only symbols, not a real life, one of the things he’d realized in Wales.
So with his heart and soul, his real life, still secure under his arm, he turned from Camille and from his past, and walked away.
Chapter Eighteen
“I can’t believe you came back from Wales just for me.” I snuggled into Glynn on our way to an on-site hotel room to wait out the daylight hours. I’d missed my plane to New York, but it didn’t matter. Glynn rebooked me for a flight tomorrow morning—with him in the seat next to me.
In the meantime, we were desperate for each other.
Oh, there were still issues to talk out. The usual things like do you want kids, do you hog the blankets. And some unusual things, like did vampires even sleep in beds? He also wanted to talk to my folks for some reason, but he said that could wait.
So for now, we were back in the same time zone. We stumbled into the room, kissing each other like maniacs, clawing off clothes (in his case, literally) and generally not talking.
Sometimes sex is slow and sweet, with a lot of foreplay. And sometimes the instant you’re naked, you push your partner flat on his back, climb on and yell whoo-hah like a cowgirl.
Glynn fell obligingly onto the bed when I shoved and even helped me into the saddle. But when I rolled my hips in long, delicious undulations, he grabbed me with both hands and started thrusting straight up, so hard and deep I took off like a rocket.
Planting both hands on his pecs, I slammed down with equal force. The slap of our hips was underlined by panting breaths and deep moans. Delicious buildup flushed both our chests, dampened our skin. Fangs erupting, he arched into me. I grabbed him with my thighs as his hot pleasure took me sailing over the edge. My climax was hard and quick.
He switched his grip on my hips, started rubbing against me, purring. The rumble rose from his chest, where my hands still dug into his pectorals.
His fangs gleamed white against his flushed lips. I leaned over to kiss him. A particularly forceful stroke of his hips sent me cascading open-mouthed into his face, and I ended up Frenching him savagely.
He released my hips to grab my face with both hands and kiss me back. His erection pulsed heavily inside me, a basso continuo to the counterpoint of caressing lips and quick, brilliant leaps of tongue. A crescendo of sensation overwhelmed me. I stopped thinking and doing and became a symphony of feeling.
My arms collapsed, pressing my body flush to a hot, hard male torso. His panting breath rubbed silky skin and ribbons of body hair against me, a dance of heat, texture, taste. Sheathed within me, stretching me in the fullness of throbbing pleasure, was his patiently waiting cock.
All that swelling feeling finally burst into action. I thrust my tongue into his mouth again. My fingers dug into his rock-hard muscles. My hips beat a savage rhythm. My whole body tightened with need. Where I sheathed him clenched tightest of all.
He shouted my name. Thick arms wrapped around me, shoulders to hips. He yanked me tight and spun us both. My back hit bed with my feet high in the air.
He pounded wildly, pummeling my mons, firing shockwaves with every stroke. His shaft grew thicker and longer, finally jarring into my cervix. I sucked in a cry.
He swept my legs onto his chest. With my feet framing his chin, my body doubled between us, he would go deeper. I opened my mouth to howl.
He sank fangs into the thick of my calf.
Climax, lightning-sharp, streaked through me. Pleasure lifted my cervix, and when my howl emerged, it was filled with satisfaction. He wasn’t too big now but just right. He rode my orgasm out, stroking into my contracting muscles until I lay limp and sweating beneath him.
He shifted our heads to the edge of the bed—and over.
I bent backward, my limp torso coating the side of the bed like melted wax. He tossed a couple pillows onto the floor, cushioning the crown of my head. Bracing a hand on the floor next to the pillows, he cupped my nape with the other. Belly to belly, his hips pinned mine to the mattress.
In this position, he pummeled me raw.
His chest, swelled to boulders, heaved over me. Or under me. It’s a strange position to be in, upside down and being screwed senseless. Blood rushed up…down…until my cranium was heavy and throbbing, like my sex. He thrust deep and hard, over and over. Lust built, sweet and powerful, the pressure increasing both in crown and pussy until it was unbearable.
Until it was no longer lust, but more.
His head bent, his rasping breath hot on my throat. I turned my head to give him greater access. Fangs pressed gently against my neck, all the more poignant for the wild thrusting of his hips. Tears sprang into my eyes, not of pain or fear or even need, but of intense happiness. Joy. Love.
He bit me. Climax raged through my body, igniting from neck to toe. Burned hot and fast, razing everything in its path.
His strokes slowed and shortened, the small after-strokes of lengthened fulfillment. His tongue touched my neck, swirling over the trickles of blood. I luxuriated again in sensation, suspended in a bright spot behind my closed eyelids that would settle into afterglow.
His tongue lapped once, twice, then paused.
“Growing up without a home, I learned to be self-sufficient. To take care of myself first, even with sex. Especially with sex.”
“Mmm.” I thought he’d taken care of me pretty well.
“I have care for my partner’s satisfaction,” he said as if he heard my thoughts. “But my own was always a concern. Until you. With you, I don’t worry about my pleasure. I thought it was because my satisfaction is wrapped up in yours. But there’s more. You take care of me too.”
My pussy flexed.
“You confronted Camille. You tried to get my tchotchkes back…sometimes I think you don’t even realize how you take care of me. You care about me. And I love you for it. I love you, Junior.”
I opened my eyes, saw his face through dark, spangled vision because I was still on my head. “I love you too, Glynn.”
He groaned and drove his cock into me to the hilt. And bit me again.
My blood-rushed brain detonated. Pleasure burst, a heavy liquid torrent. I screamed. He shuddered over me, quaking violently. I clawed at his back, seeking purchase in the raging consummation thrashing me. My hands met acres of skin, miles of muscle, vast shoulders.
Another massive wave rose up, crested. Collapsed, swee
t oceans of pleasure drowning me. His thighs and butt clenched, driving another wave. It ebbed and I started to breathe—he rolled a few short strokes and sank his fangs just a little deeper. Yet another surge struck me. And another.
It went on and on. Even after he’d stopped moving, little aftershocks sparked. Even after he’d rolled us back up on the bed and his licks settled into nuzzling, even after he tucked me, with a few purrs, spoon-fashion into the crook of his body, small pulses glimmered. Even as we sank into sleep.
Much more than lust. It had been almost three weeks, not long but in some ways an eternity. And there were still many, many things to resolve.
But the basics were in place. I loved him. He loved me. We’d work it out from there.
Until, after we woke, I asked him why we he wanted to talk to my folks.
He said, “I must ask your father for permission.”
“What permission?”
“To marry you.”
“Junior. I will speak to your father.”
It was two weeks later, on my one night off from rehearsing the show in New York. Arms crossed and grimaces firmly in place, we sat on opposite sides of the taxi, headed from the airport for Meiers Corners and my folks’ home. Our first fight. Speaking of working things out. If I hadn’t been so mad, it would have been sweet.
“This isn’t the dark ages, Glynn. I make my own decisions. If you want to marry me, you ask me, not Pop. And I’ve already said no.”
“Your father will not say no. He needs money; I have money. He needs help with the business. I can help.”
“At what cost? You’ll never see Wales again. The very idea of you selling your Welsh homestead in some misguided notion of helping my folks—”
“I love you, not pieces of land and crumbling castles.”
“A hell of a lot of land that you spent all your life getting, peopled with folks you care for, friends. It must mean something, yeah? I don’t want you giving all that up.”
His gorgeous face set. “I’m going to talk to your father. End of conversation.”