But she'd said she wouldn't give him the third mark. And if he couldn't convince her otherwise, he'd have even less time to be sure his lips had touched every part of her, over and over again.
Lifting his gaze to her face, he hooked his fingers in the panties and eased them down her legs. Left them at her ankles as he bent his head and licked her clit.
Her hand convulsed on his shoulder, a lock of his hair trapped beneath her fingers, tugging on his scalp as her body jerked. He did it again, those slow licks on the clit hood with her legs not yet spread enough to get his head all the way between them. He kept his hands on her thighs to tell her he wanted her to stay that way for a few moments longer. He nuzzled her when she bumped against him impatiently, and her nails dug into his skin. She'd draw blood one way or another, for it was her way. He was learning that much. He didn't want this to be about anything she had to do for someone else. He didn't want her to have to make any decisions.
"Just feel," he murmured. Rising, he slid his arms around her waist to lift her, so the last garment fell to the meadow floor and she was fully, blissfully naked against his half-clad but tautly aroused body. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pressed her face into his neck. He could feel her need for this, to lose herself. As he held her in the tight, quiet embrace, she drew in a deep breath, her nostrils flaring against his skin as she inhaled his scent. Her bare feet brushed against his jean-covered calves, goading a fierce surge of reaction in his chest. He would do anything to protect her, to keep her happy.
Maybe it didn't make sense to the whole world, his brother, even himself. Despite her savagery, her cruelty, he felt whole, complete when she trusted him like this. There were no questions now. This was where he was meant to be, the meaning and importance of his whole life held in his arms. Perhaps it was like the first moment when a mother saw her baby. There would be terrible pain. The child often would do everything he or she could to shake that love. But that kind of love was steadfast, inarguable. That was the point, the clear path.
"Jacob—"
"Sshhh. Just let me love you, my lady."
Shifting, he laid her down on their clothes cushioned beneath by the soft meadow grass. Spreading her hair around her, he brought a handful of it to his lips, brushing it there, then over his eyes, his face, loving the feel of it as she watched him, her hand stroking his shoulder. Her other hand touched his knee as he squatted next to her supine form, trailed along the inseam of the denim. Taking her time making her way up his thigh until she reached the hard evidence of his desire, constrained behind the' zipper. He rose, her hand trailing downward to his knee as he shucked off the garment. Tossing it on the pile of her clothes, he looked down at her. Her hand had come back to rest on his bare knee now, her eyes traveling up his body, lingering on his turgid cock, the weight of his balls. She'd required him to shave around his genitals for her, and her eyes registered her approval of the closely trimmed pubic area even as she appreciated the line of hair she'd wanted him to keep at his stomach and the light thatch over his chest. Finally, her eyes lifted to his face.
Even with the desire in her face he could feel the need behind it. She wanted, badly. Now. He was hers. All hers.
He heard that thought as clearly as if she'd spoken it. Without further hesitation, he dropped to one knee next to her, laid his hand on her thigh and spread her legs, feeling as if he were opening an angel's wings to reveal the heart of life and its meaning. Easing over her, he felt the brush of her thigh as she raised it, touching his bare hip. She framed his face with her hands as he lowered himself to kiss her, bearing his weight on his arms as he slid slow and deep within her. Easy, so easy.
"Aaahhh…" That soft breath from her again. He closed his own eyes, the feel of her wet pussy closing around him in a moment too sacred not to be met with an attitude of devout prayer. He felt her amusement with the thought, mixed with a wave of her own desire. He smiled as well, opening his eyes as he began to move.
He was a well-endowed man. It had never seemed a thing of much consequence to him, except it saved him from locker-room ribbing and he was able to give pleasure to the women who took joy in it. But as she arched and gasped, he filled her tight channel and was glad to be able to give her that gift.
Her nails sliced him anew, so that he increased the power of his strokes, his desire rising. Her lips parted so he couldn't resist bending and covering them with his own. She met him with a hard kiss, her tongue seeking his, her hands now on his head, gripping his hair as her lower body lifted and fell, increasing the power of the impact as they came together more rapidly.
"Yours, my lady," he muttered, echoing her thoughts, and growled as she raked him from shoulder to buttocks, her heels clamping over his hips.
Mine, she agreed, the jade eyes locking with his. Her hand was between them, now resting on the mark over his nipple, which was swollen and stinging like fire, so when she reared up and placed her mouth over it to suckle on him, it speared shards of aching pleasure through him. Her hands gripped his ass, fingers rocking him against her as her hips rose and dropped, driving them higher.
Come for me, Jacob.
You first, my lady. 'Tis not a battle. Give me the gift of seeing you come while I still have a scrap of sanity to enjoy the sight.
"I can feel your cunt tight like a fist over my cock." He whispered it, lying down on her body, his mouth against her ear as he held her pinned to the ground. He slowed his strokes to rub with excruciating small movements against her clit while she quivered spasmodically beneath him.
She could remove him easily, even reverse the position, but instead her arms locked around his shoulders, her legs still around his hips. She pressed her face into his shoulder as he rocked her, pumping her slowly against his cock, reaching beneath her to palm her soft bottom and guide her on him, up, down, deep in, dragging out.
She hesitated, fighting dark images he couldn't see or understand, but he could sense their pull. He wouldn't try to fight those, but he would coax her from their grasp.
"Let your servant please you. You've nothing to fear from me. My life is yours to do with as you will, my lady." His voice was hoarse. He wanted her ears to hear the truth of it as well as her mind.
Neither death… nor pain… nor loss. Shall I fear. Only my beloved may rend my heart asunder. Burn me to ashes like the rising of the sun. Vampire…poet. Sjaran, twelfth century.
"Never, my lady. Never." Daring to tip the scales, he shifted his firm grip on her buttocks, brushed his finger pads around the rim of her rectum, teasing it as he stroked against her clit. Pressing his cock even more deeply inside her, he found the dense area of her sweet spot when he put his lips to her throat, just beneath her ear.
The grip of her arms increased exponentially and she shattered, her body arching, bucking against him convulsively. With her arms and legs tight around him it was a furious wet friction against his cock that snapped his own barely leashed restraint. As she spasmed, muffling her cries in his shoulder, her cunt clutched him, the tissues quivering between her buttocks beneath the probe of his fingers. Finesse had to desert him in the face of such unbearable sensation. His hand slid back to her buttock and gripped her hard as he pounded into her, his cock spurting as her cries grew in volume, her climax increasing in intensity as he tried to enhance it with his movements within her, his touch, the harsh rasp of his breath against her ear.
That delicate ear, as finely made as any flower that grew in the meadow during the first gentle touch of spring. It was his first rational thought as he regained his senses and found his cheek on the meadow floor, his gaze on that beautiful ear, touched by moonlight. Her hair was a pillow for his head, and he took the opportunity to rub his face against it again before he remembered his manners and pushed himself up on his elbows to cup her face, his fingers brushing her lips.
She kissed them, her hand on the back of his neck drawing him down to exchange a kiss between their mouths, and then another, and another. Until he realized she fully intended to get him charged up again and was succeeding. A process that should have been physically impossible to accomplish so quickly, no matter the stimulus.
One of the benefits of the second mark. Record recovery time.
He'd have smiled if he didn't want her again so much already. Semi-erect, he slid back into her still slippery heat and she held him with her muscles there, stroking, rippling.
In a flash, she rolled so she could sit up and ride him, her hair wild and snarled about her. Catching his hands she held them, using them as a resistant counterpoint as she sinuously worked him, drawing him harder and deeper within her, bringing him closer to explosion with internal muscles as supple as her fingers. She controlled every movement, pushing down on him with a force underscoring the difference in their strengths, her reminder that she had all the advantages, that the choices were hers. His cock responded helplessly, spurting for her again in a much briefer time than he'd ever experienced before, his control gone.
He let her have her way, for he'd accomplished his intent, reminding himself why he'd chosen to serve her. It wasn't the soft firmness of her breasts, the wet pull of her cunt, the sweep of her fine hair on his skin, though all those were enough to make a man kill for her. It was the soul of the woman beneath all that he heard calling to him, making it impossible to walk away.