Immortal Stories: Eve Read Online Free Page A

ideal, but the world of her birth was one in which women were as much hunters and warriors as they were nurturers and mothers.  This was the body she had, and would always have.  But even when larger women were preferred, she long ago learned that men were far less choosy about the shape of the woman before them if that woman had already gone through the trouble of removing her clothing.
    He still hadn’t moved, and apparently gave up on the sentence he was in the middle of.
    “For Baal’s sake, Rick.” 
    She stepped up beside him.  He was much taller.  If he wished, he could pick her up and bend her in half.  She rather wanted him to do exactly that.
    She rubbed her bare chest against his stomach, and her hand on the front of his shorts.  “You’re erect, I see.  Do you need me to help you out of the clothes, or are you familiar with how this works?”
    *   *   *
    It had been a long time.  Eve didn’t fully realize exactly how long until later, when she had a moment to think, do some math, and work out that the Frenchman in the Napoleonic Wars may well have been the last time she’d laid with a man.  Because the clocks moved at a different pace on the other side of the veil, it hadn’t been a full two centuries for her, but still: it had been a long while. 
    Fortunately, once he got over his shyness, Rick proved fully capable of the task.
    They took a couple of short breaks.  The first was to get out of the living room and into the bedroom, where the bed offered more rambunctious opportunities than the couch or any of the other surfaces.  (She did try and guide him toward the kitchen counter, which looked like the perfect height for someone of his stature, but he resisted and they ended up on the floor instead.)  The second was to get water, and so he could locate additional condoms. 
    To that point, he couldn’t have gotten her pregnant or sick, as she wasn’t capable of either condition, but she understood his unwillingness to proceed unprotected. 
    Rick was generous.  It would have been fair to say they’d only performed the act only a small number of times by the metric of his climaxes, but she saw no reason to stop just because he had spent himself, so she didn’t.  And when he understood this he was happy to assist, with a finger, or a tongue, or a thigh, knee or toe.  She enjoyed as much of him as she could until he was ready again to engage her more traditionally.
    It was perhaps two hours before exhaustion presented them with a natural resting point.
    “Mercy,” he said.  He was lying on his back and she on hers.  His hand was between her legs, but he was so tired his fingers were only helping because she was holding them there. She had just trembled through an orgasm that made the one before it feel like little more than a precursor, a modest temblor before the major quake.  When it hit she had to arch her back and lift her hips into the air, legs open and words in dead languages spilling from her lips.
    “Yes,” she whispered.  “A break will be fine.”
    “I can’t keep up with you.”
    She laughed.  “You kept up better than most.”
    He propped himself upon an elbow and took a good look at her.  His earlier fear and trepidation had been replaced largely by wonder.
    “Oh my goodness ,” he said, “you laughed!  I didn’t think I’d hear that.  And a smile too.” 
    He kissed her on the cheek, then climbed out of the bed and exited the room. 
    He had a leonine quality to his movements when he got to his feet, and his firm behind and the coiled muscles of his back made for a wondrous visual spectacle.  It made her hungry again.
    She rolled off the bed. 
    Rick didn’t have a proper window in his bedroom.  What he had instead was a sliding glass door with a long curtain, on the other side of which was a small porch. 
    It was getting dark. 
    She slid open the door and let the light breeze cool her off and dry the sweat.  It felt nice, so she stepped out