Born of Ashes (Guardians of Ascension #4)(76)
Author: Caris Roane

“You’re heavy on me,” she said, but she smiled and he gave her an answering grin.

He even took her hands in his and threaded his fingers through her fingers then held her arms far out to the sides so that his weight grew.

But instead of feeling the whirling snakes in the pit of her stomach, she felt an airiness in her chest, a warmth within, a glow that brought a wonderful sigh flowing out of her.

Then he kissed her and captured her breath and possessed her mouth. Her hips responded, pushing against him. He moved inside her, drew back, and thrust hard.

She groaned but there was just one more thing. Take my blood, she whispered through his mind.

A heavy groan rumbled in his throat and before she had taken a breath, he had pierced her neck and was sucking. I won’t last, came as a cry through her head.

But already the orgasm swelled within her so that she spoke into his ear. “Come for me, Jean-Pierre. Come with me. Come now.”

He drew back from her throat and as pleasure streaked through her body, as she gripped him deep, holding all that was so strong, so powerful, so forceful, she watched him rise up off her and cry out as he came.

“Look at me,” she said.

He brought his gaze to her and when that happened, it was as though all the sensation tripled and a second orgasm barreled down on her. He became fierce in his movements, thrusting hard and bringing her a second time and a third, writhing over her.

He was hard again. Oh, God.

“Your blood,” he murmured. “Like a fire in me.” He drove her once more, looking into her eyes and bringing her so that she rose up and surrounded him with her arms and pulled him down to her to once more press her into the bed, a heavy weight, anchoring her, shielding her, caring for her.

Only then did the sensations start to drift away, as he lay on top of her, his body slack now, breathing hard, his work done.

“Chérie,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder.

“Mon amour,” she responded. His mouth was on her shoulder and she felt him smile. Then his ribs rose and fell in a breath and a sigh.

He rose up just a little and looked at her neck. “Do you want me to heal your throat?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe later. I want to enjoy it for a while.”

“Bon.” He lay back down on her.

She marveled again that she no longer felt the oppressive fear of being trapped. She surrounded him with her arms and fell into a doze.

She dreamed of flying high above the White Tanks. The day was clear and sunny, very dry, of course. The lake beneath was a glittering diamond and she felt such peace.

But from the east storm clouds, black and furious, rolled over the tops of the White Tank Mountains and descended toward her at a perilous rate. She was suddenly engulfed and thrown down into the lake, below the surface of the waters. She struggled to swim, to rise to the surface, but she was bound and each movement made her bonds even tighter.

Words flowed through her mind: Find the deepest place, live there, then rise.

She jerked awake, and the memory of the waters and storm flowed away from her. Find the deepest place and rise.

Jean-Pierre’s arm covered her. He lay on his side facing her, his long hair hiding the lower half of his face. Part of his lower lip was visible. She wanted to kiss it, but what else was new?

She sat up and took a few deep breaths. Dreams were an important part of ascended life. She knew that. But what did it mean that a storm would come from the east and try to drown her?

She wasn’t a fan of symbolism. She preferred things to be open and straightforward. And what could it possibly mean to find the deepest place and rise? The deepest place of what? The bottom of White Lake?

That made no sense at all.

“What is it, chérie? I can hear your thoughts.”

“You can hear my thoughts in your head?”

He laughed and turned over on his back. “Non. It was just an expression. You are thinking very hard.”

“I had a dream about White Lake.”

A pause. “I am not surprised. White Lake is a place of great power, and yours are emerging.”

“I was drowning.”

At that, he lifted up on his elbow. “Drowning, chérie?”

“Sort of. I was beneath the waters and drowning. Do you think it’s just a leftover from my captivity?” She turned to look at him. She stretched her preternatural vision and there he was, sitting in a glow of light. So gorgeous. Her heart hurt, as it seemed to be doing a lot lately, just looking at him.

He opened his left arm wide. “Come to me.”

It was the easiest, most natural thing in the world to fall into that arm and let him pull her against his big warm body. They were still in the same bed, in the toile bedroom, beneath a sheet and cuddled together. “Jean-Pierre, would you tell me something?”

“Anything, chérie?”

“What happened all those years ago that such a good kind man, such a noble man didn’t marry again? I’ve met a lot of fine women since I’ve been here on Second Earth, several who would have made you a good wife, a warrior’s wife. For you to have remained unattached all these decades, I know something went wrong for you.”

“It was a long time ago.” His arm was no longer lax around her. The muscles rippled as he flexed and tried to relax only to flex again.

She had touched a nerve, but that was not always a bad thing. “Truth, Jean-Pierre, remember? You wanted me to speak the truth.”

“La vérité,” he murmured.

“Yes, the truth.”

* * *

Jean-Pierre tried to still the rising beat of his heart. He tried to take a deep breath, but could not. Fiona had awakened from a dream, perhaps even a nightmare, and now wished him to speak of the unspeakable, the unforgivable. To his surprise, the words flowed from him.

“She betrayed me, my wife. I … loved her so very much.” Fiona lay very still beside him, only her fingers moving as she plucked at the sheet over his chest.

“What was her name?”

“Isabelle. Very pretty. She was beautiful in a flirtatious way, a pointed chin and such dancing eyes that crinkled almost shut when she laughed. She laughed a lot. She could flirt with her fan better than any woman I knew. And such flirting, so long ago, was an art.”

“She was enchanting.”

A faint chuckle left his throat. “Oui, she was enchanting. But not with me. I mean I was enchanted but she always spoke the truth to me. Hard words to hear at times. I believe she corrected a great many of my flaws in the years we were married. I was lazy and she pushed me. I grew more disciplined. I was sometimes thoughtless in my speech, in my words—”