Immortal Sea Read Online Free Page B

as water, running her free hand over his chest, his thighs. He caressed her stomach, making the muscles there contract, before he pushed her legs wide. Crouching over her, he rubbed himself slowly up and down her slit.
    She arched toward him; twisted away. “Wait.”
    “Why?” He thrust one long finger inside her, then two. “You are ready.”
    Before she could say “condom,” he slammed inside.
    She convulsed in shock. Too much , her mind cried. Too soon. Too . . . perfect.
    She had not known that she had been so empty, that she could feel so full. She felt him everywhere, in her breasts, between her legs, and deep, deep inside. He didn’t do anything fancy or fumbling, none of the tricks she’d tried with her few boyfriends. She was glad. She didn’t need technique, only this, only him, his hot skin, his overwhelming size, the violent grace of his body in hers. He pinned her down and pulsed inside her, pounded inside her, slippery and strong, while the cold ground dug into her shoulders and the sky wheeled and changed colors behind his head. She cried and clawed and came, again and again.
    He stiffened above her, his back rigid, his lips pulling back in a snarl. She couldn’t help him. She was stretched too full to do anything clever with her muscles. It didn’t seem to matter. With a growl, with a groan, he erupted inside her, pressing deep, setting her off again.
    She trembled as he lowered his weight onto her, his body hard and slick with sweat, cradled between her thighs.
    She closed her eyes, stunned. Numb. Her body quivered with aftershocks as her brain struggled to process what had just happened. What could happen as a result.
    Oh, dear God.
    Something brushed briefly across her forehead before he withdrew, his shaft dragging from her wet and swollen flesh. She concentrated on breathing, in and out. The light of dawn pressed against her eyelids. She heard a scrape as he rolled to his feet, a rustle as he adjusted his clothing.
    She opened her eyes.
    He stood half-naked in the blue shadow of the trees, his back to her. She regarded the strong indentation of his spine, the faint scratch marks on his shoulder blades, and wanted to weep.
    He turned, his face calm, composed, polite, and offered her something. His hand? She blinked sudden moisture from her eyes. A handkerchief. An absurd bubble of laughter rose in her throat. No shirt or underwear, she thought, but he carried a fucking handkerchief.
    She managed to sit up and take it, pleased to notice her hand was steady. Evidence of her awesome self-control, she thought, and winced.
    “You are all right.” His voice was deep and without expression. She couldn’t tell if he was asking her or telling her.
    “Fine, thanks.” She finished with the handkerchief and, after a brief internal debate, wadded it up and stuffed it in her pocket.
    “We can leave now,” he said.
    A hollow opened in the pit of her stomach. She stared at him blankly. His eyes weren’t blue at all, she noted inconsequentially, but tarnished gold.
    “The gates unlock at six,” he explained. “The bridge will be open.”
    “Oh. That’s . . .” She struggled to force words past the constriction in her throat. “Convenient.”
    “You will wish to return to your place of lodging.” Another statement.
    “I guess.” She got a grip. “Yes.”
    “I will accompany you.”
    She wanted to tell him she didn’t need his charity or his company. But that was stupid and unfair. He hadn’t promised her anything. Only his protection, which she’d been plenty grateful for. Face it, anything could happen to her wandering around the streets of a foreign city in the early morning hours.
    She looked at his brutally handsome face, her insides aching and her heart sore. Anything at all.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    They walked through the open gate without incident and across the bridge to a strip of park. The waterfront was waking up with chugging boats and rumbling busses and early morning