Your Magic or Mine? (43 page)

“Stop that,” he growled and squirmed, but she ignored him and gave his neck a smacking kiss.

By the side of the bed, he lowered her quickly to her feet. Her legs seemed strong enough to hold her, and she pulled his head down for another of those kisses. He seemed happy to oblige, and within seconds their centers were humming again. While their tongues tangled, she began unbuttoning his shirt. She’d been delayed long enough. He was her mate, and she wanted him
now
.

“Wait.” He broke the kiss as he captured her hands and held them to his chest. “We’re also going to take it slow. We’re going to realize all those fantasies plaguing my dreams.”

She stared up into his light blue eyes. Where had she ever gotten the idea they were icy and disapproving? His gaze was so hot and deep, he could be seeing into her soul. She wet her lips. His eyes dropped to follow her tongue and rose again when she asked, “What fantasies?”

“We’ll start with me undressing you.” His smile promised untold pleasures, and his low raspy voice sent prickles of excitement racing through her blood.

“What do I do?”

“Enjoy.” He pushed her jacket off her shoulders and down her arms to fall at her feet. After a small kiss that left her wanting more, he pulled her Morgan Farms shirt out of her jeans and up over her head.

“Nice,” he murmured, running his fingers down her straps, over the swell of her breasts to meet in the middle of her chest at the bottom of the deep V of her lacy bra. As his fingers neared her magic center, the hum, which had receded to a low presence in the background, increased in volume and intensity.

She felt her eyelids grow heavy and lethargy creep through her body, but she forced her eyes to remain open, her mind to work. She needed to see his reactions to her. She was determined to be conscious of every single moment. Although she wished he would go faster, she’d humor him for the moment.
Fantasies
sounded interesting.

He reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and slid it down her arms. Staring at her bared breasts, he licked his lips and murmured, “Oh, Glori, you are beyond beautiful.”

She shivered when he cupped, weighed, and kneaded her in his hands. Her breasts seemed to grow heavier, fuller. Her nipples tightened into dark red buds when he ran his thumbs over them. Once, twice. On the third, little zings of energy ran down her nerves straight to her womb, and she grasped his hands to hold them in place.

As he fondled her, he smiled again, looking like he’d discovered treasure. When he lifted his hands away, she tried to press them back, but he captured hers instead and brought them up to his shoulders.

“Hold on,” he said and knelt, put his hands on her breasts again, and continued playing. With his tongue, he gave each nipple a flick, a light caress that almost brought her up on her toes as the zings increased in power, and she had to grab tight to his shirt for an anchor. The hum grew louder.

“Let’s get the rest of your clothes off.”

He removed her shoes and socks, unbuckled her belt, unzipped her jeans, and helped her step out of them and her panties. Leaning back on his heels, he surveyed her body with a look combining desire, need—and total possessiveness.
Mine!
his expression proclaimed.

She found it impossible to be embarrassed or shy about her nudity in front of him. On the contrary, his gaze was so hot, so exciting, so adoring that she almost wanted to strike a “come get me, big boy” pose.

In fact, she was determined to return the favor. Neither had had the chance to see, really appreciate, the other during their last two oh-so-fast encounters. She wanted to see him, also. And touch, and explore, and more.

She gave an exasperated sigh. Going slow was incredibly frustrating. Her whole body was tingling, demanding to be skin-to-skin with his.

He reached for her, but she seized his hands. “My turn for a few of my fantasies. Stand up.”

He looked startled, but he complied. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders.

Oh, nice
. She ran her hands up his muscled chest, through the curly blond hair, over his flat nipples, down his breastbone. The hum, which had lessened, resumed and increased. She kissed his chest right above his center, and he gasped and she jumped when energy flashed between them.

She glanced up, and his head was back, his jaw clenched, his hands in fists at his sides.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice as raspy as his had been. “I felt a jolt, too.”

“Don’t stop,” he grated.

She helped him out of his shoes and socks before she focused her attention to his belt buckle, then his pants where his erection was straining against its confinement. Slowly she lowered the zipper. His pants dropped to the floor, revealing his briefs, tented with the strength of his arousal. She placed her hands on his waist and slid her fingers under the elastic waistband.

He sucked in his stomach and put his hands over hers. He whispered hoarsely, “No.”

She froze and raised her head to look at his face. He wasn’t smiling. Instead, every muscle was taut, strained, like he was holding on to something as tightly as he could.

He grimaced. “Let me.”

She nodded and stepped back, and he stretched out the elastic and took off the underwear. When he straightened up, she ran her gaze up and down him. His body was that of a runner, lean, rangy, not an ounce of fat, and his sex rose powerfully from its blond nest of curls. The man really was perfect, and in sheer admiration she said, “Oh, Marcus, you are too gorgeous.”

He laughed, a strangled sort of chuckle, turned quickly, and stripped back the covers on the big bed.

His backside was gorgeous, too. She couldn’t resist putting her hands on him.

“Hey!” He jumped about half a foot, whirled around, and swooped again, picking her up and tossing her into the middle of the big bed.

She laughed, bounced, and struggled to sit up, but he was hovering over her in a flash, braced on his arms and knees, one leg between hers.

“Slowly,” he whispered, and, coming down on his left elbow, he lowered his body slightly to the side of hers, anchoring her to the bed with his thigh between her legs.

The man radiated heat, and, hot though she was, she needed warming. As she reached for him, this time he caught her hands, manacled them together in his left one, and stretched her arms above her head.

“Patience,” he murmured and kissed her.

More than a little disgruntled at being restrained when she wanted badly to touch, she resisted and kept her lips together—for a moment. When he ran his tongue along their seam and simultaneously slid his free hand down her side to her hip, then upward to settle over her breast and play with its nipple, she gasped as her body stiffened of its own accord.

Her inhalation gained him entrance into her mouth, and he kissed her deeply. And deeper still. Until she was only conscious of his mouth on hers, their tongues dueling, his fingers fondling a breast grown increasingly sensitive, his alluring scent filling her nostrils. The hum from their centers oscillated in time with the blood beating in her ears and the thrusts of his tongue.

He dragged his mouth from hers, pressed kisses down her neck, over the vein throbbing there, and down to her breast where he swirled his tongue around her hard and aching nipples. When he suckled, waves of heat rippled through her, and she squeezed her eyes shut to concentrate on the sensations, so much stronger than their last time on his living room floor.

Lack of sight, however, seemed to intensify the ache, now compounded by a fierce longing and rampaging need, as she concentrated entirely on her breasts and his actions. He roamed from one breast to the other, and she arched her back and pushed against his mouth, searching for relief.

When she didn’t find it, she moaned and began to move, twisting and turning against his hard, rigid body. Her captive arms strained against his hand, and her free leg rubbed and lifted against his, but nothing brought even temporary relief.

“Easy,” he murmured against her skin.

Easy? More like torture. The aching traveled from her breasts to between her legs, and grinding herself against his thigh didn’t help, even made it worse. When the throbbing went from merely discomfort to torment, she protested with a wordless cry.

He must have realized the tumult she was undergoing because he slid his hand down her ribs to her hip and nudged her back, away from him. When his fingers settled in the curls at the apex of her thighs, he ceased his attention to her breasts and said in a raspy, gravelly voice, “Open your eyes.”

When she did, her gaze met his—concentrated, intent, scorching. Hardly any blue showed around the black of his iris. It was the look he’d given her from the moment they met—only multiplied by a thousand. It seared her soul.

He used his thigh to open her legs wider, and his hand cupped her, explored her hidden folds. Each sliding caress along her slick swollen flesh brought a tiny bit of relief. Mostly it intensified her need for more—more stroking, more pressure, more …

“Marcus,” she groaned, pushing against his hand below and against his hand above.

“Glori,” he whispered and slid his wet thumb over her nerve-filled nub.

As shock waves ran upward through her body, he thrust one finger into her core. It felt so good, and she contracted her inner muscles around him, held him tight. When he began to stroke in and out, she arched and worked her hips to match his movements. When he rubbed and flicked that most sensitive spot also, every muscle in her body tightened. She grew even hotter, and she hauled in air as though she was running up a huge hill.

Inside her, pressure began to grow, pushing her harder against his hands, arching her back in a deeper curve. The blood beat faster in her ears, and her body began to vibrate from the hum of her center.

His eyes still bore into hers; it was impossible to look away. She saw raw need behind the lust, powerful desire within the heat, and the sight doubled and tripled her own.

The pressure built and built in a long crescendo. She was beyond consciousness except for what she saw in his eyes and what she felt in his touch. Greater and greater her excitement built, faster and faster her hips moved, her lungs worked. Until finally, finally, she went blind as long shudders wracked her, and the release seemed to throw her to another dimension.

Panting and limp, she focused her eyes to find him still gazing at her, but with definitely a look of sheer satisfaction. He’d released her hands, and she reached to pull him into a kiss. By the time he raised his head again, both of them were breathing hard.

Marcus gazed at her for a long moment before lifting himself up and over her and kneeling between her legs. He leaned down to kiss her again softly and had to smile against her lips when she languidly ran her hands from his hair, over his shoulders, and down to his arms.

Good
. His instinct had been correct: bring her to a small measure of satisfaction to slow her down. She had finally stopped fighting him, stopped trying to rush to completion. While satisfying in one sense, their first and second lovemaking episodes had left much to be desired—especially the opportunity and the time to touch, to caress, to savor, to delight.

If she was going to teach him how to be a soul mate, he could teach her the joys of slow lovemaking. From all the evidence, she had a much harder job than he did.

At the moment, however, waiting, holding back was practically killing him. His blood was racing through his body, his cock was throbbing with its pressure, and if he didn’t get inside her soon, he knew he’d spontaneously combust.

Patience, man, patience
.

He stopped kissing her lips and moved down her body to her delectable breasts, where he feasted until she was moaning and moving restlessly again.

“Marcus …”

He raised his head and met her eyes. The green was softer than he’d ever seen. “Yes, Glori …”

“I want to touch you,” she whispered.

Her words caused his cock to twitch. It wanted her to touch, too. If he was going to explode, however, it would damn sure be inside her. It was an effort to speak. “Not yet. I want to be in you when I come.”

Her eyebrows went up, and an
O
formed on her lips. She must not have realized the effect she had on him.

“We have a mating to accomplish first,” he said. He braced his upper torso on stiff arms and positioned himself at her entrance between her bent legs. “This one’s for keeps. Watch.”

She raised her head and he bent his, and together they watched themselves joining. She raised her legs to grip his hips, while he slowly pushed in, all the way to the hilt. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, and the heat, and wetness, and grip of her sheath took his breath.

A perfect fit. She was perfect, made for him and he for her
.

The hum increased in volume and intensity when he looked back into her eyes. Hardly any green showed, yet what did gleamed like emeralds.

She brought her hands to his chest on either side of his breastbone and said, “Touch my center when I touch yours.”

“Why?”

“Because it will complete the circuit.”

Her words didn’t make much sense, but he did what she asked. He transferred his weight to his left arm and placed his right hand directly over her center. Hers was directly under his breastbone.

“On the count of three,” she said. “One. Two. Three!”

And lightning struck, a bolt of magic power that fused them together
.

Energy swirled around them, through them, in circles, from hand to magic center to where they were joined below and back up. Under his hand, he could feel her heart beating, matching his rhythm.

The hum dropped an octave, pulsated in sync, increased in volume. Their bodies heated even more, straining for a goal just out of reach.

It wasn’t enough.

He came down on his left elbow, took her mouth in a deep, hot kiss. Another road for the circuit opened through that connection, and energy surged, oscillating between them.

Everything—heartbeat, vibration, energy level, temperature, tension—increased yet again; they had to be incandescent from the surging power.