She rubbed herself over him like a cat, feeling his stiff cock prod and nudge apart her slick folds, delighting in his big hard
body straining and shaking under hers, his hot strength, his leashed power. He gripped her hips to pull her down and she
grabbed his arms, leaning over him to pin his thick, square wrists to her soft pillows, her breasts brushing his smooth, hot
chest, his breath searing her lips, his body rearing under her.
Time shimmered and stood still as she lowered herself by increments, absorbing him by degrees, impaling herself on his
rigid flesh, biting her lip at how full he felt, how good she felt, how powerful this was, how right. He arched, his thick shaft
cleaving her, splitting her open, hard into soft, male into female, giving her what she wanted while she took everything he had.
His arms flexed. His wrists twisted. His fingers turned and gripped hers as she rode him in a slow, rocking rhythm, their hands
joined, their gazes locked, their breathing matched and ragged. She watched his eyes go blind and bright as her orgasm rolled
through her like a wave, as he drove deep, held, and shuddered in his own release. Lowering her head to his shoulder, she let
herself be swept away.
Morgan stared up at the flat white ceiling of Elizabeth‟s pretty bedchamber as she melted over him, their limbs tangled, her
hair spread over his chest like a net drying in the sun, all warm, moist, fragrant woman. His woman. Sleepy. Satisfied.
She had taken him apart the way Emily‟s kitten would unravel a ball of yarn until his guts were strung out for her to play
with and his heart rolled across the floor. He could not find strength to move or breath to speak, but his instincts, honed over
centuries of survival, quivered in warning.
He was in very deep danger here.
She raised her head from his shoulder, the glow still on her cheeks and in her eyes. Her kiss-swollen lips curved. “That was
nice.”
His system was swamped, his world had been shaken to its foundation, and she thought it was “ nice ”?
He struggled to form words. “Yes.”
She stretched against him, making his libido sit up and beg like a dog. “I feel wonderful.”
He raised one hand, unsticking a strand of hair from her parted lips. “Yes.”
She blushed, modest even after sex. “You‟re awfully agreeable all of a sudden.”
“You have destroyed my brain,” he told her truthfully. “I cannot think.”
She grinned, pleased, and bounced a quick, affectionate kiss off his jaw. Another layer of his defenses swirled down like a
sand castle assaulted by the tide. “I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
He cleared his throat. “How did you survive without a lover all these years?”
“Oh.” She wiggled, distracting him. “I have a decent imagination. And some good memories.”
Memories of him? Or of her husband?
An unfamiliar stab of possessiveness caught Morgan under the ribs. “The finfolk live in the moment. We are not bound by
memories.”
Elizabeth shook back her hair. “What about love?”
“We are not bound by love either.” The words, practiced for centuries, came easily. “Emotions are ephemeral. We are
immortal. Nothing lasts forever but the sea.”
She narrowed her eyes. “The sea and love.”
He shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation. “That‟s what my sister thought, and she died.”
“You have a sister?”
“Had.”
“What happened to her?”
He drew a quick, harsh breath, regretting he had ever introduced the subject. “She died. She took a mortal lover and gave
up everything for him, the sea and her life.”
Elizabeth‟s brow pleated. “Did she regret her decision?”
“I do not know. I never spoke to her again.”
Not a decision he was proud of, upon reflection. But he was not much given to self-examination.
“How sad,” Elizabeth said.
“I believe she was happy,” he offered stiffly. “There were children. Five.”