The Tempting: Seducing the Nephilim. D. M. Pratt

      “Breathe. You don’t breathe right. You breathe from your chest, not from your abdominal muscles and back. If you breathe deeper, you will be able to calm yourself in a stressful situation. Now, breathe,” Zamara commanded and took a breath with her.

      “The second thing you have to do is lock your arms around her, like this.”

      Zamara came up to Cora and put her arms around her. Cora didn’t realize how much taller Zamara was than she until that moment. She felt the strength in Zamara’s arms press in on her so tight Cora’s breathing was actually constricted. Not enough to make her panic, but certainly enough to make her aware she was being securely held. Then with a soft, gentle breath Zamara blew, using her nose, into Cora’s ear. The result was instantaneous. Cora’s entire body relaxed, every ounce of tension released and her body turned to Jell-O. If she’d wanted to speak, she couldn’t. It was the second breath Zamara blew into her ear that made Cora melt in a way that shocked. Cora felt her nipples become erect and her vaginal juices flush as if she’d just had the most gentle, most sensual orgasm she ever experienced in her life. Cora released into Zamara’s arms, her head dropped to Zamara’s shoulder and in those few moments Cora felt as calm as she’d ever felt in her life.

      Slowly Zamara released the forcefulness of her grip and somehow navigated Cora to the glider. Zamara’s hands, strong yet as smooth as silk and velvet combined, lay on Cora’s skin and the connection sent waves of pleasure through her.

      “This is what happens to Delia?” Cora asked, whispering the words.

      “She relaxes. What happens is what you want to happen,” Zamara said.

      Cora was mush, a human pudding. All she could do was look into Zamara’s eyes. And that too was strangely erotic. Her eyes were the color of sable with flecks of gold. Cora studied her, peering at her perfectly smooth, olive colored skin. Zamara had full lips and a keen nose, high cheek bones and bone straight black hair that had to have Native American in its DNA. Zamara was strong, beautiful and commandingly sensual.

      “I … I don’t understand what just happened. What’s still happening,” Cora said, almost unable to speak.

      “It’s important you put her down right away. That lets her understand the feeling and learn to recreate it for herself. That way she doesn’t need me or you to calm her.”

      “Uh huh,” Cora said, speaking from some out-of-body space.

      “Keep breathing and I’ll put Delia in her crib and get you some water. Let your mind take you where it wants to. Enjoy,” Zamara said.

      Cora heard her pick up Delia. Her footsteps moved away from her down the hallway. There was a moment of relaxed silence, a long slow breath and her eyes opened. Cora saw Zamara standing in front of her. Cora watched as Zamara knelt down in front of her, parted her legs and let her, hot, smooth and very gentle hands slide up her thighs. Cora wanted to gasp, to cry out, but only a long, slow hiss of a moan came out as her lips parted. One of Zamara’s hands slipped slowly under her dress and caressed her breast. The other hand slipped deeper between her legs and snapped the lavender silk ribbon of her La Perla thong like it was a piece of spider web. Cora couldn’t move. She sat motionless as Zamara unbuttoned Cora’s dress and pushed the bra down allowing her left breast to lift itself out with the turn of a single finger. A gentle pinch of her nipple and Zamara’s face leaned in. She brushed her lips against Cora’s erect nipple and at the same time slipped a very wet finger into her. Cora closed her eyes. Zamara’s warm tongue traced around the hard flesh and then her mouth attached and gently sucked on her nipple. Her free hand massaged Cora’s breast, slipping sensually over the flesh between every third or fourth squeeze with velvet perfection. Between her legs, Zamara’s finger seemed to swell as it slipped in and out and in and out, again and again in motion with the glider chair. The rhythm seemed to fall into slow easy, gentle motion, unhurried and oh, so good, giving her wave after wave of pleasure. Then Zamara’s full lips slowly kissed their way up Cora’s décolletage; tiny, hungry kisses and little licks with gentle bites that traced up her neck and into her ear where her gentle breath flowed out like honeyed smoke that slipped into Cora’s ear. The warm feeling curled into her body with the warmth of a hot summer rain on naked flesh. Cora felt Zamara’s fingers coaxing her pulsing pussy into opening and closing and sucking on the flesh that stroked inside her. The whispered breaths in her ear stopped as if Zamara knew to continue would bring Cora to orgasm. Zamara’s lips brushed across Cora’s face until they reached her mouth. The kiss sent waves of passion through her and Zamara’s fingers inside her swelled again. All of it at once filled Cora in a way that she had only experienced once before … Beau. That one night they had succumbed to each other wrapped in grief. The night the doctors were sure Eve was going to die and they wept in each other’s arms. Their grief led to kisses and kisses to desperate passion. They made love for hours, far into the morning and early afternoon.

      That encounter came rushing back to her in vivid detail. Cora opened her eyes and looked up … it was Beau inside her. She wanted to scream, but what she was feeling was beyond pleasure. She was helpless. She couldn’t stop even if she wanted to and she in no way wanted to. She had hungered for him for so long. She’d worked so hard to push the feeling she had for him away because she loved Eve. But when Cora looked into his eyes and ran her fingers into those perfect curls she couldn’t stop. He kissed her, devouring her mouth, as hungry and desperate as she was. He stopped and his face dropped down between her legs. His tongue was hot and hard as it vibrated against her clitoris. He slipped one hand under her hips and his finger went inside while his tongue and lips licked and sucked. The other hand pinched her nipple, sending her into a frenzy of erotic passion.

      “Beau … please … oh God please … we can’t,” she moaned.

      “Beg me again,” she heard a voice say and the … the orgasm took her.

      He lifted her from the chair and laid her on the floor. Both naked, he slipped inside of her and found the rhythm of her passion. He rode her easy, hard, faster, slower. Her body arched and he rode her harder. He sustained the height of her orgasms until her body vibrated with his. He was an amazing lover. She felt as if they blended into one fluid being. When she was spent, she relaxed. He hovered over her, his wet skin taught as it stretched over the perfectly sculpted muscles in his arms, chest, stomach and thighs. Still throbbing inside her, he slowly pressed down, flesh against flesh, on top of her. He kissed her lips and stroked her hair. His face went to her ear and he breathed one last time in her ear. She completely surrendered, collapsing into his arms. Her face found its way into the crook of his neck and there she planted the gentlest of kisses as she felt his arms coil around her. She was happier than she’d ever been in her life.

      “I love you, Beau,” she whispered and drifted into sleep.

      Zamara stood at the door to the playroom holding the glass of water. She crossed the room and sat it down on the floor next to a sleeping Cora, still in her dress and very much alone.

Chapter Seven

      Detective Macklin Blanchard stood just inside the closed door of his precinct commander’s office. Lieutenant Mitchell Hanover; friend, hero, leader, tough guy and one mean ass son-of-a-bitch when he needed to be. A collection of qualities that could make him turn from friend to foe in a heartbeat. At the moment he was fuming, and, had the situation been a cartoon, Mac was sure he would have been able to see steam shooting from his ears.

      “What are you doing?” Hanover shouted. “Beau Le Masters has a court ordered restraint for you to stay off his property and four hundred feet away from his wife. What part of that don’t you understand detective?”

      “She’s not his wife,” Mac said.

      “Seriously? Did you actually just say that to me?”

      “Technically, she’s not,” Mac added.

      “What the fuck is your problem?” Hanover asked.

      “She was raped, impregnated with a child that bears