Rachel stilled, her green eyes widened. "I began to doubt that you would ever proceed."
She had suggested it weeks ago, but he held off. It seemed a waste to use such a tool without devastating effect. Now, the time was right.
"Never doubt me," Sheron said, pushing to his feet. His gaze stayed locked with hers as he pulled up his cowl.
"It will be done as we agreed."
"Excellent." He bowed and moved to the edge of the slipstream. "Until you dream again."
Connor stared down at the dozing woman in his arms and knew he was in deep shit.
His chest was tight and hot, making it difficult to breathe. Every inhale smelled of sweat and sex, every exhale was a moment closer to when he would have to leave.
Stacey was beautiful in near slumber. The tight lines of stress and strain around her mouth and eyes were eased in relaxation, leaving behind a face of youthful loveliness. Creamy smooth skin, dark arched brows, cherry red lips.
He could wake up every day like this. With this woman. In this house. He'd trained enough young men for the Elite that he had confidence in his ability to help Justin, too. Connor knew the type and was familiar with the effects brought on by the lack of a father figure. He had seen it with Aidan. It wouldn't be easy, but for this—he cupped Stacey's cheek with his hand, caressing the curve of her cheekbone with his thumb—
for her, it would be worth it.
Adjusting her, he pulled her closer and took her mouth, pressing his lips to her softly parted ones.
Her moan made his arms tighten around her. He wanted to keep her, discover her, share himself with her. Perhaps what felt good now would feel as good a month from now. A year from now.
Years from now.
Promise. There were signs of promise between them, and the thought that it might never come to fruition was difficult for him to bear. It was one thing to be alone when you knew you were happier that way. It was another to be alone when you had someone you wanted to be with.
Licking the seam of Stacey's lips, Connor made love to her lush, soft mouth. Infatuated with the taste of her, he thrust his tongue deep, plunging long and slow, the way he wanted to make love to the rest of her. If only he could get past the feeling of urgency, the sense that at any moment she would be ripped from him and he would lose this chance to enjoy her.
Her hand lifted and slipped into the hair at his nape. The simple touch moved him profoundly for its sheer artlessness. It wasn't a touch designed to arouse. It was a touch intended only to hold him close, to keep him near so she could decimate him with her returning ardor. Stacey gave as good as she got, her tongue stroking along his, her mouth twisting and sucking beneath his, her lips clinging to his.
He pushed to his feet, lifting her with him, never breaking the kiss even as he moved down the hallway to her bedroom.
"Are we going to do it again?" she whispered dreamily into his mouth.
"Hell yeah."
Connor hefted her around to where her legs straddled his hips. It was enough to make him hard as rock, having her curvaceous naked body tucked up tightly against his. She was wet with his cum, a crude claiming that appealed to the primitive beast inside him. No other man could have her. He'd marked her, made her his.
With her arms around his neck, she leaned back and looked down at his cock rising up eagerly between them. "You left the condoms in the living room."
He growled low, wishing he could tell her the truth. From sharing Aidan's dreams, Connor knew that Aidan and Lyssa were certain their species were reproductively incompatible, despite their external similarities. But Connor knew that telling Stacey he was a being from another plane of existence would kill the moment, if not any possibility of a future between them.
"I'll get them," he assured her.
A slow smile curved her mouth and she hugged him, nearly making him stumble as her affection hit him like a physical blow. He carried her into the bathroom and set her down.
"Get in," he said, turning back to return to the living room, "but don't wash. I want to do it."
"Yes, sir," she teased.
She was bending over the tub turning the faucets when he tossed a mock glare over his shoulder.
The view was inspiring. He jogged the distance to the condoms, shut the front door and locked it, then jogged the distance back to Stacey.
He heard the shower running as he entered the bedroom and images of water coursing the length of Stacey's luxurious body set his blood on fire.
Tapping the automatic release of one boot with the toe of the other, Connor took in the decor.
Pale lavender walls, royal purple velvet coverlet, and black sheers covering white plantation shutters made the space rather exotic in comparison to the country look of the living room.
To him it revealed so much about her, the dichotomy between her public spaces and her private one. He wondered if this setting would inspire a different side of Stacey and eager to find out, he shoved his jeans to the floor and strode into the bathroom.
Pausing on the threshold, Connor studiously examined his surroundings. As he had done with every other room in the house, he sought clues to the woman who lived there. The bathroom walls were painted a deep purple—like the comforter in the next room—and the ceiling was decorated with painted silver stars. A hint of whimsy.
"I'm naked and you're looking at the ceiling?" she asked with warm amusement.
He turned his attention to the view of Stacey through the sliding glass shower door. Standing in a cloud of mist, she was his fantasy in the flesh.
She slid the door open in invitation.
"I think it might be too small in here for you," she said, blinking water-laden lashes at him as he approached.
"I like tight places," he reminded, climbing into the shower tub with her.
The space was cramped, but he didn't care. It just meant that they were pressed up against each other, which was just the way he wanted it.
Her hands came up and touched his abdomen. His muscles tightened instinctively, responding to her attention.
Her tender fingertips traced over every groove and plane of taut muscle, and he bore her fascination with gritted teeth and aching heart.
"You're so beautiful," she whispered, in what sounded like awe.
He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him.
"Tell me how to make this work."
She gazed up at him with liquid, glistening eyes.
The green was clear and vivid. Gorgeous.
"Connor…"
The resignation in her tone drove him crazy.
"There has to be a way."
"How?" she asked simply. "How long will you be gone? When will you be back? How long will you stay when you are back?"
"I don't know, damn it." He pushed her head back and devoured her mouth, bruising it, taking it.
Thrusting his tongue fast and deep. As steam rose around them in an ever-thickening fog, she whimpered and clung to his waist. "If you want something bad enough—"
"It hurts," she cut off. "That's all. Doesn't mean you get it or can have it."
"Bullshit," he spat, furious with himself, with the Elders, with the lies and deceit that made his leaving unavoidable.
"I told you. I tried to make you listen."
He nuzzled his cheek hard against hers. "Walking away isn't the answer."
She laughed softly. "You're too stubborn."
"Maybe. But I know I can't stand the thought of not having you."
"You're doing wonders for my ego."
"Stop it." He shook her a little. "Don't make light of this."
Stacey sighed and released him. He responded by catching her up and holding all her wet delicious curves against his hardness.
"Connor. Neither of us needs this angst. It's not healthy."
"What angst?" he scoffed. "Teenage girls have angst. I don't."
"You will." She met his gaze head on. "You haven't seen the hell Aidan and Lyssa go through.
The struggles to share a phone call between flights. Staying up way past their bedtimes just to hear the other's voice for a moment or two. The pain of separation when he has to travel somewhere and be gone for weeks."
"If they can do it, we can do it."
"No." Shaking her head, she said, "They knew each other before; you and I are strangers. Lyssa is by herself; I come with a child and an ex who may or may not become a more active part of my life. Aidan works for a local collector; you work for…" she shrugged, "whoever it is you work for."
Connor's jaw tightened and he rolled his hips into her.
"Very impressive argument," she teased gently.
"But the occasional bout of great sex isn't going to keep two people together who are living apart."
Stumped, he tried to come up with counterpoints and failed. He could only stare down at her, scowling. "We can at least try."
"I'm tired of being alone, Connor."
The thought of coming back and seeing her with someone else made him want to howl. "You wouldn't be alone. I'd be yours, even if I wasn't here."
"A man as highly sexed as you can't be expected to rein it in for me."
"Fuck you," he said tightly, insulted. He set her away from him and reached for the liquid soap.
They had to get out of the shower. He could win her over in bed. Torment her there. Drive her mad for him until she would agree to whatever was required for him to slide into her and fill the emptiness. He could ruin her for other men.
"Sorry." She set her hands over his when he cupped her breasts. "I meant that more as a comment on my shortcomings, not yours."
"Shortcomings?" He snorted. "I like to fuck. In fact it's one of my favorite activities, followed by honing my glaive, which I usually begin doing while the sheets are still warm."
A finely arched black brow rose.
"Oh yeah, sweetheart," he drawled, squeezing her firm, full tits. "There's even a joke about my first loves being my swords—the one in my hand and the one between my legs. There's no post-coital cuddling. Women want me for sex, nothing more.
