Timetravel

Lanie looked down, mortified. Having graduated from the oversized diaper stage, she was totally naked under the gown. She instinctively covered herself and Maddy chuckled.

“You don’t got nothing I don’t have, only it’s lots smaller and you don’t got nothing Carrie don’t have neither. So don’t be hiding, friendly girl, we got work to do.” Then she smiled smugly. “See, I can use those strange words, too. Hee hee hee.”

Lanie had never heard anyone actually laugh like that and it almost threw her over into a fit of giggles. Darting a quick look, she wondered if Maddy had seen Carrie under the bed, but she was nowhere in sight.

“I think you mean girlfriend, don’t you, Maddy?”

“Just you hush up, child, and let old Maddy dress you up nice.” Maddy scowled as she mumbled. “It’s just like white folk. I don’t know what they would do without old Maddy here to take care of ‘em.”

Getting dressed was a tedious process. Lanie didn’t think she’d ever seen the amount of underwear she was supposed to wear all at once. Under her dress, she wore a garment that resembled a long low-necked sleeveless shirt that reached to mid-thigh. She held up her hands as Maddy started walking toward her with a corset. “I don’t care what argument you give me over this, Maddy. I am not wearing that thing.”

“You’ll wear this here corset, missy, or you won’t set foot outta this room.” Maddy’s scowl was fierce. It was obvious she meant every word she said.

Lanie put her hands on her hips and tapped her toes. “I don’t see you wearing one. Why do I have to?” She hoped they didn’t really expect her to wear that torture device. Just watching Scarlett get trussed up in one of those things in Gone With The Wind was enough to take her breath away. She was sure she could never wear one.

“You have to wear one because you are a lady. I am not a lady, I am a housekeeper. No one expects me to wear a corset.” She looked down at herself and laughed. “Not that I could get one of these tiny things around me anyway.” She held it up to herself and chuckled.

“Well, no one better expect me to wear one either, I’m not stepping one foot into that torture device.” Lanie waved her hand toward the conglomeration of cotton, bone and lace Maddy had slung over her arm.

Maddy put her hand on her hips. “If you want to leave this room, you will put this on or else I’m not going to help you dress.”

Lanie sighed, stuck. Maddy flat-out refused to go any further until she was allowed to lace the thing around her waist. It didn’t take long to realize why women of this age were always fainting. Their laces were probably drawn so tight they suffocated or starved to death. Surely they didn’t expect her to eat in this get-up?

Well, hell. I have to wear the damned thing or spend the rest of my stay in this room. Since the four walls of the room were already driving her loopy, Lanie gave in…probably too easily, but such is life.

After the corset, came what looked like a pair of bloomers. Then stockings, that conveniently enough, were tied very snugly just above her knees.

The bell-hoop and the slip came next. The pure white slip was a work of art itself, with half sleeves trimmed in frilly lace. Finally, Maddy held up the dress. She slipped the sky blue dress over Lanie’s head and smiled approvingly.

“I told Miss Elisabeth this dress wasn’t her color. It makes her look all green in the face.”

This was the second time Maddy said that name. Was she Daniel’s wife? A peculiar feeling shot through Lanie’s chest at the thought. Good grief! I’ve been lusting after a married man. “Miss Elisabeth? Is that Master Daniel’s wife?” She couldn’t keep herself from asking. She had to know.

Maddy whooped with laughter. “Oh, no! Miss Elisabeth is his mama. She is the kindest woman in this world. There isn’t anything any one of us on this plantation wouldn’t do for that lady.”

Lanie slipped her feet into the shoes Maddy held out for her. “They’re a little too big.”

Maddy took them back off and pulled a sheet of paper out of her pocket. “I thought her shoes might be too big for you. I never saw a woman with feet as big as Miss Elisabeth’s.” She ripped the paper in two and wadded the pieces. She crammed them into the toes of the shoes. “Try that until we can get you to the cobbler and get some made for you.”

They were still a bit too big and slid around on her feet when she walked, but Lanie figured she was lucky to have them.

Holy cow! These clothes have to weigh at least ten pounds.

Lanie looked down at the dress and thanked her lucky stars it wasn’t too busy. There was one large bow in the back, which she could see by twisting herself around. And the lace on the slip peeked out from under the sleeves, hem, and around the neckline. If it could be called a neckline since it didn’t even come close to her neck. She blushed. “Aren’t I showing a bit too much?” she asked, tugging at the bodice. Well, apparently corsets did wonders for the figure, even if they did make it impossible to breathe. Her thirty-six C-cup never looked so big, nor her waist so small.

“Is there a shawl or a scarf that goes with this?” She still tugged at the Bodice. It wasn’t budging and she was uncomfortable showing such a tremendous amount of cleavage. “It doesn’t appear to be finished.” Tug. “I think it’s missing some material.” Tug, tug. “I won’t pop out of this, will I?” Tug. Giving up the fight, she sighed. “I think I’m a little too big for this dress.” She placed her hand over her chest, panting from her efforts.

Maddy was scandalized. “Why do you want to cover up the nice attributes God done gave you? Mr. Simonson in town just got himself a brand new stove to sell. Has it sitting right in the front window of his store.” She swatted at Lanie’s hands still covering the exposed area of her chest. “That’s just what you have to do. Put your goods right up there in the front window. How are people going to know what’s at the market, if you keep all of your vegetables in the root cellar?”

Dreams reach across time and space, uniting two realms. Secrets whisper death, treasure plots an end. Will romance and danger keep a dreamer from claiming her treasure?

…My bed is going to be very cold you know.”

Sinclaire blushed even more fiercely. “I suppose mine will as well. I’ll miss your…attentions.”

Cole laughed, a low throaty sound, then bent his head and kissed her deeply. “Mmm, maybe you need some of my attentions right now.”

“Maybe I do,” Sinclaire said, slightly shocked at her own boldness. Cole had certainly brought out the sex kitten in her. He situated himself between her legs and she could feel his cock growing hard against her. “Cole Rackam, you are incorrigible,” she murmured in his ear, while pulling his ass closer to her with both hands.

“I hope so,” he responded with an evil gleam in his eye. He leaned down again, one hand flat against her back, and took the flesh of her neck in his teeth. He bit, gently at first, then harder until she squealed. “Am I hurting you?”

“It’s okay. I like it.” She put one hand in his hair and drew him back to her neck where he bit eagerly, sucking gently to avoid a hickey, but using his teeth to bring her blood to the surface.

“You taste good, pretty girl,” he whispered in her ear, his breath warming that sensitive place until she shivered. “Where else can I taste you?”

“Cole, we’re in public. Shouldn’t we—” he cut her off by slipping a hand up under her skirt. His hands found their way to her wetness and soon his fingers were sliding inside her. He pulled her so she was perched on the very edge of the table, using him for balance. Dropping to his knees before her, he pushed her legs wide open for access.

From under her skirt, he said, “Another thong. My God you are hot.” He pulled the tiny scrap of underwear to the side and parted her lips with his hands. “Gorgeous,” he said, his voice hoarse and far away.

Sinclaire put her hands on the desk and tossed her head back, focused intently on his breath between her legs. Slowly, delicately, she felt the very tip of his tongue trace her pussy, from the very top to her vagina, dripping wet. She shuddered, a hiss of air escaping her lips. She could feel him smile, then dive in, tongue playing in her lips and folds. This man enjoyed performing. Her breath began to speed up until she was panting and raising her hips to meet his mouth.

As her excitement mounted, he responded in kind. First, he slid two fingers inside her, crooking them in that come-here gesture she loved. At the same time, he focused his attention on her clit, licking and sucking the swollen spot until she was shaking and struggling to keep her ass from slipping off the table all together.

Hah!

He may have thought he was the big, strong warrior-man, but he had another think coming if he honestly thought she was completely powerless. What sort of brainless ninny did he think she was, anyway?

What sort of brainless ninny are you, anyway?

Oh my God, what was she doing? Encouraging him? Oh crap… bad move there.

Or was it?

Holly was staring into space, running the possibilities through her mind at lightning speed when his hands moved. He stood, lifting her easily, and tossed her casually face-down across the back of the chair he’d been leaning on. She was still gasping when her wrists were grabbed and pinned to either side of the chair.

“Woman, you need to learn to curb your impetuous behaviour.” She could feel his hips pressing into her back, driving her pelvis deeper into the cushion.

Forgetting his size, she tried to tug her wrists free then, when they didn’t budge an inch, she kicked backwards, hoping to knock his feet out from under him.

His chest was resting against her back, and she felt his deep chuckle rumble right through her, making her stomach flip. Moisture gathered between her thighs as her pussy readied itself. No matter what her independent, feminist brain was telling her, her body seemed to be stuck somewhere rather more mediaeval. Holly shivered and tried to clench her legs together. A large male thigh inserted itself between her legs, separating them, and she blushed. Pinned and spread-eagled, her cunt open and waiting for him…

Hot damn!

That little subconscious voice was really struggling now, but it was definitely fading into the background. Having this much hot, hard man pressed up against her, wanting her, was absolute bliss.

And it wasn’t like she was about to let a stranger fuck her – everyone knew Santa Claus so, by definition, everyone knew his son. Or something like that. Close enough, anyway.

"You smell good.”

The heat of his breath against the back of her neck, made her shiver. Who knew that she had such a sensitive spot just below her ear? Who could have known little tendrils of desire would attach themselves to her suddenly, over-sensitive nipples and burn a trail down to her nether parts.

Warmth settled in her middle as an unfamiliar heat pooled between her legs. She fought the urge to stiffen her spine. She didn’t want him to think he made her uncomfortable. If anything, he made her feel alive for the first time in her life.

Relaxing against him, she sighed when his lips touched her neck softly. His calloused hands brushed down her arms and wrapped around her to pull her rear back against his hips. The press of rigid flesh between her buttocks was nearly her undoing. Suddenly, she didn’t care that this man was a virtual stranger. All she cared about was how he made her feel. What he made her feel.

“I love the feel of your body rubbing against mine,” he whispered in her ear as he nibbled gently on the lobe.

She groaned when his thumbs brushed over her nipples, causing them both to pebble against the soft cotton of her pajama top.

He shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t let him. Something deep inside her said it was wrong, yet she was powerless to stop it. Her arms and legs felt like gelatin and she couldn’t force herself to voice her protest.

Even when her mind said no, her hand reached up and covered his. She pressed his hands harder against her breasts and instinctively wriggled her bottom against his hard cock.

His eyes opened and she stared into the most beautiful sapphire blue eyes she'd ever seen. Something hard poked her in the hip and she blushed, finally remembering their state of undress.

"Can you breathe?" she asked as she jumped off him. Men! They get a damned hard-on over anything. Less than two minutes ago, his life hung in the balance. Now he's aroused. Well, that figures, doesn't it?

Keeping her distance, she kept her gaze on his face. Big mistake.

He stared back at her through half-closed eyes. God, he was potent. Even half-dead. Just a look left her melting. She felt it. Her insides turned to jelly. Heat pooled in her womb and her nipples hardened when his gaze dropped to her chest.

Sexual energy rolled off him in waves. Something told her to run. He was definitely fine. He had to be. Anyone who could stare at her with such intensity had to be okay. She backed up a step, mindful of her nudity. God, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and hide. Whether she would be hiding from him, or her own sexual appetite, she had no idea.

Cammie tried to keep her gaze locked above his waist. The last thing she needed was to see the part of him that pushed so insistently against her hip a few short minutes ago. The thing felt huge.

Jana moved uncomfortably thinking about Erik. He was everything Case was not, and her professor was quite a man. The three of them had been thrown together in unexpected ways. She licked her lips and tried to lose herself in the math, and she failed. There was another subject that kept intruding on her thoughts.

Chemistry, she thought. Or is it biology? How I want them both of them!

She had done more than share the danger with Case and Erik. A lot more. And in a turn she had never expected, Case and Erik had also bonded. The three of them—and any pairing—had managed to return alive.

“What do you think?” Case repeated. He didn’t bother turning to face her since he was so lost in the equations describing their Temporal Operations Project.

“I think something’s unbalanced.” She moved behind him and pressed close. Her nipples began to stiffen with need and soon ached to have his mouth on them. The lightest brush of her sensitive flesh against the thin T-shirt she wore was delicious agony. She reached around and scrunched her fingers into his groin until she found what she wanted most. Stroking over his bulge, she traced the outline of his penis and the balls dangling below.

“What’s that?”

I’ve finally distracted him!

“Unbalanced. One is hanging lower than the other. Let me see. Which one is it? Do you dress left or right?”

She ran her fingertips down the release on his fly and insinuated her fingers into the exciting warmth of his crotch. She tapped his balls gently.

“The left one’s definitely hanging lower.”

“Don’t, you’re distracting me.”

“Good,” Jana said wickedly. “That was my intent.” Her fingers found the thick, fleshy tube hidden away and began stroking over it gently until she felt stirrings of desire. Her own breath came faster now. He was responding and she was ready for him.

“It’s good to see you again, Jonathon,” Alpha said.

“You are never to address me by my name,” he said. His rumbling bass voice filled the room.

Jana edged back, thankful for the faint light cast by the kerosene lamp that left her partially in shadow. Jonathon stared lustfully at Alpha and nothing else. Jana swallowed hard when she saw how the sexbot’s robe had fallen open. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought Alpha was entirely human. She had a body to die for and never had to worry about getting fat or old and saggy.

“Whatever you say…master,” Alpha said.

Jonathon stepped forward, giving Jana a better look at him. Again she wondered about him being a blacksmith. She couldn’t think of any other occupation in this era that would have given him muscles like that. She stepped back a little more and then pressed herself against the cold stone wall, one arm along the side of the wardrobe. If he looked in her direction, he couldn’t help but see her since she was only partially concealed. But Jonathon had eyes only for Alpha.

He stepped forward and laid his hand on the sexbot’s cheek, then grabbed her hair and forced her to her knees. “You know what to do,” he said.

“Yes, master.” She reached up and began unlacing his fly.

Jana licked her lips at the slow process, wishing she could be somewhere else and yet anticipating what was going to happen. Eventually, Alpha pulled free the last of the lace and let the man’s erection spring out. Jana closed her eyes and tried to make herself invisible. She had seen big cocks in her day, but nothing like this. Men with such thick chests and huge biceps seldom had other equipment in proportion—or so she had discovered in her more modern time. She guessed it might have something to do with all the steroids needed to bulk up like that.

Whatever Jonathon did to pump up his muscles hadn’t hurt the way his cock pumped up.

Alpha daintily took it between her lips. Then the man jerked hard on the handful of hair and pulled her face completely into his groin. His long, thick cock disappeared into her mouth. Alpha never flinched. Jana began to see why the sexbot was so popular in the Hellfire Club. She was a machine capable of doing anything these men—these members—demanded of her.

She wasn’t as much a sexbot as she was a sex slave.

A million ideas flashed through Jana’s mind as she watched Alpha giving head to this giant. She had to escape, but with Alpha here, too, any escape became more complicated. Both of them had to get away since neither belonged in this time. She tried to figure out the temporal energy mismatch that had occurred but couldn’t do it without her lab computer and time to do a lot of high level math. Right now, she was distracted by the sucking noise and the moans of pleasure Jonathon emitted as he guided Alpha’s head back and forth.

Jana couldn’t get out of the room with Jonathon standing in the center and Alpha kneeling in front of him. There had been a tiny bit of luck in how Alpha had gone to her knees and turned the man so he partly faced the window, but if he looked over his shoulder, he would spot Jana in a flash.

Would that be so bad, sucking on him? Jana wondered. Then she knew it would be. The Hellfire Club demanded sexual slavery. The restraints in the other bedroom showed that, and the way he treated Alpha was as if she was nothing more than as his slave.

To be his slave, rattled around in Jana’s mind. Getting Alpha away from here right now wasn’t going to happen. She looked around for something to hit Jonathon with and maybe knock him out. Jana had never done that to another human being, and she didn’t want to hurt the man, even if he was a sexual predator.

The room was bare save for the bed against the wall opposite the door and the wardrobe. The Hellfire Club didn’t believe in over furnishing their rooms.

“Good, very good,” Jonathon said in a ragged voice that betrayed how good Alpha actually was at giving head.

“More, master? I can do much more.”

“I know, my dearest, I know.”

His words took Jana aback. They were gentle and had a loving tone to them that was completely unexpected.

“What do you want now?”

Jana had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in surprise. Jonathon was asking Alpha and not ordering her. This might be part of some sick game where he enticed her to commit to some sex act and then denied her, but Jana quickly saw how wrong she was.

“I like it when you fuck me slowly,” Alpha said in a voice tinged with love.

No, no, no! Jana thought. This can’t be happening. Alpha’s in love with him—and he’s in love with her!

She had no idea what emotional programming had been imprinted on the sexbot, but it had to be well enough developed to fool Jonathon into thinking he was with a real woman. Physical responses were one thing, but this went far beyond.

Jana remembered how Erik had fallen in love with another sexbot, Lorra, a hundred years in the future. She had been far more advanced than Alpha, but obviously Alpha was capable of learning and changing and evolving into something more than her inventor had intended. Lorra’s human qualities were obviously come by through a century of sexbot development if Alpha was this close to being human.

Moving as quietly as possible, she slipped around the wardrobe and got completely behind Jonathon. Alpha was keeping him busy, showing him her breasts and telling him how much she enjoyed the feel of his hands roving over her trim body. Jana almost snorted in disgust. Alpha wasn’t a real woman. She was nothing more than a pile of wires and circuits and nano relays that mimicked a real human.

Not sure where she wanted to go but knowing she had to leave the room, Jana opened the door just as Jonathon swept Alpha off her feet and carried her to the bed where he gently deposited her. Alpha pushed open her robe and scooted about a little so she could lift her knees and spread her legs in wanton invitation.

From the sight of how Jonathon’s cock bucked and jumped, nothing was going to distract him from completing what Alpha had urged him to do. They were going to be fucking for a good, long time.

As Jana slipped into the corridor, she felt a pang of jealousy for Alpha. The sexbot had messed up her relationship with Erik, and now she was getting laid by a really sexy guy.

She turned and crashed into Sidney, whose arms circled her like steel bands. He pinned her arms to her sides and then rocked back slightly, lifting her feet off the floor so she couldn’t get any traction at all.

Lorien struggled, but the harder she fought the tighter the vines wrapped around her wrists and ankles.

"No," the man said, "do not fight against them. Go limp."

"Easy for you to say," she shot back. But Lorien closed her eyes and tensed all her muscles, then consciously relaxed everything that felt tight. The vines stopped pulling her arms and legs off, but they did not relax enough for her to escape.

"I will do what I can to get you free."

"Thanks for nothing." She opened her eyes and looked around. She caught sight of the man out of the corner of her eye. In spite of the circumstances, she felt a thrill of desire pass through her. She sucked in a deep breath, sneezed at the dust she inhaled and then wondered at how powerfully she responded sexually to a man she didn't even know.

He was nothing less than a god chiseled from bronze. His arms and chest were sheened with sweat as he fought the green tendrils, causing his muscles to stand out in bold relief. The sight of such power made her go weak--and turned her damp between the legs. Lorien's heart raced as she craned her neck around to get a better look at him. His legs were thickly muscled and sleek. But it was his broad, hairy chest that she kept coming back to. How powerful! And he was actually winning free from the wines that held him.

"Go on, do it," she said breathlessly. Her bright emerald eyes widened when she saw how his muscles bulged as he pulled with increasing force against the bindings on his wrists and legs. But more than his strength caught her eye. The effort to get free caused his loincloth to flap about. Lorien had never seen a man with equipment like this!

"Aieee!" he cried. She heard a snapping sound as the vines popped free of their bushes. He had uprooted one and tore the vine free from another, giving him enough room to move and rip the other two off his still captured arm and leg.

"Way to go!" Lorien cheered.

"One moment," the man said. Lorien tensed when she heard him moving behind her where she couldn't see him, but his musky scent set her heart racing even faster and the light touch of his fingers along her arms caused her to gasp. She was uptight and how she wanted him to take her while she hung helpless! To move behind her, to take her up the ass, to fuck her and. . . . "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"N-no," she said, confused. The thoughts that raced through her head were so completely unlike her that she had no idea what caused them. Not that he wasn't handsome. He was. So strong and she wanted him to fuck her from behind so hard that. . . .

She sucked in a deep breath and again sneezed. What a time to get an allergy attack!

"Don't stop." She was not sure what she was telling him to do. Lorien was not even sure she knew what she wanted him to do while she was dangling spread-eagle from the vines, exposed and helpless to his probing cock. . . .

Though his hazel eyes were not the dark amber of her memories, the steady, heated regard was that of her ancient lover, returned to her from across the abyss of time.

Kha’em.

She had known him the moment she had seen him, as he worked on the museum display.

Theirs had been an instant recognition. Instant desire.

Silently, with their clothes hastily flung aside, they had admired one another. He had lifted her against him, their naked flesh straining, shivering. She had wrapped her legs around his waist and with his hand under her bottom, he had guided her over his cock, and while he strained upwards, she had pressed down. His erection slid smoothly into her sex, like a sword into its familiar scabbard. They had fucked amid the relics of the past.

In that first embrace, there was no tenderness. Madness had consumed them, a desperate need to love and be loved, a unification long denied, that for a time was unquenchable.

They moved as one, rolling into varied positions: against the wall, over the table, on the stairs, he below, she above … inexhaustible. Sucking, biting, licking, teasing.

Sweetness and gentleness had followed in the days after their reunion, but she still remembered that first time; her cries were not caused through pain, though his possession was sudden and intense and total. She had cried for more and more, arching herself into his strokes, opening her body again and again. She denied him nothing; he claimed her totally.

But that was then, this was now and Sara sighed.

Kha’em grinned. “Once the ritual is complete I will satisfy you, Neji, have no fear.”

She blushed and he laughed. Born of the intimacy of body and mind, they understood one another without the formality of words.

His smile was knowing. His burning gaze promised her everything. His voice, his touch, brought her to another arousal.

She leaned against him and slipped her hand inside his shirt. Her palm over his breast felt the steady drumbeat of his heart. Its tempo increased as she massaged his skin. Using her nail she scratched over the bronze nipple, bringing it to a tight peak. She trailed her nails over his stomach and a tremor shook him from head to toe.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. The textured warmth of his mouth and tongue caressed her palm. He bit gently.

“I like your bites, Kha’em,” she whispered.

“You taste of hekenu,” he said.

She smiled. “And why should I not? In preparation, I have anointed this room with the holy oil.”

She followed his gaze around the room. The flickering candlelight cast shadows onto the lotus-shaped pillars, upon the carved frescoes and the statues of the gods, all plundered from an ancient tomb. The light brought new life to the gold and turquoise jewels, the holy implements Kha’em and she had wielded in the time of Userma’atre’meryamun’, known to history as Rameses III. Sacred myrrh, burning in copper censers, permeated every corner of the room.

As Michael breathed in deeply, his chest rose and pressed against her breasts. Her heart throbbed, the pulse fanning out over her body, scalding her with its delicious pain.

“You have done well, beloved,” he said in a throaty whisper. “You must be exhausted?”

“For what’s going to occur tonight, I’m not weary, but inspired.”

He smiled tightly. “I will inspire you, beloved, with my body and my love. I will fuck you senseless!”

She tossed her head. “Senseless, huh? That’ll take a lot of doing!”

“Oh yeah.” He grinned. “Long and slow, just how you like it!”

Sara returned his smile, then studied her handiwork, critically assessing the room and what it contained. She had worked for hours ritually applying the purifying oils of cedarwood, cinnamon and frankincense to every surface within the chamber. And upon the floor, drawn in green paint mixed with holy oil, was the scarab within the ankh: the symbol of Resurrection.

Life.

This, then, the place of their re-birth.

This, then, the place of their revenge.

“Michael—”

“Forget this name! I am Kha’em, as you are Nedjemet.”

She smiled at that. “Do you truly think I am sweet?”

He laughed. “My mouth has always found you so.” His hazel eyes burned into her soul. “You are favored by the gods, else we would not be here to finish what we started so long ago in Kemet.”

“Egypt is so far away from Australia. Sometimes, the existence before seems but a dream.”

“A dream soon to become reality,” he said. ”Let us begin.”

The naked man, holding a curved sword in each hand, pirouetted on one foot, then leapt, slicing the swords through the air around him, bringing them close to his body while spinning the blades. He landed softly on his feet. His dexterity was both beautiful and frightening to watch.

As he was frightening in his beauty.

A thick braid of golden hair swished across his tight buttocks as he swung around, going into a crouch, his swords at right angles to his body. Again, he balanced on one foot, holding the position as motionless as a statue, his muscles bunched, his cinnamon-hued skin glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. Blue light, emanating from the sword blades, coruscated around him.

He turned to look at her, his black eyes captivating. His smile hinted of a man's pride and she knew that his prowess was not confined to sword-dancing. In that moment, desire swept away any caution.

She longed to touch him, ached to have him inside her.

He spun around, as agile as a dancer, his swords cutting the air around his body in rhythms too fast for the eye to follow.

Again, he paused to regard her. He made an elaborate bow, his sword tips pointing to her. He lifted his head and smiled.

Heat raced from her head to her toes. "I want you," she whispered.

* * * *

Lauren started awake, her body hot and moist, aching with need.

Disoriented, she blinked and shook her head, finding that she was kneeling on the rug she had bought that morning at the flea market. Why was that memory sharp and clear, but everything else muddled?

Gradually, her breathing returned to normal, but she still trembled.

She glanced up across the paddock, seeing the sun lowering in the sky. It was almost dusk.

Somehow, she had lost two hours--one moment she had been unrolling the rug over the verandah floor, then…the hallucination: the man dancing with the swords.

Selena moaned and rolled her head on the pillow. Jarharis looked down at her from his leaning position beside her on the bed. Perhaps he had commanded her sleep to be too lengthy. He sighed. He had spent hours watching her slumber, admiring her beauty, wishing she belonged to him.

He dashed the last thought that appeared in his mind. He was not mortal. He could not hope for such a woman as Selena for his own. He had no right. A wave of anger filtered through his insides. Damn the curse of vampirism.

"Where--" She suddenly bolted upright in bed, her eyes wide as she caught sight of Jarharis. "What are you doing here?" She scrambled to clutch the sheet against her naked breasts.

 Jarharis watched her, a smile across his lips. He had wanted to wake her, but he feared her reaction to what he had done while she was under his command.

"Where are my clothes?" She jerked her head from side-to-side, finally spying her dress and undergarments on a nearby chair. She turned back to glare at him. "As I recall the evening, I was about to lure Aston into a trap--and you ruined my plan."

Jarharis nodded his head. "I didn't like your plan."

"I don't remember telling you."

"I suppose you don't remember taking your clothes off either."

"No, I don't."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, as you can clearly see, you're naked."

She clutched the wad of sheet between her breasts and glared at him. "What time is it? What did you do to me while I was unconscious? And when are you leaving?" She drew in a quick breath. "And who are you? What's your name?"

"One thing at a time. First of all, it's about midnight. And as for my leaving--"

"What did you do to me while I was unconscious?"

"You weren't really unconscious--more like a little bit incapacitated."

"What does that mean?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "My name is Jarharis Sutherland."

She narrowed her eyes on him, leaning closer. "What kind of powers do you have, Jarharis?" Her eyes suddenly widened. "Can you kill someone with a thought?"

He shook his head. "I'm not a killer."

"But you're a vampire. I know you are. I've read up on vampires and I know for a fact that you are one."

She sounded adamant. He was amused at her display of knowledge. "And what facts about vampires are you aware of?" His voice took on a teasing note as he smiled into her face.

"Don't patronize me, Jarharis. I'm quite serious about what I do."

"Honey, you aren't very good at it. Why don't you find something else to occupy your time?"

She bristled and flung an open hand in his direction.

He caught her wrist and brought her hand down to his crotch. "Your hand will be better appreciated here then against my cheek."

"How about I listen to the radio. Maybe they're broadcasting storm warnings. Don't forget the twisters they get in this area."

"Oh, I'd love to see one. I've only ever seen them on pictures or in movies. I've never been that close to nature's fury."

"Cassie, you don't know what you're wishing for. Only the people who chase twisters have been that close, or the poor souls who are stricken by one. People have lost their lives, their homes."

She sighed. "You're right of course."

Braden turned on the radio and all he got was static. "Too much electricity in the air. Listen to it."

"I hear. Okay, let's get moving." She saw the stubborn set of his chin and knew he was against it. "Wouldn't the people in the diner have known if there was a twister on its way?"

"I suppose. Oh well, I've driven in storms before. I guess this one will be no different," he said as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

She could feel the wind tugging at the car. It was as if Thor, the god of thunder, was fighting with them. They had traveled about twenty miles when the downpour began. The wipers could hardly keep up with the sheet of rain slashing against the windshield and it wasn't long before Braden pulled over to the shoulder.

"We'd better sit this out for a bit until it simmers down."

She shivered. "Yes, you can't see the road anymore. No, don't say it," she said as she saw his lips open.

"What? Oh… No, I won't. I was going to offer you the blanket in the back. You're shivering."

It was on the tip of her tongue. He'd told her so, but she didn't want to give him that satisfaction. "I'm not really cold. I don't know why I'm shivering."

"Are you afraid?"

"No, not really. I had a strange premonition. I get those sometimes."

"Come here," he said and placing his arm around her shoulders pulled her against his hard body. She shivered again, this time because of his nearness. Never in a million years would she have thought Braden to be so caring.

"I wish now…" she started.

"I know. You're just a stubborn woman," he said, but in a kind tone. "We'll be fine."

"I'm anxious to start the investigation. It will take my mind off other things."

"What things, Cassie? I know there is a man in your life. Does it have to do with him?"

For a second she had a sharp retort ready that her personal life was none of his business, but for some reason it didn't come out. Instead, tears started. He pulled her closer against him. She felt his cheek on the top of her head and she welcomed the caring embrace.

"Talk to me, Cassie. Tell me what's bothering you?"

Haltingly she told him what had happened. She needed to talk to someone about it. But to Braden? Would he even understand? "It's still very fresh, Braden."

"I gather that. Though for the life of me I don't know why you're wasting your tears on the loser."

"I loved him. We were very happy these last two years and going to get married." She had to talk loud because the rain pelted on the car so hard, the noise was deafening. It had become very dark.

"Maybe it wasn't meant to be. Obviously he didn't love you the same as you loved him," Braden said, tilting her face, "or he wouldn't have cheated on you like that."

"Braden, you're the biggest flirt in the office. I never expected you to be hiding such principles," she couldn't help saying.

"You'd be surprised what lurks behind my charm."

It had gotten so dark, she could barely see his face but she knew he was grinning. His face was very close to hers and before she realized, he kissed her. It was a kiss of friendship at first, but she clung to his lips as if they were a lifesaver. And they were in a sense. Because she pressed hard against his lips his opened automatically and he claimed her in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring. The wild abandonment that coursed through her body was beyond her comprehension. Her thoughts stilled, the noise of the storm dulled as she lost herself in the most passionate kiss she'd ever experienced.

Suddenly he pulled away. "I'm sorry. I forgot myself. I guess the situation, being so close to you…"

A bolt of lightning lit the interior of the car. She saw his eyes darkened with desire for her. It felt good to be wanted, even if she hardly knew Braden. Why not? Her body was on fire, her crotch aching with a longing she didn't know she possessed. The storm and the close proximity of their bodies, his handsome face, all acted as a major aphrodisiac. "It's okay," she whispered and moved closer to him, her lips barely touching his, her tongue licking his lips. He tasted manly. The scent of his cologne drifted into her nostrils and she tried to move closer to him, but the steering wheel prohibited it. He sensed what she wanted and within seconds both seats were down and he swung over to her side pinning her beneath his body. She felt his cock press against her, the bulge hard, and she ached to explore but they were so cramped, she could barely move.

He kissed her long and hard and shifted off her ever so slightly so he could get his hand under her skirt. She felt his fingers yank at the g-string panties and after he stripped them down to her knees, his thumb rubbed her clit until she squirmed beneath him. Desperate now to feel him against her naked body, she tugged at his t-shirt and managed to pull it over his head. She hadn't even noticed that he'd undone the buttons of her blouse, the front fastening of her bra. Fumbling with his belt, the button of his jeans, she finally managed to grasp that which she longed to feel, to examine. She gasped when she felt his rock hard cock. It was big, so big that her hand didn't even fit around it, and it throbbed in her hand.

She felt him wriggling out of the jeans, kicking them off. Then he pulled the skirt over her head. The panties snapped as she spread her legs to accommodate him. He lifted her slightly to take off the blouse and finally they lay naked in each other's arms. He pressed her hard against his chest for a moment. She felt his cock searching for entry and raised her hips to meet him. He leaned on his hands then and she looked up at the man hovering above her, ready to claim her. She could barely make him out. It had become inky black, the storm still raging around them, the rain pelting down on the car. Another bolt of lightning was followed by loud thunder. It lit the interior and for a moment they could see each other.

"My God, you're beautiful," he shouted and entered her then. She gasped when he inched in. It felt as if she were still a virgin. Never before had she felt so filled, felt a man so fully within her. Sure, Jason had not been small, but neither had he been big like this. It felt heavenly, it felt like more, she wanted him deeper, all the way inside her. His hands were on her breasts, kneading, tweaking her nipples until they protruded fully from her breasts. She groped for his buttocks and yanked him closer, pulled him inside her more.

He grunted and slammed into her, filling her completely with one stroke. She screamed as she reached an orgasm immediately, her juices lubricating them both. The climax had not satiated her. She wanted more, she wanted to feel him move within her, to climax with him. He leaned down and holding a breast in each hand he squeezed hard until her breasts were like ripe peaches ready to burst. She thrust her body up toward his lips begging for him to suck her nipples.

He sucked each nipple briefly, then his tongue traveled up to her neck, her chin, and finally her lips. His kiss was forceful, yet tender. She explored the maleness of his mouth and thought she'd burst as he sucked her tongue. The world spun around her, faster and faster. His cock stroked the inner walls of her vagina. An intense shudder passed through his body and she knew he was almost ready to come. "My God, Braden, harder, harder," she screamed. He moved faster, pushed all the way into her, until she felt him deep inside her touching her to the very core. His cock swelled and within seconds her own desire came to a boiling point. "Yes, yes, yes," she shouted as she came and felt his semen soak them both.

The world continued to spin, they rolled through the car as if glued together, entwined, still breathing heavy from the passion they'd just quenched. Somewhere in the distance she heard some loud bangs, the world rocked as her clit once again began to throb and she groped for his now flaccid cock working it to make it hard again. She wanted more, needed more.

Somehow his face ended up between her legs and she yelled out her longing and grabbed his hair, pushing his head hard between her legs, shoving his face against her crotch. His tongue entered her and she rotated her hips as he licked, sucked, nibbled at her clit. She wanted him again, needed him again to fill that empty void in her chest, the place where her heart had once been. She slid lower, pulled his hair upward towards her face, waiting in anticipation for him to suck the breath from her.

When he took her lips again, she thought the world would never stop spinning. And then all else faded away and she felt herself sinking into a pit of darkness.

July 5 was the date when Bonnie Prince Charlie sailed from France to lead his Highland revolt of 1745-6. It was crushed at Culloden…until a modern-day time traveler went back to change things, by urging him to advance into England rather than retreating to Scotland.

Now, in this new reality, the prince has won the crown. He is enjoying his new position with two beautiful London stage stars. Whether they will enjoy THEIR positions remains to be seen.

“Oh, no, my Prince—I mean, my Captain—spare me!” she cried, in her most theatrical tones. Making a great show of terror, she ran around the bed. Easily seizing her by the arm, he fell back onto the blue brocade cover and threw her over his knee.

His legs closed around hers to keep her from escaping, while his left arm came down like an iron bar across her shoulders. Then his right hand rose and fell in rapid rhythm, turning her bare bottom first bright pink and then an angry red, first warm and then almost unpleasantly hot.

His right hand grew heated in the same way, but he easily ignored its stinging, while his untried left hand pinned her slim shoulders down. As her belly pressed against his thighs, he felt her squirming against him, creating an entirely new area of sensation.

The scent of her face powder and rosewater mingled with the last traces of her greasepaint to bring him an added excitement: the wicked pleasures of the theater and the actresses who provided them.

And was he not also an actor? Usually his stage was on the most heroic scale. Now two of the most famous women in London were happy to follow this script of his by lying across his lap with their backsides in the air, all dignity forgotten, waiting for his hand to strike them again.

The light was fading from the sky as Anna looked out over the old wooden porch. The evergreens cast dark shadows over the front lawn. A figure slowly walked down the driveway towards her. He had finally come.

Fear gripped her, and she began to cough uncontrollably. She leaned against one of the porch posts, waiting until the fit subsided. The pain in her chest had grown larger in the past few weeks, choking the joy from her life. It was cancer, they told her, and the doctor had informed her months ago that it was unstoppable in its march through her body. It had resided in her lungs at first, and slowly spread outward.

Anna was fifty-four years old and knew that she was going to die. Nothing could be done; nothing would stop its progress.

The figure stopped at the iron gate, deciding to wait at the end of the walkway. He gestured for her to join him. Suddenly and with great surprise, her chest cleared and she breathed deeply. The pine smell was sweet and refreshing as it flooded into her nostrils.

“Anna,” the figure called. “It is time.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, remembering the pleasures and pains of her lifetime. Her end time was upon her. Slowly she stepped down the front steps, not bothering to look back at the ancient home that was the birthplace of her grandmother, and all those before her.

She walked deliberately down the flagstone walkway, keeping her eyes focused on the dark figure waiting at the gate. His face was hidden in the shadow of the fedora that perched atop his head; a loose gray trench coat was thrown over his shoulders. He reached his hand out to her and she accepted it. His face confirmed who this man was.

The Morning Star.

Yes, it was her time. He smiled at her, and again she was in love, as much now as when her mother first introduced her to him as a child back in 1955. She realized that, surprisingly, he was dressed now as he had been then.

Weakness overcoming her, Anna suddenly fell against him. Her body’s reserves had finally exhausted themselves. He supported her weight with ease. For years she had worshipped him, until she came of an age to bring that worship into a realm of ecstasy and pleasure. He had never forsaken her. Not once.

“Anna, I will walk with you into the darkness. You will not go alone.”

She looked up at his boyish face, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Yes. Thank you,” she whispered, her voice faint and cracking.

As the blackness claimed her sight, she felt the warm wetness from his eyes strike her face.

“It’s beautiful,” she moaned. She seductively took me into her warm, moist mouth, choked a little, and then backed away.

“Do you like that?” she gasped.

“God, yes,” I groaned.

“Am I doing it right?”

“Perfectly,” I responded.

“I’d do it some more, but I want you to make love to me,” she said. She lay back on the couch, raised her knees, and lifted her arms, inviting me down to her.

I started pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

I kneeled between her legs and took her nipples into my mouth. She entwined her fingers in my hair and lifted her hips, moving them in slow circles beneath me.

“I’m not very experienced.”

“You’re doing just fine.”

I wanted to go slowly, to enjoy every second of my cock easing into her, but the second the tip of my rigid pole entered her moist box, she gasped as though taken by surprise, and gasped again when I began to move.

She moaned so much! I felt her wetness increase with every move I made. She pulled me tight against her and dug her teeth into my shoulder. When I pushed down, she pushed up.

God, she felt good. And the pain from her teeth was fantastic. It told me that she was excited, and her enthusiasm fueled my exhilaration. It was all too much for me. Not only hadn’t I been laid in months, but her reaction to me—her completely sensual, sexual reaction—drove me over the edge.

I didn’t want to act like an animal, but I was overcome with lust and, I hate to say this, I jammed myself into her as deep as I could. I ground against her, making small circles with my hips, as blast after blast of my jism pouring inside of her.

She bit me harder and cried out, lifting her hips to match my thrusts.

Merry continued to wring her hands and cringed at her horrible accent. She knew her French was awful. For all she knew, she’d just insulted the man—or his mother.

Bringing his right leg up over the horse’s neck, the man she assumed was the leader hopped off the huge beast he rode. His mail and sword clanked together loudly as he landed and moved toward her.

Merry fought the very real urge to fan herself as he approached. The man was tall, nearly head and shoulders taller than her own five-foot eight-inches. The shadows from the large trees enveloped him, leaving nothing to see but his shining hair and mail as he grew closer. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but something told her they were light. Perhaps blue. His shoulders were easily as wide as the door to her apartment.

She cleared her throat that had suddenly gone dry. The man was so large, he would have been freakish in medieval times according to everything she had learned in her history classes and through the society that sponsored these reenactments. But then again, hadn’t historians determined that William Wallace had been over six-feet tall just by measuring the length of his broadsword?

Placing his right hand over his heart, he bowed, then lowered himself to one knee, which was no easy feat, wearing at least twenty pounds of chainmail. “I am Garreck De Montfort, demoiselle.” He gestured to the others who still sat astride their restless mounts. “And these are my men. I pledge our service to find your people and keep you from harm.”

Gooseflesh covered her arms as she looked up at the man. It was good of him to pull her into their act, instead of screaming at her for ruining it and starting over after having her removed. He was an awesome performer to come up with all of this on the spur of the moment. If he wasn’t a professional actor, he should be. Merry would tell him that at the first opportunity after the show.

Without warning, a group of men dressed in little more than rags and leather burst into the clearing with their swords drawn, screaming a battle cry that almost curdled her blood.

The two men with the crossbows fired their bolts, then leapt from their horses to engage the men who still approached. Men screamed and swords clanged together as Merry tried to stay out of the way. Since she wasn’t supposed to be here, she had no idea where to stand.

A man, reeking of body odor and liquor, grabbed her from behind just before Garreck thrust his sword over her shoulder and presumably into her attacker. “Over there,”
her savior said as he gestured toward her left. “You should be safe enough against that tree.” Again, he spoke in French. Never had he broke character during the whole scene.

Merry hurried over to the spot he indicated. She wanted to stay out of the way. These men practiced their battles for months before one of these shows. The last thing she wanted was to muck it up for them. Besides, she didn’t want to miss anything. These guys were so good, the battle looked real.

It wasn’t until one of Garreck’s guards lopped the head off one of the men on the opposing side that Merry realized the battle actually was real. Remembering her wish, she looked around frantically, searching for the park bench.

“Merde,” she whispered just before the world tilted on its axis and blessed darkness overcame her.

Artemis bent over the stranger. It was daylight on this world, and she could see he was in a pitiable state. She thought he would probably die within a few minutes. He had fought the monsters bravely, but with nothing more than a staff, he'd had no chance. And she'd had no reason to come.

She had answered the bidding of a male.

 Males were the enemy from which Amazon Mercies were sworn to protect their sisters. Males were aggressors, destroyers, and the pillagers of innocence. Every day on a hundred worlds, males seized women, violated their bodies and broke their spirits. Not all males were bad, but enough were evil to keep the Mercies busy. Sworn virgins, they turned their backs on all emotion save the all-encompassing sympathy for sisters in distress. Male acquaintances, even blood-related, were barred from a Mercy's life. Males were the enemy. And Artemis had defended one from an attack he had probably deserved.

 "Malediction!" she said crossly. She didn't know what to do. If the bidder had been a sister, she would have offered her immediate succor and perhaps a new location on Alida. That wouldn't do for a male. She would be reviled, and he would be put down without question as soon as his presence was discovered. To the best of Artemis' knowledge, no male had ever landed on Alida, and no boy child had ever been born there.

 Artemis sighed. Perhaps he was dead already. That would be best. She bent again, touching his brow. He was crumpled and filthy, and her nose wrinkled at the stench of the open wound on his thigh. It bled sluggishly, which should have cleansed it, but there seemed to be a sickening in the blood. His brow was clammy and cold, and she jerked her hand away. He was dead, or nearly, but as she straightened, his half-closed eyelids lifted and a pair of eyes, as blue as skylilies, met hers. They were dazed with pain and weakness, but there was a remarkable strength in their depths. The eyelids dropped and his body, which had stiffened against his terrible pain, relaxed.

 He was dead. Her obligation was extinguished. It had been for nothing.

Artemis turned her attention to the scattered, smoking remains of the brutes that had killed the stranger. She nudged one with the toe of her sandal, noting the rigid skin and the livid purplish red of the flesh. The heads were rimmed with bone and covered with scales, the mouths were fanged, and the hands and feet were clawed. Their huge, aggressive-looking genitals, usually coiled for safekeeping, were slack in death. They were males, of course. Daemons always were.

 Daemons. She wrinkled her nose. Daemons lived to kill and steal. They tortured their victims by injecting acid into wounds, an acid that sent the most Spartan of beings into a frenzy of self-destruction. Karvallian lionfolk, the bravest of the brave, had been known to gnaw off a limb that had been touched with daemonic acid.

 With a powerful punt of her foot, she tipped the nearest corpse over the lip of the cliff. The others were too far away to be treated similarly so she looked for a lever. The dead man's staff looked sturdy enough. She had to pry it loose from his grip, and as she touched his skin, she felt a pang of regret. Suddenly, his fingers moved, weakly but surely, to clutch her hand.

 His flesh was icy. He should have been dead. The Daemons stank, and she had no business here.

 "Hexes!" she muttered as the fingers clutching hers tightened in a spasm of agony. Not even a male deserved the pain he suffered. She must pretend he was a sister and offer him the easing of his passing.

 "Mercy is thine," she said, and fumbled with one hand in her pouch for the narcotic spray. Strange how the Amazon Mercies still used the ancient formula alongside synthetic medicines. Not that they had eschewed old ways completely. During Artemis' training, Maeve had shown her alternatives to be used on the many worlds, which frowned on modern ways.

"A Mercy uses the best there is," said Maeve. "If that is unavailable, she uses the best she has."

Artemis drew forth the spray and thumbed the dial to the right. One notch eased moderate pain while two helped severe pain. Three soothed broken bones and dislocations, and four numbed advanced cancers.

 Five brought a painless death.

 "Mercy is thine," she said again and clicked the dial to the final notch. Her left hand was unpracticed, but her right was imprisoned in that ice-cold clasp. He was strong, even in extremity. He should have been dead already.

 She brought the narcotic close. She had only to find the vein in his wrist, just below his intricate wristband. One quick touch and he would be out of his agony for good. But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to hasten his death. She thumbed the dial back two notches.

 "My will is weak," she murmured and injected the dose.

 It wasn't enough to bring true relief, but after a time his pain-racked body relaxed. He gave a small sigh, and Artemis tried to withdraw her hand. His clasp grew stronger and when she tugged on his hand, he opened his eyes. She found herself mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. His long hair, the hue of bronze, fell over his shoulders, half-veiling his face. She smoothed it away with her left hand and looked into his face.

 His face was broad with high and slanting cheekbones. Despite the mature lines of his body, he was probably little older than Artemis. His lips moved weakly, but she could not make out the words. Perhaps he wanted immediate death.

 "I'll not refuse your need," she said gently. Her heart swelled with pity as he tried again to speak. This time, the words were audible but still incomprehensible.

 This world, whatever it was called, did not use Galactic Standard speech. Artemis raised her left hand to her diadem and pressed the translator band. The dying male murmured again. He seemed to be asking a question, but the translator merely blurred and shifted the syllables. It was obviously glitzing again.

 Again he asked his question. Perhaps he wanted to know if he would die.

"I only know that certain steps, gestures and postures place me here, with you. I hoped that a certain posture would bring you into my time. It did."

Mathis opened his mouth to speak and felt her invisible finger stopping his lips.

"Daniel," she said, "I wouldn't want you to investigate on your own. I do not know what the consequences might be."

"Fine, I won't, but let me ask you--what if it's a cloudy day? What if one of us stays too long and it gets dark? Are we trapped forever in another time or crushed in a black universe?"

"My, you're an alarmist. No. No actual time passes. You stand in the light for a very short time."

"I understood that. And in order for it to work, it does have to be a sunny day in your time and in mine?"

"An interval of sunlight in both. Yes, that is what creates the River."

"So, we can't be stranded in the other's time, or ripped to shreds if we're traveling the River when a cloud flies over."

"What a dreadful thought. No, I don't believe so."

"What about diseases? I mean, couldn't I bring germs or viruses into your culture, something that could be lethal in your time?"

"No. I've had neuralgia and dyspepsia and, when I entered the River, into your world, I was healthy. And one time I had a cut on my arm. When I entered your world, it was healed. When I returned to my own, it was still there. And…"

"And what?"

"And, well…"

He could tell she was blushing. "Go ahead," he said. "Tell."

"I don't think I can get babies, from what we're doing."

"Ooh, good point, wench." He tickled her. She fought him. Soon they were on the floor. It's not easy wrestling an invisible woman, and sure enough, Dan Mathis lost. When she had him firmly pinned, he asked her, "Who are you? Tell me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Silence.

"But you live in the house, in that time," he prompted. "Clearly."

"Yes."

"Aha. See, what I'll do is, I'll listen to all the voices of the women there, and I will match your voice."

"You may try, but I believe that my voice sounds quite different, carried on the River, than it does in life."

"Why can't I know who you are?"

"Because you would be disappointed."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Yes."

"Hell I would. Station and class and money don't present the barriers they do in your time. We don't have those prejudices."

"Don't you?"

Cynthia Norman knew that she was destined for a strange future…in the past…with a dragon. The only confusing thing was how to get her there. With a lifetime of struggle within a race not her own facing her, she took a deep breath, got into a shuttle and hopped a comet.

Garo had been dreaming of his yellow haired alien, but the reality of her presence is more than he was prepared for. A knee-jerk reaction on his part makes Cynthia seek out a suitable substitute and with a grim certainty, he has to claim her as his own. Will she accept his offer, or hold his initial rejection over his head?

 

“Part your legs for me, Milagro. Let me touch you.”

She did as he asked, spreading her legs just enough for him to slip his finger inside her. He stroked her once, twice, doubling his caress on the third stroke. Shamelessly, Miri convulsed around his fingers, drenching him with liquid fire.

“The fact that you are ready for me so soon, Milagro, pleases me.”

He released his hold on her hands and kneeled down to remove her bloomers completely. Then he kissed his way back upward to a standing position. She tried to turn and face him, but he held her in place by gripping her hips in his hands.

“Reach up, Milagro, hold onto the sill just below the window.”

Miri grasped the fine oak trim and held on for dear life while Matt took turns unbuttoning her chemise and fondling her breasts. When she stood totally naked, save for the ribbons in her hair, she heard him sigh.

“Oh, Milagro, even your back excites me. Your hips, the curve of you bottom, the sleek length of your legs. And that bug on your shoulder…ah…” To emphasize his words, he leaned forward, then slid his tongue over the ladybug tattoo. “It drives me insane.”

“I want to see you, too,” she told him. “Let me undress you, make love to you.”

“Not yet, Milagro. I have been without you far too long. If you were to touch me now, I would explode like a novice schoolboy.”

“At least let me turn around.”

Matt turned her slowly, his heated gaze warming every inch of her skin as she moved. When, at last, she faced him he moved closer until their bodies touched. The smooth finish of his dress shirt brushed against her breasts, inciting a riot of emotions only his lovemaking could calm. He moved closer, using one trouser clad thigh to nudge her legs apart. Then he leaned forward and suckled her breast.

Miri could stand no more. She had to have him inside her. Frantically, she grasped at his shirt, pulling at the buttons until they popped open or off, the last two skittering across the carpet. As he had done, she fell to her knees and tugged at his trousers, working her fingers quickly over the button fly closure. As his clothes fell to the floor, Miri tugged at his boots and pants legs until he stood before her in nothing more than a smile.

She would have gladly kissed her way to a standing position had he not reached for her and pulled her to her feet. Pressing her backward toward the wall, he took her mouth in a soul-stealing kiss, plunging his tongue inside until all she could taste, all she could feel was Matthew McCade.

Matt stepped between her legs and then lifted, easing himself into her body in one long, smooth stroke. Miri held on to his shoulders for balance, wrapping her legs around his waist and welcoming his sex into her as easily as if they’d never been apart.

“Milagro,” he whispered, “you are so hot, so soft.” He bent his head and drew a nipple into his mouth sucking on her with the same rhythm he’d set between her legs.

In their wild thrashing they knocked over the dressing screen and tipped over a side chair. With one swoop of his arm, Matt cleared the massive desk that sat in the corner of the stateroom and laid Miri atop it. She grasped the curved edges, using them for leverage to lift her hips higher, take him deeper.

He pushed into her until she could almost taste him in her mouth. When the first wave of her climax came, she arched her back and grabbed hold of his hips, encouraging him to speed up and meet her, asking him without words, for a piece of his soul, just as she was giving hers to him.