Keep Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

him tight. Wondrous was not the word. Magnificent was utterly inadequate. He was…Michael! It was the only word to describe the wonder deep in her cunt.

      She murmured his name. Repeatedly. In rhythm with her body, holding his eyes with hers, not by will but by mutual desire.

      As her climax rose, a distant part of her mind dimly registered that never had she known a man so strong, so virile. He was her match. Had to be something in that horse’s blood that slowed her, but now was not the time to ponder that.

      Sensing him peaking inside her, she leaned down, brushing her breasts against his chest and setting her lips on his skin. He smelled male, alive and horny, and for this moment in time, he was hers. Her desire surged as she eased her lips up to the base of his neck and the richness of his life pulsed against her tongue.

      His arms encircled her, holding her, embracing her. Her body sang with need, heat, desire, anticipation of the rightness of his lifeblood, and the rising power of her climax.

      She rubbed her fangs over the skin above his vein. Sensed the pulsing heat beneath them as she gently bit.

      His body bucked with the power of his orgasm. Wild, guttural feral groans rose from deep in his gut. His hand raked her back, each scratch intensifying her own climax. His hips rocked; his back reared up, and with a tremendous surge within, he rose, turning so now she was underneath. He leaned into her, the weight of their bodies digging his nails deep into her back as her fangs held tight. She was lost in sensation, drowning with sheer and utter blinding pleasure as her body rocked with his and her being absorbed the power of his mighty climax, engulfing his strength in her own soul-rending peak.

      Seemed they clung to each other for an eternity, joined in the after-ripples of ecstasy, drowning in wild pleasure and the total joy of their mutual possession.

      He was gasping, great breaths that expanded his strong chest and flattened her breasts between them. He was hot, damp with sweat and their bodies melded together. Joined as their minds and emotions had linked a while earlier.

      Slowly, sadly, she felt him soften inside her and ease out. She bit back the whimper of disappointment. She was vampire. She was not showing mortal female weakness. Instead, she rolled on her side, and resting a hand on his shoulder, leaned up and licked the wound in his neck, stanching the already slowing flow of blood. Just the taste of him on the tip of her tongue roused a surge of lust. Better restrain herself. She wasn’t leaving him helpless.

      She curled up against him, luxuriating in his closeness and maleness. Her eyelids drooped with satiation when he whispered in her ear. “You weren’t kidding about the vampire line, were you?”

      Darnation! Sweet Abel, help her! How could she have been so indiscreet? But she had. Easy to take care of. Just take his memory away.

      Her hand resting on his chest over his heart, Antonia ran her lips up his neck, pausing just long enough to appreciate the sinews and muscle under his skin, then rested her lips on his forehead and focused on the mind within. Nothing. Utter silence, like a shuttered room or a deserted landscape. Lifting her lips, she looked down at his eyes. Oh, they were intelligent alright. Hazy with the aftermath of sex, but alert, clear, contented.

      Was massive brain damage possible? No, he’d barely function in that case, and Michael Langton functioned very nicely. “What are you?”

      He smiled up at her, brushing the hair off her forehead. “I told you, the local legend.”

      Damn him! So he was the village stud, and she’d fallen for him like a simpering mortal. “Of course you are,” she replied. Fast as she could move, she got out of bed and reached for the remnants of her clothing.

      “Hey!” Michael said, jumping out of bed and grabbing her arm. “Where are you going?”

      “Home!” Or at least the closest approximation nearby—a nice country house hotel.

      “Not yet,” he said. “Stay. You can’t walk away like that. Not after what happened between us.”

      Whether she could or couldn’t, she was going to. “I must go.”

      “Stay, and I’ll cook you breakfast. You can be back home early, and no one will know you stayed out.”

      As if that were her prime concern! “I think at my age, my reputation can stand a late night.”

      “Then why go?” He was centimeters from her, not touching, but the heat of his body came at her in waves. And he was hard again. Naked women did that to mortals.

      She leaned in to kiss his forehead. He moved and took her mouth with his, cupping the back of her head with his hand. Darn it! He all but marked her—opening her lips with his, taking her tongue deep into his mouth, rekindling wild sensations deep inside her, sending shivers over her with his fingers, and leaving her mind racing and her reason fogged. But not completely.

      “See?” he said, lifting his mouth off hers. “Wouldn’t you rather stay?”

      What she’d rather do and what she was going to do were two very different things. “I never stay.”

      A flash of hurt crossed his dark eyes. “Never’s a very long time.”

      As if any mortal really understood the meaning of “a long time.” But she couldn’t just walk out, not after…not after the most incredible lovemaking she’d known in centuries, if ever. “Michael, I have to go. I just do. No reflection on you, or…” she paused, “what we just shared. I just don’t ever stay the night.”

      He nodded but said nothing, as if biting back words. She discarded her ripped underwear but pulled on the two ripped halves of her slacks and looked around vainly for something to run through the loops and hold them together.

      “You’re not really going out like that?”

      “Since I didn’t bring a change of clothes, yes.”

      He made an exasperated sound. “Hang on. If you insist”—he rummaged in his drawers—“wear these.” He handed a folded teeshirt and a pair of well-worn but clean workman’s overalls. Too big by far, but unlikely to fall off. “Put them on, and I’ll take you home.”

      “That isn’t necessary.”

      “Put them on, dammit, and I am taking you home!” He tossed them on the rumpled bed and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Turn around.”

      “Ever thought of saying ‘please’?”

      He took a deep breath. It made his cock jerk. “Please turn around.”

      “Why?”

      He gave a long, exasperated-sounding sigh. “I want to look at your back. I think I scratched it.”

      She remembered his nails raking her back, but any marks were long healed. “I’m alright.”

      Without asking again, he spun her round and succeeded. Hand on her shoulder holding her steady, he licked up her back, his tongue warm but rough. What shocked her most was the realization that her back was scratched and the scratches unhealed. She felt them close as his tongue traced them. Three, four times he licked and then brushed a couple of smaller spots.

      She was hallucinating! Had to be. She was vampire. She healed on her own! How could a mere mortal do what he did?

      “Better get dressed,” he said, stepping away and taking his warmth with him. “Before I throw you back in bed.”

      He left her alone while she put on the borrowed clothes. She looked around for her discarded shoes. Stepping onto them, she noticed they were caked with mud. Hardly surprising given the fields and woods she’d crossed.

      So Michael Langton was taking her home. How mortal! She had other ideas. She opened the bedroom window wide, leapt out, and, in seconds, was running at vamp speed toward the village.