pincushion of stars. The constellations told him he had only two hours left to be out.
When he had the strength, he closed his eyes and dematerialized to the only place he wanted to be.
Thank God there was still enough time to go there. To be there.
Chapter Three
John Matthew moaned and rolled over in his bed onto his back.
The woman followed his lead, her naked breasts pressing down on his broad, bare chest. With an erotic smile, she reached down between his legs and found his heavy ache. He kicked his head back and moaned as she stood his erection up and sat down on it. While he gripped her knees, she fell into a good, slow ride.
Oh, yeah…
With one hand she played with herself; with the other she tantalized him, sweeping her palm over her breasts and up to her neck, taking her long, platinum blond hair with her as she went. Her hand moved higher to her face, and then her arm was over her head, a graceful arc of flesh and bone. She arched back and her breasts pushed out, the hard tips distended, rosy. Her skin was so pale it looked like fresh snow.
"Warrior," she said, grinding. "Can you handle this?"
Handle it? Damn straight, he could. And just so they were clear on who was handling what, he grabbed her thighs and thrust his hips up until she cried out.
When he retreated, she smiled down at him, working against him faster and faster. She was slick and she was tight, and his erection was in heaven.
"Warrior, can you handle this?" Her voice was deeper now from the exertion.
"Hell, yeah," he growled. Man, the second he came, he was going to flip her over and pound into her all over again.
"Can you handle this?" She pumped even harder, milking him. With her arm still over her head, she was riding him like a bull, bucking against him.
This was great sex… awesome, incredible, great—
Her words began to warp, distort… fall below the register of a female. "Can you handle this?"
John felt a chill. Something was off here. Something was way off…
"Can you handle this? Can you handle this?" Suddenly a man's voice was coming out of her throat, a man's voice was sneering at him. " Can you can handle this ?"
John struggled to throw her off, but she was clamped on to him, and the fucking wouldn't stop.
"Do you think you can handle this? Do-you-think-you-can-handle-this? Doyouthinkyoucanhandlethis ?" The male voice was screaming now, roaring out of the female's face.
The knife came at John from over her head—only she was a man now, a man with white skin and pale hair and eyes the color of fog. As the blade flashed silver, John reached up to block it, but his arm wasn't heavy with muscle anymore. It was thin, emaciated.
"Can you handle this, warrior?"
With a graceful slice, the dagger landed square in the middle of his chest. A blazing pain lit off from where it penetrated him, the violent burning sluicing through his body, ricocheting around inside of his skin until he was alive with agony. He gasped for breath and choked on his own blood, choked and gagged until he could get nothing into his lungs. Railing around, he fought against the death that was coming for him—
"John! John! Wake up!"
His eyes popped wide. His first thought was that his face hurt, though he had no idea why, because he'd been stabbed in the chest. Then he realized his mouth was stretched open, accommodating what would have been a scream if he'd been born with a voice box. As it was, all he was doing was letting out a steady stream of air.
Then he felt the hands… hands were pinning his arms. Terror returned, and in what was for him an awesome surge, he threw his little body off the bed. He landed face-first, his cheek skidding on the low-napped carpet.
"John! It's me, Wellsie."
Reality came back at the sound of the name, shaking him free of the hysteria like a slap.
Oh, God … It was okay. He was okay. He was alive.
He launched himself into Wellsie's arms and buried his face in her long red hair.
"It's all right." She
When he had the strength, he closed his eyes and dematerialized to the only place he wanted to be.
Thank God there was still enough time to go there. To be there.
Chapter Three
John Matthew moaned and rolled over in his bed onto his back.
The woman followed his lead, her naked breasts pressing down on his broad, bare chest. With an erotic smile, she reached down between his legs and found his heavy ache. He kicked his head back and moaned as she stood his erection up and sat down on it. While he gripped her knees, she fell into a good, slow ride.
Oh, yeah…
With one hand she played with herself; with the other she tantalized him, sweeping her palm over her breasts and up to her neck, taking her long, platinum blond hair with her as she went. Her hand moved higher to her face, and then her arm was over her head, a graceful arc of flesh and bone. She arched back and her breasts pushed out, the hard tips distended, rosy. Her skin was so pale it looked like fresh snow.
"Warrior," she said, grinding. "Can you handle this?"
Handle it? Damn straight, he could. And just so they were clear on who was handling what, he grabbed her thighs and thrust his hips up until she cried out.
When he retreated, she smiled down at him, working against him faster and faster. She was slick and she was tight, and his erection was in heaven.
"Warrior, can you handle this?" Her voice was deeper now from the exertion.
"Hell, yeah," he growled. Man, the second he came, he was going to flip her over and pound into her all over again.
"Can you handle this?" She pumped even harder, milking him. With her arm still over her head, she was riding him like a bull, bucking against him.
This was great sex… awesome, incredible, great—
Her words began to warp, distort… fall below the register of a female. "Can you handle this?"
John felt a chill. Something was off here. Something was way off…
"Can you handle this? Can you handle this?" Suddenly a man's voice was coming out of her throat, a man's voice was sneering at him. " Can you can handle this ?"
John struggled to throw her off, but she was clamped on to him, and the fucking wouldn't stop.
"Do you think you can handle this? Do-you-think-you-can-handle-this? Doyouthinkyoucanhandlethis ?" The male voice was screaming now, roaring out of the female's face.
The knife came at John from over her head—only she was a man now, a man with white skin and pale hair and eyes the color of fog. As the blade flashed silver, John reached up to block it, but his arm wasn't heavy with muscle anymore. It was thin, emaciated.
"Can you handle this, warrior?"
With a graceful slice, the dagger landed square in the middle of his chest. A blazing pain lit off from where it penetrated him, the violent burning sluicing through his body, ricocheting around inside of his skin until he was alive with agony. He gasped for breath and choked on his own blood, choked and gagged until he could get nothing into his lungs. Railing around, he fought against the death that was coming for him—
"John! John! Wake up!"
His eyes popped wide. His first thought was that his face hurt, though he had no idea why, because he'd been stabbed in the chest. Then he realized his mouth was stretched open, accommodating what would have been a scream if he'd been born with a voice box. As it was, all he was doing was letting out a steady stream of air.
Then he felt the hands… hands were pinning his arms. Terror returned, and in what was for him an awesome surge, he threw his little body off the bed. He landed face-first, his cheek skidding on the low-napped carpet.
"John! It's me, Wellsie."
Reality came back at the sound of the name, shaking him free of the hysteria like a slap.
Oh, God … It was okay. He was okay. He was alive.
He launched himself into Wellsie's arms and buried his face in her long red hair.
"It's all right." She
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