Читать книгу Pleasure - Jacquelyn Frank - Страница 11

To one of his kind, the word was a curse and a danger. Those hunted and caught by necromancers were maliciously destroyed by those befouled creatures. The black magic that stained their souls was easy to detect on them, as the foulness emanated from them in a disgusting odor any Nightwalker could smell even from a distance. To the point where it was almost unbearable. They reeked like gasoline and fetid garbage, and their power was deadly and dangerous.

And Valera had been one of them. She had fallen in with them a decade ago, corrupting herself.

However, Sagan only needed to breathe deeply of the clean purity of lilies and sunflowers to know she was not of that evil ilk any longer. Indeed, she had never intentionally meant to be a part of such corruption. When she had learned what they were all about, she had bolted from them as fast and as far as she could, hating herself for her small deviation from the way she really was.

What astounded the priest above everything else was the realization that she still used magic. In fact, she had used it to protect herself from the two who had intended her deep harm. Anger flushed his body as he recalled the threats made against her using her memories of the encounter. She had been so quietly brave, tapping into the part of herself she still half feared to protect herself, her home, and him.

Yet, in spite of having recently toyed with what he deemed to be a dark art, it had left no stain behind itself. There was nothing to mark her as tainted or evil, and he knew that was because she was the farthest thing from it. Indeed, she was something so strong that she had been able to pull herself away from the brink of the addiction the magic she had been using had become to her. Sagan saw and felt it clearly in her mind and memories, the clarity of the understanding so sharp.

Evil magic became an addiction. Like cocaine or methamphetamines, one taste was enough to corrupt the whole person instantly. It cascaded downward from there. But Valera had broken away and saved herself, her moral fiber so strong she couldn’t bear what she had seen them do to his kind so punitively. Feeling how compelling it had been to drown in the high that was black magic, he was shocked at what it must have taken for her to save herself.

However, Sagan had never heard of good magic-users, and he was mystified by the anomaly she was. He was also very aware of her terror that he would find out and try to hurt her for it because of his universal beliefs against her kind. But…it wasn’t “her kind.” She was something very different than those the Shadowdwellers had fought against in the past. Not that it was ever much of a fight. Necromancers had a terrible advantage over his people, as she had recently found out for herself. Just calling her power emitted a brilliant blue energy that would hurt him just like any other light would. Or so he understood. He didn’t know for certain, and he didn’t have time to filter through her every memory of every spell in her repertoire.

“So,” he said softly, “you are even more of a surprise than I thought.”

Valera was looking into his eyes as those long moments of thought passed over him, and so she knew when he said that exactly what he meant. She jolted in instantaneous fear, trying to jerk away from him. “No! I’m not! I’m not what you think! Let go!” she cried when he held her all the tighter. She sobbed harshly in her panic. “Please don’t hurt me,” she begged him. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

Sagan gripped her tightly, drawing her flailing body up close so he could hush softly against her ear.

“Shh, Valera,” he soothed her. “I know. I know what you are and how different you are from those we call our enemies.” He smiled with bemusement as he pulled back to look at her. “And you know what I am, don’t you?”

“No,” she breathed, her entire body still trembling with her post-fear adrenaline. “I mean…not exactly. I think you are a Nightwalker, but I don’t know which kind. Can you read my mind? Are you a telepath? Is that how you know?”

“Yes. But telepathy is not so selective as you might think. What made you think I would only learn of the magic, but not of the person behind it and her good intentions? What you must think of my people to feel we would come after you without discretion? And clearly you know nothing of Shadowdwellers or you would never have chosen this place to hide in.”

That remark baffled her, but she focused on one part of it.

“Shadowdweller? I’ve never met a Shadowdweller before. Thank God.”

He knew she meant that if she had, that would mean her past associates had gotten a hold of one to imprison and torture. But all it had taken was seeing them capture a Demon and watching it go through its tortured transformation to convince her that something was very, very wrong with those who had taken pleasure in its pain and terror. While the others used the end result to prove to themselves that the creature they held was evil, Valera had known that nothing that caused anything to suffer so much in the process of stripping it of its beauty and civilization could ever be called good or righteous as they would have her believe. In the end, the transformed Demon monster left in the magical pentagram had been nothing to her compared to the magical monsters waiting with avarice to force the imprisoned thing to use its power for their benefit.

“As you see, your magic can easily kill us, intentional or not. You radiate light when you call your power, and it sears us almost instantly.”

“Not always,” she said quietly, turning her eyes down as her lashes dampened. “The light only comes with certain spells. Usually aggressive ones. But I can…”

Rather than explain, she turned in his embrace slightly and with a simple sweep of two fingers she sent the muffins popping out of their pan and let them drift onto the plate nearby in a neat little circular arrangement. He could see how simple it was for her; how effortless.

“It’s a harmless telekinesis,” he noted. “You are using it in a passive capacity. Peacefully.”

“Although the use of it for household chores is a bit of a gray area on the good and evil scale. Too much of it for convenience’s sake is considered abuse. I’m perfectly capable of doing that without magic. If I were sick or disabled, then it would be different. It would be necessary. But there’s no harm in a small demonstration.”

“Not as long as light isn’t involved,” he mused with an expression that teased. She grinned finally and playfully pushed against his chest.

“Quit it. I’m just glad you don’t want to kill me.”

Sagan lifted a brow at that, even as his mind turned back to what he did want to do to her. Valera obviously saw the change in his thoughts and intent because she tried to press away from him again.

“You should eat something,” she said awkwardly, her cheeks turning pink. Then she gasped and looked up at him when she placed a double entendre to her own words and her whole throat and face began to burn bright red. “I meant muff—muffins. Or I can make you some eggs.”

Sagan laughed at her, unable to resist the impulse at all. She buried her face behind her hands as he hugged her reluctant body close. He enjoyed her softness and warmth, but more than that he delighted in the opportunity to laugh. Not that Sanctuary was an unhappy place to be, but like any job it had its heavy responsibilities and its definite complications. As one designated to hear the confession of sins and given the responsibility to dole out proper penance, it made for a constant flow of seeing his people commit negative acts. Most were minor, of course, and there was the enjoyment of teaching to break it up, but the serious sins were very serious indeed and few who sinned with such depth would repent, forcing him to make final judgment on them.

“Ah, Valera,” he sighed with genuine feeling. “I will let you feed any appetites you wish.”

With that promise to her, he let her escape his hold. She turned away and he saw her rub her knuckles against her blushing cheeks as she reached for one of her skillets. The height was easy and obviously designed for her specifically. Sagan leaned back against a counter, folding his arms across his chest as he watched her. She moved by rote, her actions quick and practiced as her mind worked on trying to sort out her feelings and her needs.

He felt her need.

How long has it been, he wondered, since she last was with a man? Cloistered away from the world as she was and taking her insular personality into account, he imagined it had at least been nine years…the amount of time he had gleaned from her thoughts that had passed since she had moved here. The priest found it strange that of all the places in the world she could have chosen, she had picked a spot that was all but on top of the Shadowdweller city. Knowing that Drenna and M’gnone both worked in very convoluted ways sometimes, he couldn’t dismiss the idea that he had been meant to find her. But who had led him there? The pure and insightful Drenna, or the mischievous and tempting M’gnone?

Perhaps it was a little of both. Or perhaps that was simply what he wished it to be. Was he looking for any excuse to brush back the consequences of his rule-breaking behavior? He had never before been so tempted, and that rang of troublesome sin. He needed time to think more clearly on this. At the very least he knew it was of profound importance to his race as well as the other races of the night that he had found a creature of good magic. Others must be warned of this. It meant that they could no longer kill necromancers with a totality of purpose. It meant there could be repentance. She had proven it. She had proven there could be reclamation of a stained soul with time and guidance.

It meant she would change everything.

Valera was hurrying through the house, pulling down window shades and tacking fabric tightly to windows that had no shades. Anything to keep out the light. Luckily, most of the windows had storm shutters to protect them against the ice storms and blizzards of the northern territories. Sagan had gone into her darkened bedroom to protect himself, and when she returned from out of doors, she suspected he was still there in spite of the sufficient darkness throughout the house. Diffuse light still hovered close to the windows, but he had said that would be harmless so long as he kept a safe distance from it. She nervously kept checking her work, terrified it would not hold and he would accidentally be injured. She had never been so grateful for the endlessness of Alaskan darkness. It would fall again within just a few hours and he would be perfectly safe.

She walked into the back bedroom and knew instantly that he had gone to sleep. Valera knew he needed the rest very badly, his vibrant body working on borrowed energy as it recovered from the deadly poisoning that had nearly killed him. She had yet to ask him how he had come to be the way she had found him, but she had also realized that the nature of his existence deemed he be very careful about what he revealed to someone. Even with her good intentions, she could slip and give away knowledge his people could not afford others to know. Now she understood quite clearly what he had meant by his evasiveness being necessary to protect a great many others. It protected an entire culture.

But Valera wished so badly that she could learn about his society. Her hunger for familiarity with all things magical and supernatural begged her to plumb him as the valuable resource she knew him to be. Not only about his own race, but about the other Dark Cultures as well.

Still, she was realizing he would no more risk their safety and well-being than he would his own. So she spent a few hours combing through the information in her office, searching for anything she had that could tell her more about him. Finding herself unsuccessful, despite the presence of the three feline musketeers, she left the work area, shutting the door behind her in spite of the fact it was a bit like closing the barn door after the horses had already skedaddled.

She crept into the bedroom to check on her guest, stopping short in a breathless instant when she realized his restlessness in sleep had divested him of all cover, his towel missing and the bedclothes kicked away. Valera covered her mouth as she took in the surreal picture of all of that intensely naked male in her blue gingham sheets. He was lying on his stomach, his head under the pillows as if he instinctively burrowed beneath added protection from any light. However, the broad expanse of his back, the accentuated path of his spine leading down to the finest ass this side of the Mason-Dixon line were all perfectly exposed. He had the most incredibly developed legs, the obvious power of his thighs making her flash hot from head to toe. He had a single knee drawn up slightly to the side, and from her perspective at the foot of the bed, he was left with very few secrets.

And Valera was left with absolutely zero impulse control. Almost as if she were in a trance, she moved up closer to him and reached out to touch his fine, dark skin near his ankle. She trailed her fingers up along his calf, feeling just how smooth his skin was and delighting in the contrast of her pale white coloring against the rich mocha of his. She pulled away, nibbling on her nail and peeking around to try and see if he was still deeply asleep. Nothing seemed to have changed so she took the risk and touched him again, starting where she had left off on his thick calf muscle.

“Oh, Val, you’re a bad, bad girl,” she whispered to herself as she swept the very tips of her fingers up past his knee. She wondered if he slept like a Vampire did. According to her information it was true that, as in the myths, they slept in a nearly comatose state while the sun was out. It made them very vulnerable and very little could wake them until darkness fell. But she didn’t just know this because of her books. She had seen necromancers kill a Vampire, leaving it staked out for the sun to destroy, the daylight keeping it asleep until the rays of the sun had begun to burn it. It had been horrifying, but she had excused the cruelty of it by convincing herself Vampires must be the essence of evil as she had been taught and told over and over again.

Learning she was wrong about the nature of Demons had led her to understand she might be wrong about Vampires as well. There was certainly nothing overtly evil in this clever and intelligent man beneath her touch. She turned her thoughts back to the marvel that was his body, curiosity eating her up as she longed to know what he did to create such a physique. She knew now it wasn’t merely a matter of “working out,” but it was some kind of task of his work as a priest that required him to be battle-ready and packed with this much power. She trailed her fingers up over a tight buttock, her tongue slipping between her lips to moisten them as she ghosted her palm over him.

Val slid down into the curve of his lower back, her nails drifting into the valley of his spine, the central shaft that anchored so many of those intense muscles. She watched herself find his shoulders, and this time she noticed one was distinctly more developed than the other. Valera suddenly remembered the sheath and its missing sword. She realized that the hand she glided over his right shoulder was touching his sword arm. Swords! They used swords for weaponry. Valera delighted in her deductive reasoning, forgetting herself as she placed her opposite hand on the mattress beside his left arm to balance herself as she reached to stroke his biceps in fascination.

“Shall I turn over?”

The amused voice startled the hell out of her and she jerked away with a guilty little cry. He turned quickly, though, and caught her molesting hand even before she could clear the bed. With a powerful pull he dropped her down onto his chest and then rolled her off her feet and into the bed beside him.

“Come now,” he scolded her in a hot whisper against her temple, “fair is fair.” He chased the remark with the touch of his fingers against her shin, drawing it up over her knee to her thigh and forcing her to realize just how long he’d been aware of her exploration of his body. “Val,” he said with amusement in his eyes, “you’re a bad, bad girl.”

She blushed furiously and slapped him in that huge shoulder.

“You rat! You were awake the whole time!”

“From the instant you first touched me,” he agreed in a tone low with intimacy. “How could I possibly stay asleep when your touch causes earthquakes within me?”

Damn, but he was poetic for a warrior. Then again, he was also a priest. It was the most inconceivable mesh of two personalities she’d ever seen. And…

“Earthquakes?” she echoed, the concept fascinating her right out of her thoughts. That and the fact that his touch was running on to her inner thigh. “It was just a touch.”

“Just a touch? Is this just a touch?” His deft fingers turned into the juncture of her legs, running with slow intimacy along the seam of her jeans and making her entire body shimmer with liquid heat. She gasped for her breath, her face flushing as she reached to seize his wrist.

“I didn’t…you were on your stomach,” she reminded him lamely, her chest laboring as her heart revved up in cadence. However, she no longer needed a clarification for his terminology of “earthquakes.” She was quaking, all right. She couldn’t stop.

“Oh yes,” he agreed as if he hadn’t known that all along. “That’s right. Shall I turn you over, Valera? I have to confess, your backside thrills me just as much as your front side does. It will be no hardship for me either way.”

Not unless he counted the sweet ache in the lee of his hips and the incredibly aroused fullness of his cock. Gods, it had been so long since a woman had done this to him. Even so, he didn’t remember it being so sharp and so clawing a need as it was with Valera.

“Sagan,” she panted in a soft panic, her eyes wild with her confusion. Torn between her mind and her body, it was obvious what she was feeling as he touched her. He dipped his head and nuzzled at her breast and the outthrust nipple at its tip. “You said…you said you couldn’t…oh God, that feels…”

She couldn’t seem to finish a thought and it made him smile against her. Baring his teeth, he nipped at her through far too much material. Sagan was very aware of how small his window of opportunity was with her. She was a woman of spectacular conscience. Very much like himself. She also seemed to remember the tenets that restricted him from her arms better than he did. But he couldn’t ignore how easy and natural it felt to disregard all that had guided him in these matters for a hundred and sixty years of priesthood. When he had entered Sanctuary it had been a resonant calling he couldn’t resist, and now he was being called again and it was just as potent a need.

He reached for the hem of her sweater, shucking it from her body as quick as lightning. She was limp and distracted, making it so very easy for him to do. Now he had her in a much thinner shirt, a white creation he could see her bra through. White; an astounding color his kind never wore. Everything they wore was black or dark, making the ability to blend and dwell in the shadows seamless.

“There is a realm,” he murmured, “where it is always night, and there is never any light. We call this place Shadowscape. When I look at you, I think of what you would look like in that ’scape, with your brilliant eyes and your ever-so-fair skin.” He slowly pushed her shirt upward, baring the pale plane of her belly and the tempting oval of her navel. He lowered his head to that place, tracing his lips in light, damp streaks across her until he felt her shiver with her growing need for him.

She was silent and did not outright protest his explorations of her body, but he could easily hear the internal dialogue she was having about her tummy being “flabby” and that her ass was “the size of a small planet.”

Sagan disagreed with all of it and he made very certain she would know that. Shifting himself to a position between her legs, his chest resting on her pubic bone, he framed her waist between his hands and nuzzled her belly with his face and released a long, male sound of appreciation. After all, she smelled so good. So purely good. He flicked his tongue against her warm skin and he delighted in the way she jumped beneath him in response. She lay perfectly passive, submitting to him but not touching him as he continued to explore her and stimulate her.

He ignored below her navel for the time being, knowing that if he crossed that line, the dynamic between them would change quite dramatically. Instead he headed north, plowing away at her shirt until he found the snug and serviceable white bra she wore. Skimming away the blouse completely, he rose over her to view her nearly topless state.

Valera choked on her own breath as the incomprehensible reality of having so much potent nude male on top of her, where she could just feel so much, completely stunned her. Sagan moved against her intimately and without any reserve or shame, showing not a single sign that he was anything but confident and proud of the aggressive arousal of his body. In fact, it almost seemed incidental to him as he focused on the slow caresses of his fingers down her breastbone and across the tops of her breasts.

“Look at you,” he rasped in low heat, peeling away the cover of her bra until he could see both of her nipples. “I can see in these pretty pink buds, so tight and so upthrust, how much excitement you are feeling. You may try to hide in your passivity, Valera, but your body tattles on you like a town gossip.” Sagan followed the keen observation by catching her suddenly between his teeth, drawing on her roughly until her nipple pulled free just as suddenly.

Val nearly exploded off the bed in reaction, her back arching high and hard, the strength of it lifting him as well in the wave of response. She cried out in lust and pleasured pain, her nails suddenly attached to his shoulders and her strength dragging him back for more.

“Sagan,” she groaned, the lusty sound of his name rushing into him like an ocean tide drowning a parched desert beach. He flooded with a wicked combination of need and unexpected desperation. Sagan latched on to her again, this time drawing her deep against his tongue, sucking on her with tight hunger. “Sagan…”

Not M’jan Sagan or even Ajai Sagan, but just Sagan. For the first time, he felt stripped of his personas of priest and Shadowdweller and was only a man. It gave him a glorious freedom all in a rush and that liberty powered his craving for her, jacking it up into astounding exponents. He teased and tortured her breasts, devouring her until he knew she was nearly raw with sensation. Sagan then launched himself upward to seize her mouth and reached to draw up her thighs to frame his waist.

Valera transformed beneath him as she fed off his escalating aggression. Passivity disappeared and she met his mouth with wild appetite and such erotic response that it made Sagan’s head reel. Her nails scraped down his back and this time he was the one to arch in response and groan with incomprehensible lust. He snapped her bra free, ripping it in his haste to bare her against him. A moment later they were both reveling in the contact of heated flesh matching to heated flesh.

Valera touched him everywhere she could reach, and not only with her hands. Her mouth, legs, and even her feet stroked against him. Sagan reached for the snap of her jeans and she was lifting her hips for him even before he had pulled the zipper.

“I need you on my tongue,” he whispered in a heated rush into her mouth as he pulled her pants down her thighs.

“Oh yes,” she gasped, tears stinging across her eyes as she helped kick away the last of her confining clothing. “It’s been so long since anyone touched me.”

Sagan felt that keenly because the same was true for him. He surged down her beautiful body, licking himself a path along her sweetly dampened skin. She was misted with a fine layer of perspiration, the slick and sexy moisture speaking to him of how excited she truly was. As for himself, he didn’t think he could be any harder or any more eager than he was. His fingertips paved the way for him, drawing down through soft copper curls and seeking the wet declaration of her need for him. He could already smell it on her, the exotic aroma of a woman aroused. Sagan dropped down and caught the backs of her thighs against his shoulders, his drenched fingers spreading her open to his approach.

Valera was gasping for every breath in anticipation, and when he kissed her intimately she sobbed with aching emotion at the unexpected act of tenderness. Then his tongue touched her in a fluttering tease and her body was awash in fire. It wouldn’t take long for him to make her come, she knew. She was so ready to feel that extreme of passion that it would take almost no effort at all. Val reached up above her head and grabbed for the spindles of her headboard, holding tightly as her body writhed beneath the wickedly quickening play of his lips and tongue. He sucked at her sensitive clit again and again, then drew himself a tongued path to her entrance where he teased raging nerve endings mercilessly.

Sagan was not prepared for the divinity of her taste. He thought he would be, but he had overestimated himself and underestimated the delicacy she would be to him. Just her rich flavor alone drove him out of his senses, but she intensified it with the wanton reaction of her body and her strangled cries of pleasure. Valera abandoned herself completely to the magic he worked on her body and he felt her legs clutch tightly around him just before she wrenched into an explosive orgasm. Sagan heard her screams with only half an ear. He was much too focused on lapping up every creamy drop of the release he had coaxed from her body.

“Stop! God, Sagan, please!”

She was on overload and he could very much appreciate the sensation. He was feeling something quite similar. It was that and the overwhelming need that rode him to plunge deeply into her.

But this was the moment of his sharpest reckoning, he realized as he drew up her bare body to kiss her. Not that he hadn’t already crossed several lines to have come this far with her, but this would become a very purposeful flouting of the vows he had taken and adhered to for sixteen decades. He realized nothing could ever come of whatever this was that raged between them. He was a priest. He was immortal and she was a human woman with over a third of her lifetime already past her. She would age and become a host to an array of human illnesses as her body systems broke down and failed her.

It was because the very idea of it so suddenly paralyzed him with such unexpected emotion that he froze into stillness and stared down into her passion-clouded eyes. It had been mere hours since he’d met her, he realized with shock. And yet, now he felt as if he had wasted precious time. He hadn’t taken enough of her by far, and hadn’t given enough to her. Rules, he realized, didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter. They interfered with each precious moment he had with her. She was…

His.

Maybe not for eternity, but for this moment she was his. Sagan took that desperate feeling to heart, letting it seize him and take control of him. He disregarded her limp, sated state and set his cock in the hot, wet bath of her sweet pussy. A chill of raw need raced along his spine and met up with the heat the contact sent erupting through him. He shuddered as he soaked himself in her, reveled as she came alive beneath him once more.

“Give me your mouth, jei li,” he demanded of her even as he set himself ready to enter her. He took her willing offer with heat and frantic desire. But he disregarded the primal urge he had to plunge into her deep and hard and instead burrowed into her in slow, inching movements. He savored every instant of it, from the incredible tightness of her to the way she raked his back in protest of his pace. Even so she undulated under him with every new inch of his invasion. Sagan’s blood rushed loudly in his ears, his chest aching with the raging beat of his heart. He was almost sheathed completely when the urge to climax rushed over him, reminding him of how unpracticed he had become.

But he refused to make a disappointing show of himself with her. Grinding his teeth for control, he settled into her completely and they both exhaled in pleasured relief. Sagan remained still, recovering himself slowly as he minimized the awesome stimulation she was to him. He took those moments to pay tribute to her kiss-swollen lips and drifted soft kisses across the lashes of her shimmering oceanic eyes.

She caught her breath just long enough to ask him, “Why me? Tell me, Sagan. Why are you defying your vows because of me?”

“Because no other has ever made me want to, Valera,” he breathed in gentle reprimand against her cheek. “If you are a sin, jei li, then I am a sinner with all my soul. Nothing so sweet should ever be dangled before a man only to be denied. It would be cruelty, and I know my gods are strict, but they are never cruel. I will not believe that of them. I knew you were a gift the moment I first saw you. This…” He lifted himself from her and reached to stroke the curls where they were joined. “This is a gift. For however long I am blessed with this gift, I will embrace it with all that I can. I am so vibrantly alive in this moment, Valera. Can you feel how magnificent and vital it feels?”

She could, if for no other reason than the power of his words sent her soaring. Valera was so incredibly full with him inside her, years of loneliness and emptiness melting away as passion bloomed in their place. She had never felt so special. So treasured. And all of it given to her by a man she’d known for what seemed like instants. Yet, somehow she knew that he knew her well. Maybe it was his telepathy, or maybe it was pure fate. Who was she to question it when he refused to do so?

Valera curved sensual hands up over the back of his shoulders, drawing him back down along her body. She kissed his mouth in a slow, seductive connection, plunging them both back into the physicality of their union and all of its ramifications. She felt his weight shift, resting on her heavily for a moment. She basked in the feeling, the sheer size and power of him, as well as the obvious craving she saw in his eyes for her, making her feel light and wondrously sexy. All of her doubts and flaws, real or imagined, flew away. He saw her as a most perfect beauty, and so she became one.

The change that came over her was stunning to Sagan. She had already had the power to make him a little crazy, but when she came alive with an all-consuming confidence of sexuality and feminism, she pushed him to a whole new level of insanity.

“Move,” she breathed in temptation against his lips. “I want to feel you move.”

Sagan couldn’t obey her fast enough. He withdrew from the clutch she had on him in a slow glide of astounding sensation. He watched himself draw free of her grasping, hungry little body, his cock slick with her juices. He couldn’t get back inside her quick enough to suit his need. He groaned loudly as he hilted deep inside her and she exhaled a sigh of pleasure that resonated through him.

“More,” she coaxed without need, but the instruction had the desired effect on him. Sagan gave her more, each thrust a little more emphatic than the one before, the pace quickening in large leaps. She stroked his chest and back as he became slick with sweat. She stared up into his eyes so she could see the ecstasy that was building within him. He reached out in a sudden, harsh movement and grabbed the headboard of the bed, rising up slightly to change his pitch into her body.

Suddenly Valera saw any hint of control spinning away. The feel of him changed to something amazing. There was victory in his eyes as he snatched her up into the storm he was feeling.

Sagan knew he was hitting her g-spot just right by the look in her eyes. She became wild beneath him as she reached harder and harder for his every in stroke. She was so unbelievably wet around him, her heat hugging his pumping cock so intimately it was mind-blowing. Val threw back her head and began to cry out in a rising crest of lusty sounds that went right through him. It sought out all of the nerves in the seat of his testicles and he knew he was going to lose control completely. He swore harshly as he forced himself to keep his cadence within her. She was so close, her body clutching tighter…tighter…

Valera burst like an overfilled balloon. It felt as though she were seizing, the way her body locked and clenched in total spasming pleasure. And then she cried out Sagan’s name, and she flew. It was like soaring out from inside of her own body. The rapture of it was profound and devastating.

Sagan rode every moment of her release with her, his teeth grinding as her body suckled him in strong squeezes. His entire body screamed for release, the imminent approach of it making him lose all control as he pounded into Valera without measure or care. When the rushing force of climax overtook him at last it was blinding. He vocalized, a long loud shout that sounded savage. And why shouldn’t it? The potent ejaculation he was feeling felt so incredible that it all but hurt.

He held himself tight and deep within her even when he had spent himself to the last drop. He gasped for breath, and his strong arms that had swung heavy swords night after night for years began to tremble under the hold of his weight. Sagan couldn’t stop staring at her as she tried to recover from her climax. Her skin shimmered with sweat, her flesh reeking of their lovemaking, and her gorgeous eyes dazed with the remnants of ultimate ecstasy. She was so beautiful, and he wanted to burn the image in his mind for all time.

He shoved back thoughts of their uncertain future. It was better to bask in the here and now.

They only had the here and now.