To: My husband, the weatherman. My very own Lycant with gentle hands and a warming smile. I love you, Tompe.

The world in which this novel is set is one entirely of my own creations. It does not exist in any real place or in any real world or in any real time. Though the setting may look familiar, seem as though it belongs on Earth, trust me, it doesn’t take place here. It is a parallel place that only vaguely resembles our world. The time period is neither medieval nor futuristic but somewhere in between. There might be similarities to our world’s history but such likenesses are only there as reference points and are not to be taken literally.

As you read, you may come across what you take to be references to modern accoutrements, language and idioms. Likewise you may encounter things you are accustomed to seeing in historical novels or even in comic books. In this fanciful world I have created, this is simply the way its inhabitants speak and act and react. The words they speak are their own and not to be confused with the way the people of our world and of our time speak.

This work is a compilation of dreams and fantasies and wishes of my own fabrication. Their world is as I see it and it is peopled with characters who I labored hard to give birth. These characters live in a mystical place crafted entirely from the darker reaches of my very vivid imagination. They don’t know about your time or the time of your ancestors. To them, it is the here and now. To me, it is a world I long to visit.

So sit back and detach yourself from your here and now and journey to theirs. Suspend what you think you know and leave your mind open to the mystery of ... what-if?

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Prologue

It was not a sound Jamie MacGivern could have expected and it startled him as he laid in wait for the eight-point white tail buck that had been eluding him for the last two days. It was the unmistakable drone of a small aircraft engine and the sputtering, coughing hiccup of the sound told him the craft was in trouble.

Looking up as the noise passed directly overhead to make the old amalgam fillings in his teeth throb, the Highlander narrowed his pale green eyes, a deep crease forming above the bridge of his straight nose. He caught just a flash of silver underbelly through the canopy as the plane sailed past in the sodden gloom of the late morning. A soft rain peppered his face for it had drizzled nearly all night and showed no signs of letting up. He had to blink away the intrusion of the raindrops, resisting the urge to shake the hair plastered to the sides of his face in an effort to remain as still as he could.

His long fingers instinctively flexed around the stock of the crossbow, his middle finger hovering over the trigger. Even as the noise careened away then grew to a deafening volume--that of an engine struggling hard to stay running--he silently returned his gaze to his quarry. The animal stood immobilized though its sensitive ears were twitching, its head held high. A second or two before the noise ceased to be, replaced by a thunderous boom that made him cringe, he watched the buck’s distinctive tail dip and its hindquarters flex, and knew any shot he made would do no more than graze the beast even if he managed to hit it at all.

Reluctantly, he lowered the weapon for his prey made a graceful leap and bounded into the thick concealment of the verdant forest, the rattling of its passing loud in the now silent woods.

“Fuck,” he spat as the ground around him rumbled, the vibrations spreading out from the point of impact. He could feel the faint tremors along his belly, elbows, and thighs as he lay on the wet mat of decaying leaves with the fecund stench teasing his nostrils. Lowering his head to his forearm, he squeezed his eyes tightly closed for a moment, striving not to bellow with aggravation. He lay there hissing angrily then shook his head at the interruption.

Sighing deeply, he got to his feet in the squishy carpet of detritus in which he’d been stretched out. For a moment he hung his head as a muscle ground in his lean jaw, his teeth ground brutally. His grip on the crossbow was so tight the knuckles of his hand had bled of color and his eyes were filled with ferocity. He spat out another expletive then walked to a tall oak and laid his weapon at its base. Furious and frustrated that he’d once again failed to bring down the buck, he turned on his heel and headed for the area where he knew the plane had gone down.

Tramping through the hip-high brush, he batted aside the low branches. The region where he’d been hunting was thickly overgrown and nearly impassable in places. It was high in the rugged Pionós Mountains--an area backpacking tourists avoided since it was well away from the range of high huts. The huts--used to provide shelter and food for hikers and mountaineers--were tended by rotating personnel during the mountain climbing season but the closest hut to where Jamie passed had no croo, as they are called by mountaineers, due to its remoteness. Because of that, he was the closest humanoid to the crash site.

It took nearly an hour for him to reach the scene. The closer he got to the place where the plane had gone down, the smell of burning rubber, spent fuel, and smoldering debris intensified, wafting to him on a quickening breeze. From the volume of the explosion, he did not expect to find survivors so he took his time picking his way. The crash of a small fixed engine plane in this wild section of the mountains was not unheard of, but it was an uncommon occurrence. He had no real desire to see the carnage, the possibility of charred bodies or headless corpses, yet that part of him that still bore some resemblance to humanity urged him on just in case a spark of life remained.

Lightning flared around him as he dug his toes into a steep bank to make his way up the incline. The soft raindrops suddenly became a steady bombardment of icy-cold pellets then a drenching downpour, making it hard to see through the curtain of water. As he crested the incline, the wreckage lay crumpled in front of him like a child’s broken toy, a few slender plumes of smoke rising into the gray light. Swiping a hand over his wet face, he surveyed the damage with no hope of finding life in the ruin of the plane.

But then he saw movement off to one side and his gaze narrowed as he swung his attention in that direction--sweeping the scene carefully until he saw a hand rake at the air, claw at it, heard a low, wet groan that set the hair stirring at the nape of his neck.

Hurrying forward, he saw a man and woman lying together, the male scrambling to push himself up and away from the female beneath him, his hand scraping at a piece of twisted wreckage at their head as he tried to gain leverage.

“Hang on!” Jamie called out as he skirted razor-sharp fragments.

The man twisted his head around to reveal a face streaked with blood. He squinted up at Jamie as though he couldn’t see him. “I can’t get it off,” he said in a deep, guttural plea. “Please, I can’t ....”

Once those words left the man’s mouth, he collapsed atop the woman, his hand sliding down the jagged metal, the base of his palm snagging on one serrated point.

Jamie knew the man was dead even before he hunkered down beside him and put two fingers to the side of the man’s neck. There was no pulse, no movement of his chest as he lay covering the woman with his much larger body. The female was all but hidden beneath his bulk.

As gently as he could, Jamie pushed the dead man over, wincing as the body flopped against the sodden ground. The woman’s face was turned to the side, her features hidden beneath stringy strands of wet dark hair. Reluctantly he reached out to touch her just below the jaw and was surprised to find a faint pulse though her flesh was clammy and cold. He looked down at her chest and saw a steady, slow movement.

A sharp crack of lightning rent the air and the wind howled viciously. He knew if the woman had any chance of survival at all he would need to move her out of the fury of the storm. Stepping over her legs, he slid his hands beneath her shoulder and legs and started to lift her--only to find she was anchored to the dead man at her side.

“What the hell is this?” Jamie grumbled as his gaze fell to where her wrist was shackled to the wrist of the dead man.

Hunkering down beside her, he reached out to tilt her head toward him, carefully dragging the wet hair from her face.

“Holy fucking shite,” he breathed as he took in the beauty of her face.

Though she had a nasty bump on her forehead and a livid bruise forming around it, her features were so delicate, so ethereal he was held spellbound despite the tempest surrounding him. Dark lashes hid the color of her eyes from him but the soft oval structure of her face, the slightly upturned nose, the high cheekbones and smoothness of her complexion drew his hand like a magnet and he traced rough fingers along her jaw, across her full lips, and down her slender neck. He could span her throat easily with his large hand and because he could a strange protectiveness leapt up inside him and he cocked his head to one side, unable to look away from the perfection of her lovely face.

“What did you do, lass?” he asked softly and let his hand wander down the center of her chest. As though they had a mind of their own, his fingers molded around one firm breast and squeezed lightly.

His cock hardened instantly and he jerked his hand back as though he’d been burned at the contact. He trembled, wanting this unknown woman so badly, needing her so desperately he wanted to roar like a beast.

Another brutal shriek of the storm broke the trance into which he’d slipped and spurred him into action. He shot a glance at the dead man’s hand and when he saw no key clutched there, moved over and began going through the pockets of the business suit that was now a soggy mass of material. Still he did not find the key to the handcuffs that linked the two together.

He started pushing aside the leaves and pieces of soaked insulation on the ground around the man until he found the key.

With the cuff dangling from her wrist, Jamie once more moved to the woman’s side and put his arms under her. He hefted her against him and began picking his way carefully back through the wreckage. It was a long way back to his cabin and the light was beginning to fade.

Chapter One

To his way of thinking she weighed next to nothing as he carried her through the forest, her head falling back over his arm so all he could see was the underside of her firm chin, the sweep of her long hair swaying against his leg. He would look down at her from time to time to stare at the steady pulse throbbing in her neck. It was the only way he had to make sure she was still alive, still breathing.

The rain had increased with the wind lashing brutally at him, making each step difficult on the rock-strewn ground. It had plastered her white blouse to her chest and he could clearly see the lacy outline of bra beneath. Each time he glanced down, his body throbbed with need, for it had been a long time since he’d held a woman so close to him.

As he picked his way over the uneven ground, he wondered how long it would take a search party to climb the barren stretch of mountain to locate the wreckage. He knew unless there had been a radio problem the pilot would have sent out a mayday, would have given their location. But given how far up the mountain the plane had crashed, the terrain into which it had plowed it might be days before a rescue team stumbled upon it.

His face filled with grim resolve, he knew once he had the woman safely at his cabin he would have to go back to the crash site and conceal every trace of his passing, make it look as if she had gotten loose and stumbled over a cliff and into the turbulent whitewaters of the Aimrid River far below. He would leave no trail for the rescuers to find her.

“You belong to me, now,” he said, his green eyes hard. “No one will ever find you where I’m taking you.”

Blinding light flashed above him and the strobe effect momentarily disoriented him. He stopped moving to wait for his eyes to readjust to the dim light. When he did, he heard the unmistakable drone of an airplane engine. Despite the violent storm, the searchers had arrived but he doubted the wreckage could be seen from the air in the murky gloom. The vast canopy of the thick forest growth would hide it.

Shifting her weight against him, he continued on, increasing his speed, more determined than ever to make it back as quickly as possible to the crash site to cover up her disappearance.

Half an hour later he was skirting his way around two tall rocky outcroppings and slipped carefully through a fissure that hid a vine-covered entrance into the vast cave system he called home. Sliding between two cascading vines, he entered the cave and bent over to lay the woman gently on the ground. He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small tin of matches then reached for the lantern he kept hanging on a piton beside the entrance. He lit the lantern before bending down to pull the woman to a half-sitting position. Putting his shoulder to her belly, he lifted her to sling her over his shoulder for that was the only way he could carry her and the lantern at the same time.

Unhooking the lantern, he started down a narrow opening that led deeper into the cave. He held the lantern high to light his way for there were many pitfalls along the way--narrow cracks into which an unsuspecting traveler’s foot could slip. Peppered the length of the pathway as well were breaks in the rock that plummeted straight down and ended only God knew where. He stepped agilely over those openings and made his way ever further into the hushed stillness of the cave.

Down twisting, serpentine ledges and through fissures and past a maze of tunnels he traveled until he came to what at first appeared to be a dead end. But upon setting the lantern on a rocky overhang, a single push at the center of the seemingly solid wall made the entire section pivot inward with a scraping sound that echoed loudly.

He took up the lantern and carried her through the opening, turning to nudge the stone doorway with his knee. The portal closed quickly and only a knowing eye could have discerned where the opening had been.

It was into a thirty foot by thirty foot cabin he took her, the unpainted clapboard walls and ceiling and floor having been built within the small cave he had chosen as his residence. Beside the single door were two windows that flanked it. Along one wall was a wide stone hearth in which a fire cast the only other light in the structure. Beside the hearth was a wood burning cook stove, a tin sink with a hand pump, floor to ceiling cupboards filled with jars of vegetables and fruits and bins of root vegetables, and a single wooden table with two chairs. Behind a plain wooden three-panel screen was a small copper tub, a dry sink over which hung an unframed mirror and which held a pitcher and ewer along with a glass containing his toothbrush, toothpaste and comb, and what could only be a garderobe, an opening in the rocky wall that led down into a cesspit far below. The opening was covered with a hinged plank that resembled a modern toilet seat. The rest of the furniture consisted of a tall, intricately carved armoire, a full-sized bed, nightstand, several shelves filled with books, and a rocking chair that sat before the hearth. An oval rag rug lay before the fireplace. No curtains hung at the window and there were no decorations on the wooden walls save for a large crucifix over the headboard of the bed.

He took her to the hearth and lowered her to the floor. Seeing her lying there with the firelight flickering over her still features, he had the urge to rip her clothing away and have his fill of her but even though his entire body quaked with the need to take her, he knew he could not give in to the demon that had made his cock rock hard in his jeans.

Kneeling beside her, he eased the simple black pumps from her feet and set them aside. Just as he’d imagined, she had pretty feet with clean, short toenails left unpolished. He longed to suckle those sweet little digits but already her body was quivering from the wet and cold despite lying so close to the fire and he feared she might wake at any moment.

Resolutely, he put his hands on the buttons of her white blouse and flicked them open, striving not to stare at the lacy bra for the darkness of her nipples could be seen pressing against the fabric. He eased her up to remove the blouse then set to unbuttoning and unzipping the navy slacks that covered her long legs. He tugged the slacks down her hips, gently working them down. The sight of the thin wisp of lacy panties set his blood to pounding fiercely in his ears and he could not resist sliding his hands between her legs.

He closed his eyes as the heat of her sex filled his palm. He ran his thumb back and forth slowly over the wiry strands of dark hair covered by the lace, aching to bury his face against the softness, to taste her.

She groaned and he snatched his hand away, his eyes flaring open, his breath held as he expected her to come to. But she did not move. Her eyes remained closed. She lay there defenseless before him and once more that strange sensation of protectiveness sprang up in his heart and he swallowed hard.

Breathing harshly, he snagged a towel from the arm of the rocker where he’d hung it to dry earlier that day and began drying her hair. When it was as dry as he could get it, he pulled it into two sections to either side of her face and loosely braided it. There would be time to brush it neatly when he returned from the crash site.

For a long while he just knelt there watching the soft rise of her breasts as she breathed. His eyes wandered over the silky smoothness of her arms--though there was a scar under one that puzzled him--the short fingernails that had just a hint of color to them, the flatness of her belly and shapeliness of her hips, the taper of her legs. He longed to run his hands over every inch of her but--just like with her hair--there would be time for all that.

She groaned again and he tensed as her head fell to one side. He could feel his heart racing again in the anticipation of her opening her eyes and seeing him but that did not happen.

Then he saw it--a dark stain on the rug beneath her head and when he reached down to touch it, his fingers came away stained with a crimson blotch that he knew was blood.

As carefully as possible, he eased her over and it was then he saw the ragged gash on her scalp, right at the back of her head. The rug beneath her head was soaked with blood and he cursed himself that he had not rubbed that portion of her head while drying her hair else he would have discovered the wound then.

“Ah, lass,” he said on a long sigh. Manipulating the injury with his fingers, he knew the cut was deep enough that it needed to be sutured.

He got up to fetch the first aid kit he kept over the kitchen sink and to light the wood stove to heat water. While the water came to a boil, he gathered what he needed to stitch the wound then eased her onto her left side.

Once the head injury had been closed, he knelt beside her once more. His eyes were hungry, his hands sweating and he ran a tongue over his upper lip as though he were a starving man before whom a banquet had been laid. It took him a moment longer before he could work up the courage to remove her bra and panties and when he did, he felt flames licking at the very core of him. His shaft became so stiff it was acutely painful. He put a hand to the erection and knew he’d have to relieve himself before he could make the trek back to the wreckage.

His gaze kept roaming to the fleecy softness at the apex of her thighs. He could smell the womanly scent of her wafting up to him and it only seemed to intensify the discomfort between his own legs. He wanted to stroke that lush triangle, dip his fingers into the soft folds, feel her wetness on them, separate that sweet flesh, taste her ....

“Stop it, MacGivern!” he snarled.

With some effort, he got up and stalked to his bed, flung the covers aside then--grinding his teeth together to push aside the need riding him so brutally--he went back to scoop her up and carry her to the bed. He laid her down then covered her, blocking out the image of a body so delectable it made his mouth water.

Standing there beside her with his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, he strove to get his unrelenting lust under control. His cock throbbed and he put a hand to it, rubbed, adjusted, whimpered low in his throat. By God he was so desperate to possess her, to sink his flesh into hers he didn’t think he could wait until he returned from the crash site. He reached for her--saw his hand trembling--and backed away. She was too beautiful, too perfect to rush and he knew from past experience the wait would be well worth it.

He would make sure of it.

She groaned again and her head thrashed on the pillow. He feared she would wake before he was ready for her to.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He couldn’t allow her to wake just yet.

He went to the kitchen area and reached for a small box hidden among the spices and extracts on the shelf. Opening the box, he took out a vac-syringe, sealed needle and a small vial of purple liquid. Breaking open the seal on the needle, he attached it to the vac-syringe then poked the needle through the vial’s rubber top, drawing up a precise amount of the fluid. He tapped on the syringe to get rid of any bubbles then released a small amount of the fluid before taking the loaded vac-syringe to the bed. With great care, he injected the thick med into a vein in her neck, flinching a little when she moaned at the invasion of the burning drug. But what he had done was crucially important. It was to assure she would remain asleep while he was gone.

The last thing he did before leaving her was to slip the open cuff of the shackle to the headboard and lock it, taking no chances that she could leave the bed.

With one final look at her, he went to the hidden door and pushed against it in a place only he knew to touch and when the portal swung open, left quickly before he could give in to the temptation to take her as his body demanded he do.

All the way back through the twisting, winding tunnels and narrow crevices to the entrance of the cave, his shaft rubbed savagely against his jeans. He was sweating, breathing hard and when he’d gained the entrance and stood there staring out into rain that continued to fall heavily, he unzipped his fly—leaving the clasp closed—and pulled out his cock. He leaned with his back against the wall, his legs spread and the moment his fingers closed around the thick erection just beneath the swollen head, he closed his eyes, his lower lip tucked between his teeth. Grabbing the inseam of his jeans, he tugged the fabric taut so the opening brought pressure upon the base and balls of his cock. His hand tightened around the shaft as he began the up and down motion to relieve the painful ache in his joint.

He thought of her firm breasts, her taut thighs, and the flat belly with its dark, damp triangle that called out to him. He longed to suck her nipples into his mouth and draw upon them, nibble them, suckle as he stroked her nether region deeply.

“Aye,” he whispered as he increased the speed of his movement.

Envisioning her open to him—hips raised as he lapped at her dewy center—he could almost smell the womanly scent of her surrounding him. His chest heaved. His breaths became shallow, loud. In his mind he was fingering her clit until it was a tight little bud ripe for bursting, ready to ooze its honeyed juice upon his waiting tongue.

It had been a long time for him and while he strained to catch just the right rhythm, just the right pressure around his cock, he thought of her lovely face and the full lips he wanted to devour with kisses, the sweet mouth he wanted to invade with soft thrusts of his tongue deep inside. He imagined her opening her eyes to look at him as he hovered over her and he saw those lips smile with invitation, watched her tongue come out to lap at a perfect upper lip.

“Aye,” he said louder and his hand moved frantically on his flesh until his cock was primed for release. He felt it building in his sac and soaring upward, burning all the way down his length. He arched the shaft away from him just a second before it erupted in a thick, hot stream. He watched it spurting as he stood there tense against the wall until the last squirt left him and he sagged, his head falling to his chest, panting with each breath, hearing the blood pounding in his ears, feeling the climax all the way to his booted feet.

It was rare for him to relieve himself as he’d just done and each time he gave in to the enticement, he experienced a deep shame flooding him afterwards. This time was no different and he felt his cheeks grow hot, felt the dishonor deep in his soul. He knew better. He’d been trained better. What he’d done was morally wrong. It was a sin to spend his seed upon the ground.

But he knew himself better than those who had instructed him did and he knew had he taken her as he’d desired to, he might possibly have hurt her--such was the depth of the need that prodded him. And there was the time constraint. A woman like the one lying in his bed deserved more than a quick rut.

His breathing once more calm, he stuffed himself back in his jeans and pushed away from the wall. The smell of his spent semen made him wrinkle his nose with disgust and he kicked sand over the tell-tale globs at his feet.

Despite the downpour, he had a job to do and he set out into the gloom to see it done. His shoulders hunched against the pelting rain, he made a mental note to retrieve his crossbow on the way. It would not do for a search party to find such an expensive weapon and wonder how it came to be high in the Pionós Mountains where there should be no human life.

Not that he was entirely human, he thought as he thrust his hands into the pockets of his sodden jeans.

The trek back to the wreckage took him longer than he expected for the rain had caused mud slides around which he had to work his way. Cold wind buffeted him yet all he wore was a shirt and jeans--both of which had been soaking wet for hours. Mentally berating himself for not having the foresight to at least grab a jacket, he doggedly climbed the trail to the crash site with the droning sound of the search plane circling overhead.

Looking up at the sweeping branches of the trees above him he knew there was no way his progress could be seen from the low-hanging clouds that no doubt obscured much of the searchers’ line of sight. Nevertheless, he increased his speed, determined to get back to his cabin as quickly as he could.

Digging his muddy boots into the incline beyond which the debris was hidden he stood beneath a tall pine with his hand on the rough bark, catching his breath. He was in the best shape of his life but his energy was beginning to flag. Bending over to rest his aching back, he stared at the scattered plane parts littering the site. With the eye of a professional he scanned the area, making note what needed to be addressed, what needed to be handled.

Once more the search plane flew overhead. With it came the whop-whop-whop of an incoming helicopter and he knew he had to hurry.

Rearranging the scene to make it look as though the woman had scrambled free and slid down in the mud several times before heading to the ledge took only a couple of minutes. He made it appear that she was dragging a leg behind her, careful not to make the passing through the mud and leaves too deep for an injured woman to have made. At the cliff, he had to be more cautious of the circling helo—lying on his belly to scrape away the bushes and rocks at the edge so it would look as though she’d skidded over the drop, clawing at the bank for purchase before tumbling into the killing waters below.

Scooting back across the decomposing leaves and pine needles, he covered his own passing and took one last look around the plane, searching for anything that might belong to her. He dared not go inside for by then he was covered in mud and he didn’t want the investigators to surmise anyone other than the three in the plane had been there.

At last satisfied he’d done all he could, he headed back to the blind where he’d left his crossbow.

By the time Jamie entered his cabin, his back was on fire with pain. He had spent the last fifteen minutes constantly rubbing his left side but the ache was deep and it hurt so badly tears were beginning to blur his vision. He had deposited the crossbow with his other weapons in a concealed niche in the tunnel leading to the hidden portal and it had been all he could do to drag himself the last five yards.

He was shivering from the cold and knew he’d need to take a hot bath as quickly as possible if he wanted to stay healthy so the first thing he did upon entering the cabin--the first thing after a quick glance to make sure the woman was still asleep and breathing--was to light the fire under two large kettles of water and to fill two more.

While the water heated, he stripped off his sodden clothes and tossed them into the fire. The garments were so filthy he had no desire to try to get the red mud from them. Padding over to the bed, he unlocked the handcuff from the headboard as well as from the woman’s wrist and slipped them into the drawer of the nightstand. He stood watching her sleep then sighed deeply. As much as he wanted her, at that moment in time he doubted the pain would allow him an erection.

Wrapping up in a blanket, he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, the pain in his back a blazing prod radiating agony with every breath he took. Hanging his head, he willed the pain to pass but he knew it would be a long time before it began to subside.

It was all he could do to push himself up when the first kettle began to whistle. The loud, piercing sound had snapped him awake and he was annoyed that he’d allowed himself to sleep. Grunting with the effort he got to his feet, dropping the blanket to the floor and began filling the copper tub with the boiling water. By the time the water was comfortable enough for him to climb in, he was shuddering with pain, the weight of the kettles having sent wave after wave of sheer torment through his aching back.

Settling down into the water, he stretched his arms along the rolled edge of the tub and laid his head on the high back. He had moved aside the screen so he could see the woman on his bed and he stared intently at her. Her beautiful face was turned toward him, the dark sweep of her long eyelashes fanning the softness of her smooth cheek. Her lips were slightly parted and behind those full, pale pink marvels he glimpsed the whiteness of her front teeth. To him, she was perfection. He wondered what those luscious lips would feel like wrapped around him.

He lowered one hand to the thick fullness that—despite the ungodly pain throbbing through him—had begun to manifest itself from his prurient thought. He massaged himself for awhile then with clenched teeth reached for the washcloth and the soap on the shelf beside the tub. Striving to get his mind off the woman, he scrubbed briskly—almost brutally—at his flesh until he felt clean, then slid down in the tub to wet his hair. Surfacing, he lathered the soap and washed his shoulder-length hair. When he was finished, once more he laid his head on the back of the tub and automatically his gaze went to the sleeping woman.

He had known many women in his thirty-nine years but not one had ever held his attention for long. He was drawn to dark haired beauties much shorter than his six-foot, two-inch height and he liked them slender with lush bosoms and tiny waists, flaring hips and long, silky legs that could wrap around his waist as he took them. He preferred virgins but an experienced woman—one who knew the intricacies of pleasing a man—was a welcome respite from untried flesh.

He wondered into which category the woman in his bed fit. There was but one way to find out and with that thought making him hard, he pushed up from the water.

Eyes steady on her, he reached for a towel and dried off, ignoring the steely erection that stretched toward the bed. His hair was dripping down his back and he toweled it briskly then wrapped the material around his waist. With the curly tendrils framing his face, he walked to the bed and with infinite slowness, peeled the covers to the foot of the bed.

It was her nipples that fascinated him the most and he sat down beside her, putting the tips of his fingers just above the areola, drawing in a deep breath as the tip of her breast grazed the crease of the first knuckle on his middle finger. The warmth of her radiated down his finger to make his palm itch and he splayed his hand so he could rest it upon the softly yielding mound of her left breast. Very gently—reverently—he squeezed, testing the pliancy of her flesh, the firmness, allowing her nipple to press intimately into his palm.

He cupped her other breast in the same way and closed his eyes as his heart rate sped up and the ache in his groin intensified. Swallowing, he closed his eyes to better experience the silkiness of her breast, the way it filled his hand, the beat of her heart at the base of his palm. He flexed his fingers around her, drawing upward little by little, closing his fingers together until his fingertips closed over the dusky bud. He rotated her flesh tenderly, plucked at it with his short nails until it was a stiff little pebble. Having attained his goal, he lowered his head and drew that sweet morsel between his lips, flicking it with his tongue, laving it, nibbling in before taking it deeply into his mouth to suckle, holding it firmly for his devouring.

She moaned in her sleep but he did not relent from his enjoyment of her flesh. His left hand--elbow pressing firmly into her belly--continued to knead her right breast as he drew upon her nipple with his hot mouth. His tongue made lightning stabs at the firm peak and his teeth closed around the nipple now and again to apply just enough pressure to make her moan again. This time, she writhed beneath him, her hips instinctively lifting.

Without removing his mouth from her breast, he slid his other hand down her side and belly and onto the curly triangle that felt so satiny to the touch. He smoothed his hand back and forth across her lower belly so those soft curls could abrade his palm, his fingers threading through the spiky hairs to lightly pluck at them.

His suckling brought another low moan from her and when he looked up through his lashes, he saw her sweep her tongue over her lips. That sight hardened him even more and he turned his hand so he could slip one finger into her moist channel.

Slick heat greeted his exploring finger and he drove it deep, added another, finding no obstructing membrane to prevent him from inserting still another until he was stretching her slightly, easing in and out of her with slow, gentle strokes that echoed the motion of his lips. The scent of her arousal drifted up to him and his cock stirred. He released his hold on her breast and pulled the towel open so he could grip himself firmly.

With his mouth on her breast, three fingers inside her sheath and his other hand tugging at his erection, he brought himself almost to the point of release but when that moment came, he was up and over her, pushing into her cunt in one long thrust, his knees between her spread legs as he braced.

Rocking his body rhythmically upon hers, he buried his face against the side of her neck and licked at her skin, reveling in the saltiness. He slid his hands beneath her hips and lifted her up for deeper penetration, wishing he could watch her expression as he took her.

Another long moan came from her but then her body began to ripple around his and he stilled--feeling her orgasm milking him--and he pushed up to look down at her. She shivered then laid still, one long breath escaping her parted lips.

“Aye, lass,” he whispered. “Take all I have to give.”

A few more thrusts and he came hard, his entire body shuddering with the force of the enjoyment that rocketed through him. Breathing heavily, he eased off her and lay at her side, his hand protectively, possessively on the slight concavity of her belly. He watched her until he realized she was sweating.

He frowned, worrying she was developing an infection. He needed to see to her health as he had his own and swung his legs from the bed, wincing at the pain that engulfed his back with the abrupt movement. He had to sit on the edge of the bed until the worst of the agony passed. Finally, he was able to get up to warm more water.