Burning Skies

* * *

Marcus drifted from deep sleep into a half-waking state because he felt her again, the weight of her on his hips, her knees pressed into the mattress on each side of him, her body moving against his profound arousal. He wasn’t buried in her, not yet, but oh … my … God.

Then he awoke the rest of the way. Havily was here and she was safe and she was with him.

He resisted the urge to grab her arms and make certain she was whole and unharmed. Despite Jeannie’s earlier reassurances, he was worried for her safety. However, any brusque movement on his part would awaken her from what he knew was still a dream state. And if nothing else, his four months’ experience had taught him that the moment she awakened, she’d recoil from him in horror and slip away.

That he didn’t have the power to stop her from disappearing when she woke up still fried him.

So for the last four months he had experimented, testing her limits to see what he could do, or not do as was the case, to see how long he could keep her in a half-dreaming state so that she stayed with him.

He glanced around his bedroom, which was not quite his bedroom, but a dream-like place that included his bed, okay, a bed, and felt like his home on Bainbridge Island, but wasn’t, even though he could hear wind rattling the windows. He was in his bedroom … but not … so where the hell was he?—which was the same question he’d been asking himself since this whole madness began.

The room was dark, especially around the perimeter, as though fading to a blackness that had no end. The symbolism wasn’t lost on him—the only way he could have what he most wanted, what he craved, was in some kind of dream state.

Weird.

Whatever.

As she moved against his cock, he suppressed a moan. No loud noises. Her eyes as usual were closed, and he knew she wasn’t awake, yet not quite asleep, or not very deeply.

He still didn’t get what was happening. For one thing, Havily detested him because he’d quit the Warriors of the Blood two hundred years ago. She saw him as a deserter.

Yet despite her dislike of him, she came every night to his bedroom that was not his bedroom, in this peculiar aberration of power and dreaming. He had never heard of anyone on Second Earth possessing this kind of ability, yet here Havily was moaning in that sweet melodic voice of hers as her honeysuckle scent infused the air of his somewhere bedroom.

Marcus, she whispered over his mind, her hips undulating, the sweet wetness of her flesh stroking his cock.

Havily, he responded, his telepathic voice low and dark. Yeah, he’d learned a lot in all these weeks—no jarring movements, no sharp commands, no fangs in her neck when oh, God, he ached to taste her blood.

If he did any of these things, she would awaken. Then she’d take one horrified look at him, no matter the level of her passion, and drift away from him like a dream he couldn’t recapture no matter how hard he tried.

Once she left, he would experience a sliding sensation, a blink of unconsciousness like he was folding or being folded. He would reappear in his bed painfully aroused and in need of release. He sure as hell had taken a lot of cold showers over what had been a very long spring and had the appearance of turning into an equally long summer.

But Havily was here now, in his nowhere bed, and he had another shot at taking their nightly ritual to a more productive level. He was nothing if not a problem solver and he hadn’t been idle in pondering their current conundrum, as in how to keep her with him long enough to consummate the relationship. She obviously desired him, which meant that each time she left without experiencing release, she must have been as frustrated as he was.

Tonight, though, he had a plan, something he hadn’t tried before. Maybe tonight everything would change.

He drew a slow deep breath. He slid an arm around her waist very gently to support her. A soft moan followed.

Her breasts, and God they were beautiful, were almost at eye level, the weight of them heavy in front since she leaned forward. She had large deep-rose areolas, which were as familiar to him now as the hand he used to cup those breasts. He curved his hand around her right breast and withheld a groan but Havily mewled. He drew his hand the length of her breast and lightly rubbed the nipple. Her sweet voice mewled again.

He wanted to suckle but the times he’d tried, the sensation had been too powerful for her and she’d shied away, awakening fully and disappearing beneath his touch. But he wanted her breast in his mouth. He wanted to suck hard until she was screaming.

First, though, he had to figure this out, how to do this, to connect physically without waking her, how to give her pleasure without having her fade from his arms.

God how he wanted that, as though his life depended upon making her happy. The drive he felt toward her burned in his chest and had been burning since he’d first met her.

He put both hands on her waist, holding her. He throbbed now, hard as granite. He lifted her and very slowly impaled her on his cock. This, miraculously, she would allow. She even arched in his hands and flung her head back, crying out. It always surprised him that she didn’t awaken, one more sign that she needed this as much as he did.

Come for me, he whispered again within her mind, her sweet honeysuckle scent strafing his nostrils and piercing his brain.

I can’t. Her voice was a whimper in his head. Yeah, she was frustrated as well.

If only he could get her under him, he could use his magic and work her into a frenzy. But he’d tried that maneuver more than once, and each time she’d awakened.

His gaze fell to her throat. His breathing quickened as a growl rattled around in his chest and his fangs emerged. Saliva flooded his mouth. He wanted her beneath him, writhing. He wanted his fangs sunk into her vein and drawing her nectar into his mouth, down his throat. Havily, he whispered again. God, how he wanted her. Could she feel the depth of his longing?

She rose up and down his column now, her body clenching and unclenching. But as she drew closer to orgasm, he knew what would happen. She would come to consciousness, frightened, bewildered, embarrassed, then in the space of a second disappear, a specter caught in a breeze.

How to keep her here? He thought he might have a clue and tried it now. Stay with me, he murmured within the depths of her mind. If he spoke aloud, she’d disappear. But he could converse telepathically and keep her with him. Stay with me this time. Let me give you satisfaction.

I want to, she sent, whimpering all over again.

Let me take care of you.

Yes.

Then sleep, Havily, more deeply now. Sleep.

Her body responded and grew slack, her hips now quiet on his.

Hello. This was new.

Shit, maybe this time it would work. His heart hammered a few ecstatic beats. He took over and worked his hips up and down, sliding his cock in and out of her willing body. Her moans increased, but only within his mind. This was good. This was very good. He worked her slowly and slid his hand down her buttocks. God, she felt so good. Her buttocks were so smooth, firm, so squeezable. Her honeysuckle scent poured out of her. He couldn’t be imagining that. He smelled her.

Sleep, Havily, he whispered again over her mind.

She stretched out on top of him, her breasts against his chest, and damn did that feel good. He surrounded her with his arms. His heart was now a jackhammer in his chest. He was close to victory. He could feel it. This time. Hell, this time, it might just work.

He kept the rhythm slow and steady. He closed his eyes as well. He put his lips to her forehead and kissed her. She arched her neck. He dipped low and found her mouth. Sleep, he whispered again as he kissed her. But he wasn’t demanding. He just drifted his lips over hers as the moans inside his head came in little gasps now.

He felt her grow very tight. His heart raced a little more. He increased the speed steadily, thrusting in and out. Damn she was tight. Oh, yeah, this was good. Very good. Damn good.

Sleep, he sent once again, his lips still plucking gently at hers.

He wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. He increased the pace. Yes, she whispered through his mind.

She broke the contact with his mouth.

Yes, from her mind again. She repeated the word over and over. Yes, yes, yes.

Her body pulled on him. The small of his back tightened, his thighs trembled, oh, shit, he was coming. But at the same time, she opened her mouth wide and cried out over and over. He erupted in a long brilliant ejaculation that caused his head to roll back. He kept pumping into her body until he jettisoned every drop, his hands squeezing her waist, keeping her planted on top of him.

Then he looked at her. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. Her hips worked him oh-so-gently, as though she was savoring the feel of him. She cooed, a soft pretty warble, exactly the sound he had expected her to make. She gave a little gasp, sighed, then sank back down on his chest.

He held her for a long time. He cradled her in his arms, and stunned tears broke over his eyes. A man could get used to this, holding a woman in his arms in the middle of the night, so deeply content because he’d given her satisfaction.

God. His woman.

Wake for me now, he sent. He released the tight hold he had on her, his hands gliding down her arms. He craned his neck to look at her face.

Her eyes opened slowly. She blinked at him. “Marcus?” she murmured. “That was … so good … but … what is this … where am I … where did you take me?” She looked around, and the innocence and confusion on her face tore at his heart and his conscience. He became painfully aware that what he had just done to her, which was similar to enthralling a woman, might not be viewed by her in a positive light.

Then her eyes opened all the way, a wide stare of light green eyes that locked onto his as she came fully awake. “You seem so real.” She blinked again.

In that instant she was here, now, with him, and he wanted to keep her with him, hold her, wherever the hell they were together. Dammit, he wanted her to stay.

He slid his arms around her once more. “Stay with me,” he cried, his panic rising. “Don’t go. We should talk about this. Please, Havily—” But he was losing her, he could feel it in the stiffening of her muscles and in the horror that replaced her look of satisfaction, her contentment, her fulfillment.