She whimpered, “Julian, please.”
The gentle draw of his mouth intensified everything. The rasp of the couch cushion against her bare skin. The tickle of his chest hair. The pressure that built from inside. He could climb inside her head like nobody else she had ever known.
She needed to move so damn badly, yet he held still, and he held still, until she couldn’t hold back a muffled scream.
At that, a deep, quiet growl vibrated against her back, and he moved.
Just his fingers.
The sensation that rocketed through her was so extreme, she exploded. She bucked in his arms, sobbing. He clamped down on her and held her in place effortlessly, stroking and stroking, while she rode the waves of her climax. He took her to a place beyond words, until finally she had to pull his hand away.
Only then did he ease out of the bite and rise up. Grasping her by the hips, he began to pump into her in long, powerful strokes. She didn’t know what was more devastating – when he focused on giving her more pleasure than she had ever experienced in her life, or when he focused on taking his own.
Helpless tears leaked out of her eyes. All she knew was that making love to Julian stripped her of every barrier, until she felt totally open and exposed.
Then he went rigid. She could feel his tension pouring through the tight grip on her hips.
He whispered, “Melisande.”
There was so much yearning in his deep voice, she lifted her head. Twisting, she reached back to him with one hand. He grasped it. Their eyes met.
His thick, muscular body was in silhouette against the backdrop of the lake. The diffuse, early morning sunshine highlighted the flecks of white in his hair and the power in his piercing gaze.
And oh God, the look on his face.
To be loved like that… it was so much more than she could ever have hoped for.
His head and shoulders bowed, and his face clenched. She watched him orgasm while she felt the pulse of it inside, and she helped prolong his pleasure by rocking gently back against him.
“You’re mine too,” she whispered. “Don’t you ever forget it.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I never will.”
Afterward, when he finally pulled his softening penis out, she sighed in resignation. “I always hate that part. I want you to stay inside.”
“I do too,” he said, stroking her buttocks and thighs.
He took his T-shirt and gently cleaned her, while she yawned and a heavy lassitude crept over her. “The fire’s so lovely,” she murmured as she crawled onto the couch. “I want to curl up here for a while. We can go to bed later, okay?”
“Okay.” Grabbing a soft chenille throw, he joined her. She laid her head on his chest, while he wrapped them in the blanket.
Held in his arms, a deep, peaceful sleep took her.
When she next opened her eyes, the light had changed and she was alone. Yawning, she stretched and looked around. In the fireplace, the flames had died down. What remained of the logs glowed a deep, gorgeous red.
Her clothes had been folded and set on the floor near her head, and a familiar rich, appetizing smell filled the house.
Smiling, she dressed and padded into the kitchen.
He had cleaned up the flour. She was sorry to have missed the sight of the Nightkind King wielding a broom and dustpan.
Barefoot and shirtless, and dressed in his jeans, he stood at the counter in front of a pan of chocolate cake. Evidently, she had slept hard for a couple of hours, for the cake was not only baked, it also appeared to be cool. He had opened a container of store-bought, cream cheese frosting.
His head bent, he focused on spreading the frosting evenly. He took such care with the task, gently working the knife so that he didn’t damage the delicate surface.
For some reason the sight brought fullness to her chest. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“What did you do?” she asked.
It was a stupid thing to say. She could see very well what he had done.
He looked up to give her a smile that creased his face.
“I baked you another cake,” he said. “I hope I did it right this time.”
The End