Keep Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

hand closed over hers, meshing their fingers. If she were mortal, her heart would race and her blood pressure mount. Her heart might not pound, but her chest tightened just as if she were being laced into one of those damned corsets she’d had to wear a century or so ago.

      As he lifted her hand to his mouth, she pulled away, uncertain, irritated at his assumptions. Even if they were spot on. His grip tightened, and he drew her hand upward, never taking his eyes from hers, he whispered, “Oh, yes.” And brushed his lips on her knuckle.

      Make that knuckles! All one hundred ninety-nine of them! Very, very slowly! His touch sent wild messages to her brain and other, far more sensitive parts. His lips seemed to burn against her skin. As he pulled her to him, she splayed her free hand on his chest to maintain space between them, but he pulled her tight, chuckling as he wrapped his arm around her, trapping her hand against the hard muscle of his chest. He smiled and brushed his lips on hers.

      Sweet nights and bat wings! What was he? Who was he? And did it matter a mortal cuss?

      As his mouth pressed gently, almost tentatively, her lips parted. Heat inflamed her mind as she met his kiss touch for touch, pressure for pressure, tongue to tongue, as she leaned into him.

      He responded by angling his hips against hers. There was no mistaking his interest. Arousal was not the word for the iron hard cock pressing against her belly. Insane, crazed, or just plain moonstruck, his need matched hers. Oh! How they matched! She smiled under the onslaught of his mouth. As he eased the kiss, probably to catch his breath the way mortals were wont to, she reached up, pulling his head back down, mashing her lips on his, invading his mouth with her tongue, and willing his need to meet hers.

      He wasn’t complaining.

      Not in the least!

      Sliding his hands down her back, he eased under her shirt and ran his warm hands over her skin. Involuntarily, she shivered.

      “Cold?” he asked, his eyes almost glazed as he pulled his lips a breathspace from hers.

      “Not in the least.”

      He replied by unsnapping her bra and smoothing his hands up to her nape and back down to ease his fingertips inside her waistband. She had it easier—nothing but hot male skin fore and aft—and as he explored, she mirrored his actions.

      “You’ve got cold hands,” he murmured.

      With good reason. “I did warn you.”

      “You didn’t tell the half.”

      She might feel cold to his touch, but his warmth leeched into her bones. Heat flared between them. One hand held her still as his other eased around to cup her breast, causing her to shudder with pleasure. She felt his erection even stronger as his eager fingers found her nipple, tugging gently as it hardened with need.

      Forget reason or sanity! Damn caution! Grasping his shoulders, she wrapped her legs around his waist. They were now eye to eye. His hands abandoned their caress and grasped her bottom, pulling her even closer, rubbing his erection where she wanted it most, or almost the most. She wanted his hard heat deep inside.

      “Sure?” he asked. For a second, she fancied he’d read her mind. “Mean it, do you?” He rocked her against his erection. “Because I’m pretty much at the point of no return.”

      She was impressed. How many mortals resisted her this long? “I’m certain.” She smiled. “I hope you are?”

      “Hell, yes,” he muttered, his voice as ragged as the jerky movements of his chest. Plastering his mouth on her, he carried her across the room. She was going backward through an open doorway, until he tipped her and they both bounced as they hit the mattress. “Got you where I need you!” he whispered. “All I need now is to have you naked.”

      He stood up, spreading her legs with his strong hands.

      “I need more than just me being naked,” she said, sitting up and reaching for his zip. He moved faster. Impossible, but it happened. Grasping her knees, he lifted her legs and, stepping back a little, pulled off her shoes and socks before wrapping a strong hand round each ankle and placing her feet on his chest.

      She bent her knees, intending to push him away and reestablish who was stronger, but he took the advantage. Leaning over as her knees bent, he opened her shirt, pushing aside her bra and cupping her breasts with his hands.

      Darn it! That horse had to have been doped! It was impossible that Michael was strong as she. It violated the laws of nature and reason, but nature and reason scarcely mattered as his lips closed over her breast. She let her legs sag open and cried out as his erection pressed against her.

      They both had too many damn clothes on.

      He was starting on her other breast when she reached for his jeans, trying to fumble with his zip. She moved to make it easier but instead, he shifted off her just enough to grab her by the waist and yank her zip down, pulling her slacks and panties down to her knees. He paused a moment, gazing down at her. She smiled. Vanity aside, she was in darn good shape…for her age.

      “Pleased with yourself?” he asked, grinning down at her.

      “Not yet. I haven’t seen all I want to.”

      “It’ll have to wait!”

      As she debated the wisdom of ripping her slacks off, he bent over and breathed between her legs.

      She almost left the mattress, crying out as his heated mouth covered her. It was wonderful, incredible, but not enough. Was he intending to string this out, to make her wait, to make her beg? He’d go begging!

      His mouth was magnificent, but she wanted, needed more. Much more. And he knew it. Wrenching her legs apart, she ripped her slacks. That rather distracted him a bit. “What was that for? I was about to get there!”

      “I’m disinclined to wait,” she replied, sitting up enough to kick off the remnants of her slacks and pull off her shirt, tossing it aside.

      He seemed happy to stand and watch. Extremely happy going by the convex zipper on his jeans. Tossing aside the last shreds of clothing, she leaped up and stood beside him. “You’ve had your eyeful. Now it’s my turn. She twirled him around, tipped him back on the bed, and unzipped and yanked down his jeans faster than he had time to argue. Not that that was the least likely.

      Standing back, she took her time admiring. Beautiful was not the word. His skin was a wonderful golden shade, highlighted by the tawny hair across his chest and the cluster of darker curls at his groin. Fixing her with his dark eyes, he waved his cock as if saluting and, darn his arrogance, settled his hands behind his head and grinned.

      Antonia deliberately focused her entire attention on his chest. Not much of a hardship, really. She knelt between his legs as she trailed her fingertips over his chest, down to his navel and just a wee bit lower, skipping the darker curls to stroke the flat of her hand down his thighs. Sweet Abel! The man had muscles. Potting must be harder labor than she’d imagined, or the man worked out like a maniac. It had been decades, maybe centuries, since she’d encountered a mortal body this firm, this…

      She met his eyes. “Nice,” she whispered, letting her mouth twitch a little as she trailed one finger up the inside of his thigh, pausing just a hairsbreadth from his balls. “Very nice, in fact.” Brushing them softly, she ran her finger up the side of his cock. “Extraordinarily nice, really.”

      So darn nice, it was ridiculous to prolong this any longer.

      Moving fast, she straddled him. Positioning herself just a centimeter or two above the tip of his magnificent cock, she ran her hands over his chest and across his shoulders. Hard bodied was not the word. He was as firm as one of his pots warm from the kiln.

      And the best part of him would be…she waited no longer and lowered herself. Slowly.

      He let out an almost agonized sigh of sheer and utter joy. That much she read in his eyes as she tightened around him and rocked gently.

      “Dear