She murmured raggedly, "I can't think of anything."

He froze. For a moment he didn't even breathe. Standing so flush against him, she could tell, while his heart beat a rapid tattoo against her fingers.

When he withdrew his hand from underneath her shirt, she almost groaned in disappointment. He cupped her face with both hands. Stroking her lips with his thumbs, he looked into her eyes for a long moment, and she knew in that moment they had gone past all joking.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered. "Tell me, and I'll walk away and say nothing more about it."

There it was: decision time. If he said he would walk away, she believed him, because for all their differences, he kept his word too.

"I don't want you to stop," she whispered back. "We both know what this is. We have a night ahead us, the opportunity to spend some time together and give each other some pleasure-there's nothing more to it than that."

She wanted to add we don't even like each other, but the words stuck in her throat, and she knew, at least on her end, that it wasn't true any longer.

"There can't be anything more," he said. The line of his jaw had turned tight, and his fingers moved over her skin restlessly, as if he wanted to let go of her but couldn't. "Do you understand? I don't have anything to give a lover. No safety, no home, not even the promise of my time and attention. Everything I have, everything I am, is wrapped up in trying to save my men and my people."

There it was, the fineness she had sensed in him the day before, the trueness of self and purpose. If he ever chose to look at someone with that same sense of commitment, Sophie knew that woman would never doubt anything about him and would never want for anything.

For now, there was even integrity in his insistence on having this conversation at this particular point in time. He risked destroying the heat of the moment in order to make sure there was no misunderstanding between them.

"I know who you are and what is at stake for you," she told him. Gently she disengaged, and his hands dropped as he let her go. Turning away, she said over her shoulder, "I'm getting my gla.s.s of wine and going to bed, and I would like for you to join me, but I understand if you feel you can't."

Behind her, all she heard was silence.

She didn't linger. Nikolas had made it clear he had his own battles to fight, and this decision was one of them.

By the time she reached the kitchen, she knew he wasn't going to join her. The burden of his own mission held him back. Disappointment weighted her limbs, and only then did she realize how much she had hoped he would take her up on her invitation.

It only went to show-her a.s.shole curse stayed as true as her technology curse. As soon as she found out the a.s.shole wasn't quite as much of an a.s.shole as she had at first thought, the magic died and any opportunity they had to be together pa.s.sed on by. She reached for her winegla.s.s to drain it dry.

A rush of air brushed against the back of her neck. Instinctively she turned as Nikolas came up behind her. His face was set, dark eyes blazing. Before she could react, he picked her up bodily and set her on the counter behind her.

Coming between her legs, he held her, one arm braced low around her hips while he gripped her by the back of the neck. The whole maneuver was so swift, so decisive she had barely enough time to gasp.

He said into her face, "I want you."

The words rippled through her body, banishing the leaden disappointment and replacing it with incredulity. Desire for him roared back to life so powerfully she began to shake.

Touching his taut face, she whispered back, "I want you."

A muscle leaped beside that beautiful mouth. "We take tonight."

She nodded. "Yes."

It was as if she had set him on fire. He kissed her so fiercely it vaporized the memory of every other kiss she had ever shared. There was only this one, this moment with this man. She made a noise at the back of her throat. It sounded needy and vulnerable and quite unlike any other noise she had ever made.

Still kissing her, he picked her up. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, utterly shaken by how much emotion came roaring up in response.

The effortless strength with which he held her, the broad curve of his shoulders, the ferocity of his kiss as his hardened lips slanted over and over hers-it all spoke to her in a language she hadn't realized she knew, and she had never known she'd needed to hear.

She drank it all down, while dimly she realized he was striding through the cottage, carrying her to the bedroom. They couldn't get there fast enough for her. He held her weight effortlessly enough; she trusted in his grip and loosened her hold around his neck long enough to drag her shirt over her head.

She let it fall to the floor as he climbed onto the bed and laid her on her back, and together they removed his shirt too. The sight of him, his scent, his expression, each piece of sensory input was like a spike driving into her, splintering preconceived notions, barriers, expectations, stripping her bare emotionally as physically he removed all her clothing.

She was not just nude; she felt exposed in a way that baffled her. She was no stranger to good s.e.x, but this felt...

This felt raw, powerful, and unique.

There was no time to a.n.a.lyze why. As soon as he had helped her remove her clothes, he pulled back up to strip off his pants. He took all his clothes off and stood naked at the side of the bed.

He was naked.

For the first time, she saw the seamless beauty of his body without obstruction, the feline grace of his bone structure flowing from long, muscular legs up slim hips to the widening flare of his chest and shoulders. He was a dusky gold all over, with a sprinkle of dark hair across his chest that arrowed down the long muscles of his abdomen to a large, erect c.o.c.k jutting over the tight, round sac underneath.

Staring at him, she forgot how exposed she felt, how odd and raw and powerful this moment felt, and lost herself in wonder. Looking up at his hard, beautiful face, the face that couldn't help but be ferocious because ferocity was an inherent part of his nature, with those dark, glittering eyes focused solely on her, she knew somehow that she stood poised on the threshold of a new reality.

He began to crawl onto the bed, and he had no clothes on to mask the flawless, inhuman fluidity with which he moved. She could stare at him for years and never get tired of it.

Pausing, he met her gaze. "Everything okay?"

h.e.l.l no, nothing was okay. He was taking her apart and remaking her, and he hadn't even touched her again yet.

But he waited for her reply, and she wasn't about to deny herself a moment of this singular experience, no matter what it did to her or who she became when she reached the other side of it.

Opening her arms to him, she said, "Everything is perfect."

Nikolas was hard put to describe to himself or understand exactly why Sophie affected him so powerfully.

All he truly knew was that she did. Her insane courage, the way she thought, the way she laughed, the way her incredible eyes sparkled with so much lively humor or outrage, and how either emotion could change in an instant.

Her clever use of her magic and her fierce defense of her own boundaries-st.i.tched together, all those characteristics created a person of such wholeness and appeal that in the course of a single day, she had moved effortlessly to take center stage in his thoughts.

He loved her curves. Loved them. They were so alien to his own body, so compelling. He touched her lips, the tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and ran his fingers lightly over the swell of her hips and felt her shiver underneath his touch.

Aside from the three ragged scars at shoulder, abdomen, and thigh, her creamy skin was flawless. She might disagree, but he thought those scars were beautiful. Each one was a badge honoring her courage and strength.

She had said she had lost muscle tone, but he didn't see it. Her body was sleek and toned. Only the concave hollows at her stomach, under her collarbones and cheekbones gave any hint at the weight she had lost. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were generously rounded, the plump dusky nipples erect and inviting.

Her eyes gathered all the light in the room. For a moment he had the oddest feeling that they gathered all the light inside him too, however much had managed to survive these past several years, and they magnified all of it to shine as brilliant as stars in the bedroom's muted lighting. He had always loved starlight's cool, distant magic.

He needed to touch and taste her everywhere, badly enough that his hands shook with a fine tremor as he pulled her into his arms. The sensation of her body against his, bare skin to bare skin, reverberated through both of them, creating a vibration that was neither one nor the other but a combination of both.

There was nothing else in the entire universe, nothing but the two of them together. Her curves, his angles. Her light, his darkness. Her softness, his exquisitely aching hardness.

Male. Female.

Her head fell back against his arm as she stared at him, and her plump, delectable lips parted.

It was all the invitation he needed. He gave into the internal fire that burned so hot for her, and it consumed him.

Chapter Twelve.

Yanking her body against him, he ravaged her mouth, succ.u.mbing to blind instinct as he plunged his tongue into her as deeply as he could. Her groan trembled against his lips. Unsure if she welcomed his onslaught, he paused, and in response, she gripped his shoulders and kissed him back with wild abandon.

Her transparent eagerness burned away the last of his restraint. Easing her back onto the bed, bringing the weight of his body over hers to pin her down, he ran a hand down her torso while he feasted on her mouth.

The soft, pliant responsiveness of her lips, the plump generosity of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the way her legs moved restlessly against his, every detail of the sensory input fed his hunger until he felt like his skin was nothing more than the thinnest of covers for the light and heat that roared inside him.

Ravenously he nipped and suckled at her skin as he moved down her body, her enticing lower lip, the delicate spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, the gorgeous round flesh of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, oh G.o.ds, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He lost himself in teasing her nipples, biting gently at the turgid peaks until she cried out in incoherent pleasure, working her fingers restlessly against his scalp as she held his head to her.

He sucked harder, and she bucked underneath him, pushing off the bed as she arched into his touch. She was so perfectly, exquisitely responsive, the heavy spike of need that dangled between his legs grew even tighter, harder.

"I want to do everything to you, all at once," he muttered. "I want to stroke you, f.u.c.k you, hold you down, lift you up, pin you, take you. I want you to take me. Lord and Lady, Sophie, I don't know that I have any gentleness in me tonight."

"You talk awfully s.e.xy in bed." She twisted to whisper unsteadily in his ear just before she bit his lobe hard enough to send a jolt of sensation all the way down to his c.o.c.k. "But if you're wanting to actually communicate something to me, you're going to have to do it in English."

Lifting his head, he stared down at her. He hadn't even realized he had slipped into his native tongue. Running his hand down the slope of her stomach, he stroked along the gentle curve of her pelvis, fingering the black tuft of silken hair at the juncture between her legs.

He'd already forgotten what he had said before.

"I want to f.u.c.k you into tomorrow," he said between his teeth. Probing carefully between her legs, he fingered the soft, delectable folds of flesh that grew slick with the evidence of her desire. "I want to f.u.c.k you so hard you can't walk until next week."

"Promises," she gasped on an unsteady laugh.

As he explored her, she opened her legs and her expression twisted in a combination of pleasure and distress, and her breathing came harder and more raggedly. She pushed up with her hips, rubbing herself against his hand, while she raised her head and they both looked down at their bodies.

Their legs lay entwined. His were heavier, corded with muscle and sprinkled with dark hair, while her more delicate bone structure made her legs looked lighter and leaner. His thick, hard erection lay against her hip, the broad mushroom head exposed.

"Mmm," she said in throaty welcome as she reached for it with both hands. When she touched him, the bolt of pleasure was so sharp he nearly spurted into her palm. She stroked her thumb along the small, sensitive slit at the tip, and in response a drop of moisture appeared. She rubbed it into his skin.

Then in his own exploration of her most sensitive flesh, he found the stiff, delicate little pearl hidden in her private folds, and as he rubbed it, she nearly came off the bed with a strangled scream.

Oh, he loved that. He loved her reaction. Fiercely clamping down on his self-control, he flicked and ma.s.saged her c.l.i.toris in teasing circles until she gripped his wrist and ripples of reaction shook visibly through her body.

Unable to hold back his own hunger, he bent to fill his mouth again with one of her luscious nipples, and he suckled at her while he flicked at her c.l.i.t, and the tension in her body grew and grew until a fine sweat broke over her silken skin and she vibrated like the taut string on an archer's bow.

Give it to me, he said in her head. Come for me.

I-I can't. She gasped for air and shook harder. I love this, I love how it feels, but I can't climax like this. Not during our first time together.

What was this? He lifted his head to frown down at her. "What do you mean, you cannot climax like this?"

Lifting one shoulder, she gave him a lopsided smile. "It takes me a while to grow to trust my partner enough to let go. It's just a thing; it's not a big deal. It's just who I am."

"Well, I do not accept that reasoning," he growled. "You trust me. You would not be here with me now, unclothed in your bed, if you did not."

"Well..." Her voice trailed away as she frowned.

She had nothing to say, he knew, because he was right. Stroking his hand down the shapely, slender length of her thigh, he told her, "Relax, my Sophie. Breathe deep. Enjoy yourself, and know that you are safe."

Safe. Why had he felt the need to say those specific rea.s.suring words to her, when he, of all people, knew just how unsafe they really were? Why was that the only answer to the vulnerability he saw in her eyes?

She resurrected something inside him, the kind of man he used to be, protective of and attentive to those he cared for. He wanted to shelter her, not because she asked for it or because she even needed it, but because he needed to be the one to give it to her.

There was something dangerous in that path of reasoning, some line in himself he had been determined not to cross, but he forgot what it was when she responded, relaxing visibly as he stroked her body in long, soothing sweeps with one hand. He slid down the length of her body, urged her to part her legs again, and when she did so, he settled between them and stroked the tender folds of her skin with a thumb.

Then he split the folds apart to reveal that little, delicate nubbin. She was beautiful there, as she was beautiful everywhere, the fluted folds of her flesh rich with color and her scent, warmth, and wetness. At the sight, he made a quiet sound of pleasure and put his mouth over her c.l.i.toris, tasting her private flesh for the first time.

Her thighs shook, and she made a thin, uncertain sound. Shh, he whispered in her head. Relax. Enjoy. You are the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. You're beautiful. I want to plant myself in you, right here. Fill you up. f.u.c.k you, make love to you, give you pleasure, make you scream.

As he talked to her, he suckled and flicked at her with his tongue, working her with a rhythm, while he slipped a single finger into her tight, wet sheath. She was so warm, so wet, so ready.

Lifting from his task, he told her, "When I was in town, I bought condoms."

Her eyebrows rose. "You were already planning this?"

There was something complex in her expression, but he did not think it was distaste or dislike. Rather, she seemed to be pleased.

"I wasn't planning on anything, but I had thoughts," he said. "And I do not believe in being careless. I may be part Wyr, but I am not Wyr enough to have their ability to prevent pregnancy."

"Nik, thank you for thinking so responsibly, but I'm part Djinn," she whispered. "I don't know how my ancestor managed to partic.i.p.ate in a viable pregnancy, but however they did it, I don't have that ability. I've seen more than one doctor to be sure, and they were conclusive. I can't get pregnant."

"Sophie," he murmured. Placing a hand over her flat stomach, he paused to search her face for any sign of pain or sadness.

There was none. Her expression was clear, calm, and open. She smiled at him. "You don't need to look at me that way," she told him. "I love children, but I've known from an early age, I'm not cut out for motherhood. I'm not even good dog-owner material. Since the Elder Races don't catch or transmit human diseases, we don't need to use condoms."

He smiled. "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. I'm not finished down here."

Her breath caught as he turned his attention back to pleasuring her. Nestling his lips against the most sensitive part of her body, he soon found his rhythm again, flicking, nibbling and sucking until soon her hips bucked in response.

"That's-that's wonderful, but that's enough," she gasped. "It's too sharp, too intense-"

Is that what happened to you, my Sophie? he purred in her head. Did your other lovers give up on you too soon? Were they greedy boys, focused only on themselves and their own needs without paying any attention to you and yours?

Yes. No. I don't know! she gasped, her head turning restlessly on the pillow while her body shivered underneath his relentless attentions.

I am no green, foolish youth, he murmured. I know what you need and how to give it to you. Work with me, my Sophie. Don't give up. Relax, trust, let me inside your head. You feel like wet, tight silk. You taste like s.e.x. You are the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. My c.o.c.k aches for you. My body aches for you.

While he talked, he slipped a second finger, ma.s.saging her gently inside. Her pleasure was building higher again. He could feel it in the escalating heat in her body, the tightness of her muscles, the way her hands shook as she stroked his hair. Nothing else existed in the world, just her body, her pleasure, the sound of her ragged breathing, and the exquisite torment on her face.