by Kate Hill
When the kiss broke, Pierce’s arms were wrapped tightly around her, supporting her entirely as she stroked his nape.
“I’m telling you right now, Tabatha Lane or Maggie Springfield, I’m in love with you. I was then and I am now.”
“I love you, too. From now on things can only get better for us,” she said.
“It happened, didn’t it?”
“Yes, Pierce or Samuel, or—”
“The name doesn’t matter.” He smiled. “Only love does. You know, I didn’t leave all the antiques in that house.”
“No?”
He shook his head and brushed her mouth with a kiss. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the cuffs, the silver freshly polished and gleaming.
“I figured these really belonged to us. Paul wouldn’t mind.”
“No.” She grinned, sliding her fingers over the smooth metal. “I don’t believe he would.”
“Would you like to go to dinner now?”
She shook her head and slipped the cuffs from his hand. Stepping into the hallway, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’d like to see if they’ll fit through my headboard.”
A smile touched his lips and his sapphire eyes gleamed. “Just tell me what you want, love. Tell me in great detail.”
Once in her bedroom, Pierce tugged her into his arms and kissed her neck. Tabatha clung to him, relishing his scent and the warmth of his lips against her flesh. Funny how everything about him seemed so different. Their shared psychic dream into their past lives had brought them closer than she ever imagined possible. Memories of all they had shared as Maggie and Samuel flooded her. More than anything, she longed to feel his cock driving into her pussy.
“Oh, Pierce, I want you so badly,” she panted, tugging his shirt from his pants and unbuttoning it with deft fingers.
“I want you, too, Tabatha.” He unzipped her dress and let it spill to the floor.
Standing before him in nothing but her bra and panties, she should have felt a bit apprehensive, yet somehow this seemed so right. He quickly discarded his clothes and rolled on a condom, but even that seemed like too long for their bodies to be parted.
Tabatha reached to unhook her bra, but he grasped her arm and turned her around. Pressing warm kisses to her neck and back, he unfastened the bra and flung it aside. He reached around and cupped her bare breasts. Tabatha’s eyes slipped shut and little sighs of pleasure escaped her lips as he gently squeezed and caressed her breasts. His thumbs ran over her nipples, teasing them to stiff, aching buds of desire.
He removed one hand from her breasts and seconds later the cool silver cuffs brushed against her belly. He trailed them up between her breasts while running his tongue along her shoulder.
“I feel like I’ve waited forever to be with you like this,” he breathed.
A slight smile tugged at her lips. “It has been a few hundred years.”
“Yes. It has.”
He turned her to face him and cupped her face in his hand. His callused palm felt good against her cheek. Tabatha’s heart fluttered. She wanted him so badly and had no desire to wait a moment longer. Grasping his face, she covered his mouth in a searing kiss. Her tongue traced the shape of his lips, then slipped between them. His met it, stroking and exploring her, desperate yet at the same time gentle.
Tabatha ran her hands up and down his back, then cupped his backside, relishing its tightness. His body was so lean and powerful, even more beautiful than she had imagined. Every sculpted muscle was a pleasure to touch. His arms wrapped around her waist, pressing her close to him. The sensation of his hair roughened chest against her breasts sent a thrill of passion coursing through her. If possible, her need for him increased even more. Her clit ached and her pussy grew wet with need.
“It’s almost magical, this feeling I have for you,” she whispered.
“It is magical.” Suddenly he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Placing her on it, he gazed at her with lust and affection. With the utmost tenderness, he took her wrists and used the cuffs to bind them to her headboard.
Tabatha’s pulse raced. She drew a deep breath and released it slowly, watching him through half-closed eyes. Parting her legs, he positioned himself between them. He caressed her hips, then slid his hands beneath her buttocks. His warm breath teased her clit for several seconds before he used his tongue to caress the sensitive flesh. Tabatha’s hands tightened into fists and she resisted the urge to moan. Over and over his tongue caressed and teased her. He used the tip of it to stroke along the side of her clit, and the flat of it to caress her flesh in a rhythmic pattern that soon had her writhing.
“Oh, Pierce. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” She squirmed with pleasure and strained against the silver bonds. Each stroke of his tongue drove her closer to what she knew would be a shattering climax.
Still lapping her clit, Pierce reached up and caressed one of her breasts. His palm circled the fleshy globe. Taking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he pinched it, not enough to hurt but with just the right amount of pressure to send waves of pleasure coursing through her. As if reading her mind, he knew exactly how to touch her.
Tabatha gasped, her eyes tightly closed, enjoying every sensation of his lapping tongue. Increasing his speed and a slight bit of pressure, he drove her to orgasm. Massive pulsations of pure pleasure rocked her from head to toe. She thrashed and moaned his name, longing to break free of the bonds so that she could cling to him. He licked with gentle strokes until the last ripple coursed through her.
For a moment, Tabatha lay still except for the wild beating of her heart and the rise and fall of her chest as she caught her breath. Pierce unfastened the cuffs and tossed them aside. She slipped her arms around him and tugged him closer, gazing deeply into his eyes.
“That was great,” she purred, “but I want more.”
“Oh, I’ll give it to you, love.” He brushed her forehead with a kiss, then covered her lips with his. The sensation of his powerful body against hers ignited her passion again.
Kissing her deeply, he slid his thick cock inside her. Inch by marvelous inch the velvet-skinned staff filled her until he was buried to the hilt.
They lay for a moment, their breaths mingling and their gazes fixed on one another.
“Tabatha,” he murmured against her lips. “I don’t know how I could have been so stupid. All my life, this is exactly what I wanted.”
“Sex with bondage?”
A smile flirted with his lips. “No. To be loved.”
“I do love you, Pierce. We were meant to be together, just like Samuel and Maggie.”
His mouth brushed hers in a tender kiss. Tabatha ran her fingers through his hair, loving its thickness, then splayed her palms across his back, gripping tightly.
He took her slowly, teasing her with long, smooth strokes that stirred her deep inside. All the while he gazed into her eyes, his expression reflecting his wonder at his newly discovered emotions. Suddenly his movements increased and his eyes darkened with passion.
“God, Tabatha, I can’t wait any longer. I need you so much.”
“Take me, Pierce. I’m so ready for you.”
Thrusting her hips upward to meet his frantic motions, she clung to him tightly. His body heat seeped into her, stirring her even more.
“Pierce. Pierce. Oh, Pierce, that feels so good,” she cried out, clinging to him harder. The tightening in her pussy became almost unbearable, then she exploded, her internal muscles squeezing his cock until he burst inside her. His sleek body strained against her, and she relished his strength and tingled in the knowledge that she brought him the same pleasure as he brought her.
For several moments, she listened to his ragged breathing close to her ear and enjoyed the sensation of his hot flesh against hers.
“I’ve been hiding so much for so long, Tabatha, ignoring needs I didn’t want to believe I had. Thank you for setting me free.”
She tenderly took his face in her hands and kiss
ed him. There was still so much they had to learn about each other, so much they were destined to share. She looked forward to every moment of their life together.
The End
About the author:
A lifelong fan of action and romance, Kate Hill likes heroes with a touch of something wicked and wild. Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in publications both on and off the Internet. When she’s not working on her books, Kate enjoys dancing, martial arts, and researching vampires and Viking history.
Website: http://www.kate-hill.com
Email: [email protected]
Kate Hill welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.
Also by Kate Hill:
The Blood Doctor
Captive Stallion
Darkness Therein
Deep Red
Dream Stallion
The Holiday Stalking
In Black
Knights of the Ruby Order 1: Torn
Knights of the Ruby Order 2: Crag
Knights of the Ruby Order 3: Lock
Midnight Desires
Moonlust Privateer
Vampires at Heart
Shadow-Time Lover
R. Casteel
Chapter One
Romania
1350 A.D.
Zolona sat on the window seat of her second-floor bedroom, looking out over the vast estate of her father, the lord of Garlanzo Castle. It was the first night of the full moon when evil walked the land. She knew it was not so. Bright moonlight kept the true evil away, driving it into hiding until the light began to wane.
The deed must be done in the shadow-time. It was for this hour she waited, alone in the darkened room. She was frightened of the evil but sought to embrace it. If she went too early it would mean her death, too late and the evil would pass into her and be perpetuated for another generation.
The door opened, the dim light of the torch outlined the bent and bony form of the seer. “My child,” she screeched in a high-pitched, irritating voice. “Ya are the last virgin daughter within the castle walls. Yer father has been wise ta keep ya pure. Yer deceitful sisters refused ta do their duty and took lovers between their legs.”
“I know what I must do,” Zolona answered quietly.
“Have ya prepared yer body with the oil of the rose to mask the scent of yer fear?” The creaking of her old bones grew louder as she approached the window.
“Da, Seer, I have done as ya instructed.” She turned her face back to the moonlight. This was her destiny, to rid the land of the evil curse.
“Ya have yer gown ready?” The seer’s voice grated on her nerves. The claw-like fingers of the old hag dug into her shoulder.
“Woman,” she snapped. “Do yer ears sag like yer breasts so that they too are useless? Go! Be on yer way. Leave me at once.”
She heard the woman wheezing and the shuffling of her feet as she moved across the floor. Zolona did not know how old she was, nobody did. It was rumored her life was tied to the curse. The gods knew she had been an old sourpuss for longer than anyone living could remember. It would be worth the sacrifice of her virginity just to be rid of the crone.
The door closed and darkness came from the far corners, filling the room. Zolona stood, opened the window, and stepped onto the balcony. The howl of a wolf echoed through the valley and a chill caused her body to shake. She raised her arms to the sky and her robe dropped to the cold stone. Moonlight bathed her naked body and a breeze swirled around her, carrying the scent of roses off into the night.
She offered up a prayer to the gods that they might look favorably upon her. To the Moon God that he might soon hide his face, and the god of morning whose star lit the sky before dawn, that he might accept the offer of her virgin blood. Last, she set her eyes upon the Warrior in the sky and prayed for courage and a strong heart, lest fear pave the way for failure.
The moon continued on his course to the sea and the entrance to the land of death and darkness. The time was at hand. She must make the final preparation.
Turning, Zolona stepped through the window-paned doors and crossed the darkened room to her bed. The white, sheer gown seemed to glow with a mysterious sheen against the deep burgundy of the thick comforter. The old woman had given her the material with a strict warning not to put the garment on until this very night.
Picking up the silk-like material, she slipped it around her shoulders and tied the thin sash below her breasts. It clung to her upper body like a second skin and bellowed out into a sensuous cloud around her feet. Her body lost the chill of the night air and began to warm. What spirits were at work this night that this see-through, apparition-like garment gave her body heat?
Her bare feet made little noise as she crossed the stone floor. Zolona pulled the heavy oak door open and the dim light from the torch in the hall spilled into the room. With what might be her last look at her comfortable bed, she turned and headed down the wide, drafty passage to the stairs.
An eerie silence hung over the interior of the castle. Dark ghosts danced on the walls as the burning torches along the way sent fingers of fire and black smoke toward the ceiling. It was as if the castle walls themselves were in league with the spirits that walked in the shadow-time of predawn.
She heard a noise behind her, but dared not turn around. Her eyes could not look upon another human face until the power of the curse broke and moon’s face began to change.
Zolona descended the stairs. The faces, woven into the tapestries hanging on the walls, seemed to follow her with their eyes. If they could speak, would they tell her of their own daughters’ failure to free the land of evil?
She reached the main floor. Several torches were out, increasing the darkness within the castle. Even the servants were in hiding, fearful of meeting her face-to-face. No doubt once she stepped through the outer door, they would begin to scurry around catching up on their daily duties. The last barrier stood before her.
A figure clothed in black from the hood over his face to the hem of his long flowing robe, slipped from the shadows, and stood before her. “It is time. I go ta break the evil curse upon this house and land. Release me, my father, ta my destiny and pray the gods will be appeased with the sacrifice of my virginity.”
He turned, pulled the door open, and stepped aside.
For the first time since her first bleeding, Zolona stood outside the castle walls without an armed guard. If not for the hour at hand, she would have danced for joy on the dew-covered grass.
Going down the cobblestone lane, she turned onto a well-trodden path. She knew the way well and hurried beneath the canopy of trees. Night animals scampered through the fallen leaves. An owl, disturbed by her presence, dropped from a branch overhead and flew deeper into the woods.
A wolf’s sinister howl split the night and dread crept up her spine. Her heart began to race beneath her breast as she glanced from side to side. Tension mounted with each quiet step.
She broke out of the trees and into a small clearing beside the lake. The moonlight cast a white shimmering path across the placid surface. Dew from the grass covered her feet. Wildflowers pulled at the hem of her gown and brushed the calves of her legs like the sensuous caress of a lover.
The gazebo stood by the water’s edge, lonely and forlorn with neglect. She stepped inside the columns that once supported the roof. It was gone, as she first remembered it years ago as a child, leaving the large flat stone in the center open to the sun, moon, and stars. The stone had drawn her in fascination from the beginning. Its smooth weather-beaten surface still kept the discolored stains of blood, which time alone could not wash away.
A sudden tingling along her spine caused her to gasp. She could feel the evil staring at her from the dense underbrush at the edge of the clearing. In her mind, she saw it circling around her, sniffing the air, and waiting.
As the moon slipped farther from the sky, long finger-like shapes spread across the f
ield. Something flashed through the grass, disappearing into another area of growing darkness. A long howl burst forth into the clearing and caused her to jump. Her hand flew to her mouth to cover her startled cry. Zolona tried to hide her fear and remain calm but her palms were moist and her eyes darted to and fro.
It was shadow-time.
The moon dropped below the mountains and the light faded. She thought she could hear the hiss as it dipped into the distant sea, or was it the wind whispering through the trees.
The sinister presence of evil settled around Zolona. She stood next to the rock; the backs of her calves touching the cold damp stone. The phosphorus glow of the gown grew brighter and she saw its light reflected from the greenish eyes of the evil one. It was there, with her, inside the gazebo. Its harsh breathing roared like a mighty storm within her head.
With trembling hands, she loosened the sash. The garment parted and the night air sent a chilling breeze across her breasts. Her nipples tingled with expectation, but was it out of fear, or the result of some perverted, immature childhood fantasy dream? Only this time, as she sat upon the large rock, it was not a vision she could wake up from and be back in her own bed.
As Zolona lay back on the bloodstained surface of the stone, the evil leapt to the rock and straddled her body. Savage lust gleamed in its eyes. Long white strands of salvia dripped from its fangs to fall upon her breasts. Have I come ta early after all? The thought flashed through her mind as its foul, hot breath washed over her face and the harsh satanic growl from its throat sent shockwaves of fear coursing through her body. Has it all been for nothing? She closed her eyes, unwilling to watch the approaching hand of death.
The beast sniffed along her body from her throat to her toes. Its cold, wet nose brushed her skin and plunged between her legs. Zolona bit back the scream. With nostrils flared, the beast continued back up her body. The razor-sharp canine teeth came closer to her face. Its thick rough tongue licked her throat.