you hear me? I won’t have it!”
“But, sweeting, she—”
Her hands were suddenly all over him and Bevyn gasped at her ferocity. She was
snatching at his belt buckle, snagging down his fly, pushing the sweat-dampened
denims down his hips.
“Lea, what are you…?” he began before she slammed into him, reaching up to grab
his face between her hands to pull his mouth to hers.
Lea boldly thrust her tongue between her Reaper’s lips and ravaged his mouth, her
lower body grinding against his, his suddenly very attentive tool rising to the occasion.
He turned her so her back was to the upright, tearing his mouth free of her frenzied
kiss.
“Two can play at that, milady,” he said through gritting teeth, and swept her gown
up, his hard hand going under her chemise to pull it up as well.
The moment his fingers touched her core, Lea draped her arms around his neck and
pushed her feet off the stable floor. His free arm locked around her and he lifted her up,
her legs going around his waist as he held her against the upright.
“You are mine, Bevyn Coure,” she said.
“I am,” he agreed as he thrust himself up inside her. “You gods-be-damned better
believe I am!”
Her hands were tight in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. Her sheath was
squeezing him fiercely as he rode her, pushing her hard against the upright. His thigh
muscles were taut as he held her, his arms around her so tight it was hard to tell where
his body stopped and hers began. His legs were spread wide as he worked her up and
down on his hot, slick shaft and all the while their tongues were dueling, swirling
around one another.
Lea reveled in his broad, sweaty chest pressed against her. His was a clean, manly
scent that did wonderful things to her body and sent her into spasms of delight. She
could feel her channel tightening around his rod, beginning the series of tremors that
would bring forth such pleasure for both of them.
He nipped at her bottom lip and when her eyes widened, he swept his tongue over
the slight pain.
“I want to taste you,” he said huskily, and she knew he did not mean the musk that
lay between her thighs.
Unable to deny this man anything, Lea arched her head to one side, exposing her
neck to him.
Bevyn didn’t hesitate. He wanted the taste of her blood on his lips, in his mouth,
settling in his soul. He needed it for more than for just the carnal pleasure it would give
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
him, give her. He needed it to bond with her as no other male ever would. His fangs
came out and he bit her—shallowly but enough to break the skin. Two tiny beads of her
sweet blood bubbled up and he retracted his fangs, latching his lips unto the tiny
wounds.
Lea tensed against him but the pain was so much more than the slight, momentary
discomfort. It brought with it a surge of sexual intensity that made her groan. She could
feel him drawing against her flesh, heard the soft swallow that told her he had
consumed her very essence.
“Bevyn,” she whispered, attached to him more at that moment than mere flesh to
flesh or body to body. She was being forged into him and she knew it.
The taste of her life force was so intoxicating he wanted to drown himself in it. He
had drank from her vein before, had taken all he needed so that no matter where she
went, where he went, he would be able to find her, track her, but he wanted to reinforce
that bonding, needed to tie her to him so irrevocably she would never give thought to
another man. Never would she be able to escape him now. Not even her thoughts could
escape him for he was able to hear her thoughts, speak to her even though they were
apart, and keep her safe in ways beyond the ordinary.
With her blood bursting down his throat, he felt his release pushing upward,
burning his cock in waves of exquisite agony. He shoved hard against her. Thrust
upward with such force she groaned for he had touched her very womb with his
straining.
“Come for me,” he hissed. “Come for me, my love.”
And she did in ripples of pleasure that gripped him with silken fingers that
squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until his cock jerked and he spurted long and
hard inside her. Straining against her until the last of him shot deep, he buried his head
against her shoulder, his chest heaving as he shuddered.
They stood there until his thigh muscles began to quiver and she unlocked her legs
from his waist and he allowed her to slide down, his arms still clasped around her.
He lifted his head. “Look at me, Lea,” he said.
She looked up into his golden eyes.
“These eyes may see another woman,” he said, “but these arms will never reach out
for her. This body will never hunger for her and this heart will never hold any save you
within it. Never question my love for you, Lea Walsh, for it is now the air I breathe and
the very blood coursing through my veins.” When she would have looked down, he put
a hand to her chin and held her face. “Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“Aye, milord,” she said, “but you understand this—I might die in the trying but if
any woman ever dared try to take you from me, I would do my gods-be-damned best to
tear her apart.”
His smile was slow but filled with pride for her. “I don’t doubt that for a minute,
milady,” he said.
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Her Reaper’s Arms
“She will try to lure you away, Bevyn,” she warned him.
“She can try but she’ll not succeed,” he vowed. “You—and only you—are the one I
want.”
* * * * *
Penthe watched the Reaper and his lady as they came out of the stable. She sniffed
the air and caught the scent of sex permeating the couple. Digging her fingernails into
her palms, she watched them coming toward her and knew before ere he spoke what
the Reaper’s words would be.
“This is my lady,” he told her. “I
