her. With a moan, she let her head fall back against the door, and she gave herself over to him, to the promise that his tightly corded muscles could hold her there. To the pleasure of his thrust as he filled her.
He kissed her, open-mouthed, deep. Sensation spiked, her hips rocking in time with his, her moans and cries swallowed by his kiss. He made a raw sound, hard-edged pleasure and animal lust, and he moved in long, full strokes, harder, faster, until she unraveled, her body clenched tight around him as he shuddered his release. Ecstasy rode her senses, blurring her thoughts, her awareness.
Finally, panting, he dropped his head, nuzzling the curve of her neck, still holding her up against the door. She felt weightless, boneless. Wonderfully alive. Then he shifted her so she was cradled in his arms and he carried her to her bed. There, he stripped off her clothes and kissed her—her neck, her belly, her breasts—taking his time, teasing her.
Then he took her again, driving them both over the edge.
“Sleep,” he whispered, cradling her in his arms. “Sleep, love.”
And she did, her lids drifting shut, her body replete.
When she woke, he was gone. But he’d brought her crutches from the room under the eaves and left them on the floor by the bed.
o0o
Daemon was sanding the patch he’d put on the wall in the dining room when he heard Jen behind him. Schooling his features just in case she was having a moment of regret, he turned to look at her and felt a shimmer of the
continuum
. No doubt about it. Jen carried a hint of magic. She wasn’t a sorcerer or a demon... but maybe she was a blighted seed, a human who had a magical progenitor somewhere in her past. Such mortals usually tapped their limited power to become psychics or healers or energy workers. But Jen was none of those. He was certain she had no clue that magic, both light and dark, existed at the edges of her world, no idea that there really were monsters in the closet.
She was an accountant.
An incredibly beautiful, sexy accountant that he was willing to break all his self-imposed rules for.
“Hey,” she said, sending him a glorious smile. No reservations. No regrets. Not his Jen. He should have known. “Break time. I’ll make lunch.”
His Jen
. What the hell was he thinking? That they’d set up house here in Freetown? Tend the garden? Walk in the park? And when he never got sick, never aged? When the trinity got restless and demanded release? What then? He knew how quickly love could shrivel in the face of the truth.
“Turkey sandwiches?” he asked, forcing a light tone.
She cocked her head to the side and studied him, a faint frown marking her brow, and he knew she sensed his tension. She saw too much, read him too well. It was like they’d known each other forever, rather than a few short weeks.
“Turkey it is. With tomatoes. And no sprouts,” she said. “Give me five minutes.”
He could hear her moving around the kitchen and he closed his eyes and listened to her humming as she set out plates. After a minute, he headed out to his car to retrieve a package from the trunk. He left it in the front hallway and met her in the kitchen. “I, uh, bought you something.”
She shot him a look of surprise. “You already gave me a gift. My grandmother’s wallpaper. I don’t want you to… that is … I just...”
Her voice trailed away, and he realized that she was worried about him spending his money on her. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. If she only knew. Finances were no issue for him. One could amass quite a fortune in two hundred years.
Looking down at her upturned face, at the sweet spray of freckles and her sparkling eyes, he had the crazy urge to tell all, to share with her his past, his present, the knowledge of what he was.
Yeah, like that was a plan. She was a mortal woman. She would live and die. He had no business dreaming about a life with her, buying her gifts. But he’d done it
He kissed her, open-mouthed, deep. Sensation spiked, her hips rocking in time with his, her moans and cries swallowed by his kiss. He made a raw sound, hard-edged pleasure and animal lust, and he moved in long, full strokes, harder, faster, until she unraveled, her body clenched tight around him as he shuddered his release. Ecstasy rode her senses, blurring her thoughts, her awareness.
Finally, panting, he dropped his head, nuzzling the curve of her neck, still holding her up against the door. She felt weightless, boneless. Wonderfully alive. Then he shifted her so she was cradled in his arms and he carried her to her bed. There, he stripped off her clothes and kissed her—her neck, her belly, her breasts—taking his time, teasing her.
Then he took her again, driving them both over the edge.
“Sleep,” he whispered, cradling her in his arms. “Sleep, love.”
And she did, her lids drifting shut, her body replete.
When she woke, he was gone. But he’d brought her crutches from the room under the eaves and left them on the floor by the bed.
o0o
Daemon was sanding the patch he’d put on the wall in the dining room when he heard Jen behind him. Schooling his features just in case she was having a moment of regret, he turned to look at her and felt a shimmer of the
continuum
. No doubt about it. Jen carried a hint of magic. She wasn’t a sorcerer or a demon... but maybe she was a blighted seed, a human who had a magical progenitor somewhere in her past. Such mortals usually tapped their limited power to become psychics or healers or energy workers. But Jen was none of those. He was certain she had no clue that magic, both light and dark, existed at the edges of her world, no idea that there really were monsters in the closet.
She was an accountant.
An incredibly beautiful, sexy accountant that he was willing to break all his self-imposed rules for.
“Hey,” she said, sending him a glorious smile. No reservations. No regrets. Not his Jen. He should have known. “Break time. I’ll make lunch.”
His Jen
. What the hell was he thinking? That they’d set up house here in Freetown? Tend the garden? Walk in the park? And when he never got sick, never aged? When the trinity got restless and demanded release? What then? He knew how quickly love could shrivel in the face of the truth.
“Turkey sandwiches?” he asked, forcing a light tone.
She cocked her head to the side and studied him, a faint frown marking her brow, and he knew she sensed his tension. She saw too much, read him too well. It was like they’d known each other forever, rather than a few short weeks.
“Turkey it is. With tomatoes. And no sprouts,” she said. “Give me five minutes.”
He could hear her moving around the kitchen and he closed his eyes and listened to her humming as she set out plates. After a minute, he headed out to his car to retrieve a package from the trunk. He left it in the front hallway and met her in the kitchen. “I, uh, bought you something.”
She shot him a look of surprise. “You already gave me a gift. My grandmother’s wallpaper. I don’t want you to… that is … I just...”
Her voice trailed away, and he realized that she was worried about him spending his money on her. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. If she only knew. Finances were no issue for him. One could amass quite a fortune in two hundred years.
Looking down at her upturned face, at the sweet spray of freckles and her sparkling eyes, he had the crazy urge to tell all, to share with her his past, his present, the knowledge of what he was.
Yeah, like that was a plan. She was a mortal woman. She would live and die. He had no business dreaming about a life with her, buying her gifts. But he’d done it
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