Wings of Fire (Guardians of Ascension #3)(95)
Author: Caris Roane

Yes, that’s it, he sent. Take me. Take me hard.

She struck quick, like lightning, and began sucking at his neck as though she’d been dying of thirst for about a decade. She pulled in deep draws, savoring the sage taste of him.

Her internal muscles spasmed again and again. She ground her hips against him and found him … hard.

Antony, I need you.

I’m ready. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I’m ready again. Take me, Parisa. Take all of me.

He held her tight around the shoulders, anchoring her against his neck. He groaned as she sucked.

With his other hand, he dipped low and cradled her entire pelvis—yes, he had big hands. He lifted her up, positioned her over his cock, then impaled her in a single hard thrust. She was so wet for him, so tight, so ready.

She screamed around the seal on his neck, but kept her fangs buried and continued to pull. As soon as he’d pushed himself in, though, her hips began to work. Her body felt so strangely powerful—maybe it was Antony’s blood—but she rode him. She rode his c**k hard and fast, his arm a vise around her shoulders, his free hand cradling the back of her head and keeping her pinned to his neck.

She drank and drank.

The orgasm began to build, like a huge tidal wave in the distance. She felt the pressure coming, coming. His hips suddenly took over. He moved the hand from the back of her head to her bu**ocks to hold her in place as he thrust deep, hitting the end of her and it hurt and it felt wonderful and hurt and the sensations got mixed up together until he was driving so fast, so very fast, hitting just that spot and suddenly the orgasm barreled down on her with the force of a tsunami.

She released his neck, arched her back, and screamed. She screamed and screamed as he stretched the orgasm out. Between her screams she heard his low grunting noises, spitting the sounds from behind clenched teeth.

The orgasm receded but it was like wave-sets at the ocean: The next one came and still Antony pumped into her, hard, grunting, animal, vampire.

Parisa. Oh, God, Parisa. I’m coming again and oh … shiiiiit.

A third orgasm pounded on her, rushing through her as he jerked inside her and pumped and jerked and filled her with his seed.

Then she saw stars, dozens of them, spinning and spinning, a full galaxy in motion, then they all winked out.

When she woke up, she was lying on something very soft, a bed, but she couldn’t quite make her eyes open. But she was smiling. Why? She was giggling. Why? Soft little things dotted her nose, her cheeks, her lips, her chin. Ah … kisses.

“Parisa? Parisa?”

She heard Antony’s voice from a great distance.

She giggled again. She was so happy. Was she on some kind of drug?

Oh, yes, Antony’s blood and his c**k and his lips and his tongue and his massive pecs and the fine hairs between his pecs, and his muscled thighs and the way he walked like a tremendous thoroughbred stallion, all quivering muscles, and she had been inside his mind when he came and he had been inside hers.

“Parisa, Parisa.”

More soft little moist touches now, just on her lips again and again, then a delicate swipe of something wetter.

She parted her lips and she felt … Antony’s tongue.

She giggled and woke up the rest of the way, her eyes opening. He was over her now, kissing her. She was in his bed in the villa. He’d brought her back.

She was still connected to his mind. She leaned up and kissed him. Did I pass out?

He smiled and nodded.

“It was … unbelievable. We have to do it again only this time … oh, Antony, I didn’t know it could be like that.”

“I’m a little worried.”

She smiled. “You ought to be pleased. You made a woman faint with pleasure.” His neck was bloody and a little torn up from her efforts. “Are you okay?” Well, that was the first time she’d asked him that. He was always asking her if she was okay, but this time she’d asked him.

But he just smiled again and kissed her. “I’ll heal.”

He was a vampire, of course he’d heal, and fast.

She touched his neck. “Well, now there are two things I need to work at.”

***

After getting both of them cleaned up in the shower, Antony took Parisa back to his bed and held her against him, his arm around her shoulders.

He’d come close to asking her to complete the breh-hedden, which required that each of them take blood, during intercourse, with a full exchange of deep-mind engagement.

What had stopped him? The sex had been mind-blowing, but sex was … well, it was just sex except that he’d been inside her mind. He’d picked up this memory, then that one. He’d lived much of her time in captivity, seen her despair, watched her watching him stroke himself morning after morning. He’d felt the depth of her feeling for him. She was in love with him, but how much in love with him? How far gone was she?

He knew that feeling. He’d had that same one thirteen centuries ago. He couldn’t go through it again. He couldn’t. If he completed the breh-hedden, if he went the distance with her, if he fell that far in love with her, what happened if she died … no, not if she died, but when?

He couldn’t go through it again.

Her voice cut into the tangle of his thoughts. “Do you really think taking the warrior training is a bad idea?” Her fingers tugged at the hairs on his arms.

How did he answer that?

He wanted to shout and rail, to tell her to stay away from the camps, to stay in the villa, to hide here with him. They would hide together, forever, live like hermits.

But he didn’t want to lose her. “You should take the training if that’s what you want to do. Become a warrior.”

He stared up at the ceiling, the words of his wife’s poem running through his mind. Love rises on wings of fire …

She shifted in his arms so that she could look at him. She leaned up on her elbow. “You sang a very different tune before the sex.” She smiled, but it dimmed. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze was still fixed on the coffered beams overhead, the ceiling like a chessboard. “Everything. Nothing. The hell if I know what to do.”

She turned and followed his gaze, dropping back down on the bed, setting her head into the well of his shoulder. “Tell me what it says.”

He pointed straight up. He took his time and translated each line for her.

“That’s beautiful and it does, doesn’t it? Love rising like that, like wings of fire?”

“I can’t do this,” he whispered.