Impostors' Kiss (3 page)

The shudder started in her hips and spread across her body.

“Oh. Oh. Oh. Yes,” she cried as her inner muscle clamped tight around my fingers, pulling me in further as a rush of liquid coated my hand and dripped from my wrist. The smell of her desire had my cock straining and aching with need.

Her legs grew rigid. I tightened my grip to keep her from falling. In my arms she shook and trembled as ecstasy took hold.

Her movement quieted, and she slumped against me and whispered in my ear. Out of breath she managed, “That was… I never…”

With that I removed my hand from between her legs, grabbed her by the hips, and threw her onto the bed.

“That was only the beginning, my sweet.” I reached out, ran my hands down her body, nudged her legs apart, and positioned myself. Outside of the brothel, most human females took a while to adjust to my size. My creator was overly generous.

I grasped my cock in my hand and leaned in until it touched her sopping wet opening.

I pushed forward with my hips, inserting just the tip. I listened for any sign of hesitancy—a groan, a whimper. Nothing. I pushed forward.

She was hot, tight, and deliciously wet. I fought the urge to rush, to bury myself to the hilt. She asked me for love, not sex, so that is what I would give her.

I rocked back and forth until fully seated. “Are you OK?”

She inhaled. “Yes. I’m fine, just so full.”

Nothing makes a man feel more like a man than pleasuring a woman. Supernatural or not, I was no different. Her words pleased me. Satisfied she could handle me, I moved. Small circular motions with my hips made her tremble. I rocked and thrust in short, sharp strokes until she panted, then I sped up to make good on my promise.

“So needed,” I chanted.

“I know.” She sighed.

My movements grew strong and confident as I pounded into her. Soon her body gripped mine, and I knew she was done. I bent down and wrapped my arms around her as she succumbed to pleasure. I dove deeper, urging her body to completion. With my face so close, she kissed me, and that was all the urging I needed.

My mouth crushed hers, and I groaned an almost growl as I took possession of her. She was my Light, the ghost that haunted me, and for that she would pay me for the lifetime of torture I had endured without her.

Thrust after punishing thrust, sounds filled the room—wet flesh on wet flesh and the rush of air leaving her lungs with each impact of my pelvis.

With one particularly desperate thrust, she gasped and the words, “I love you,” fell from her lips. Even though they were not meant for me, something in my soul made me feel as though she was a conduit, a deliverer. And her message I would receive. I increased my pace.

I could not allow myself to spill within her. The effect of my semen on human women was one thing I would not risk, and I didn’t want her to worry she might become pregnant. I could not father human children, but she did not know that. Only when I found the one, my Light, would I give her all of me.

A growl escaped my throat and my muscles went rigid as wave upon wave of pleasure conquered me. With one final thrust I pulled out and grasped my cock, allowing stream after stream of seed to coat her stomach. I could not see it, but shivered when her finger traced the head, then encased it in her hand, helping me milk every last drop.

I was resting on one hand and knee, my other hand still stroking my spent cock, breathing heavy, when she did something unexpected. She placed her hands on my back and urged me to lie against her. I released my grasp and succumbed to her unspoken request. Her full breasts pressed against my chest, and in my ear she whispered, “Thank you. I had almost forgotten how wonderful love was.”

“It seems I was in need of a lesson, too.” I kissed her forehead and pressed mine to hers. She went limp as I entered her mind. It was selfish to look, but to confirm the pleasure with absolute truth made the experience all that more satisfying. What I found shocked me.

There was post-coital bliss, but more so, guilt. Not guilt for lying with me as one might expect, but guilt for choosing her father over her love. She had asked him to go to battle in her father's place. He loved her so deeply he went without question. Losing her father would have devastated her mother and her five siblings. She could not absolve herself from putting her family, especially her louse of a father, before the man who held her heart.

I released her mind. After a moment she caressed my back. I rolled to the side.

She sat up, moved off the bed, and gathered her clothes.

I moved to sit on the edge of the bed. She stepped between my legs, kissed me on the forehead, reached around to untie the blindfold, and laid it in my lap.

“If you ever find a woman who loves you like that, never leave her. Even if she asks, never let her go.” Her red-rimmed eyes were not masked by the playful smirk she manifested for my benefit.

She would never let go of the guilt. It would forever stand between her and love. She turned, heading toward the door.

Before she reached it, I slammed it closed.

She gasped and dropped her clothes.

I grabbed her around the waist, pressing her face first into the door. Leaning over her, I pressed my lips to her ear. “I don't think your lesson is quite over.”

I dragged her with me back to the bed. She did not resist.

I sat of the edge of the bed, leaned her forward, and with a hand on her hip guided her back onto my rock-hard cock.

She groaned as she enveloped me.

The silky smooth skin of her back, the long trusses of russet hair, and her round heart-shaped ass fit snug against my thighs. Watching her undulate made my need all that more great.

Reaching up, I wrapped one hand in her hair and drew her head back. I sucked on the soft divot at the base of her throat and guided her rhythm with my hand on her hip as she slid up and down my length. This was what she needed—rough, commanding, absolution.

“It's not your fault.” I pushed hard this time on her hip, thrusting deeper.

“Yes, it is.” The sob in her voice evident, but I didn't let up.

“Do you think for one minute he would have made any other decision?” I pulled harder on her hair, which caused her to thrust her breasts forward. She was beautiful, round, and full.

She panted. Through thick words she managed to whisper, “I don't know.”

I slammed her against me hard and snaked my hand around her hip and found the mass of moist curls. My finger found her sensitive spot, and I rubbed her in slow circular motions, pressing harder as I forced her down onto my straining cock.

“I know for certain. I would suffer a thousand deaths for
her
. Don't deny him his right to love you.”

She squirmed and moaned. I groaned.

“But…”

I swallowed her objection, turning her head, careful to keep my eyes closed.

I released her lips and wished to wrap mine around her luscious nipples, but this wasn't about me. It was for her. It was my chance to give back.

“But nothing. Let him love you by acknowledging his love. And honor him by not allowing that love to die should he happen to perish.”

Another hard thrust.

She whimpered.

I pressed harder on the point between her legs, feeling each stroke of my cock with the tip of my finger as I entered her. It fed my arousal.

“Oh please. Please.” Her ass slapped against my thighs with her frantic movements. She was on the edge.

I slowed my pace to make my demand.

“Promise me that you'll let go of the guilt?”

“Don't know if I can.”

“You can.”

I paused, stopped moving my finger, then thrust hard.

She must have sensed my eminent withdraw because she forced herself on to me, trying to gain more contact.

“Please.”

“Only if you'll forgive yourself.” I wiggled my finger the tinniest bit to keep her on the edge. “Succumb to me. Give me all your worries.”

She pressed her head hard against my hand, her hips moved in circular motions. From her lips fell the word, “Yes.”

I groaned and pulled her as tight against me as possible. Burying myself deep within her. I held her head snug against my shoulder with my fist entwined in her hair. Her back arched as her core stroked my needy cock.

“Give me all you have.” My finger pressed hard, and her writhing form was magical as I took all she had to give.

What left her mouth was somewhere between a groan and a scream. Her legs grew stiff, and her nails scored my knees, gripping them like a vice as she shook.

Our pace slowed as her muscles squeezed tight, bringing me to the edge.

She continued to move while she recovered from her high, but when her passion dripped from my thigh, I was consumed by desire.

Two hard thrusts let the rush take hold, and I withdrew, spilling on her back. I watched as tendrils of white formed ribbons on her creamy skin. There was something satisfying about leaving my mark on my lovers. Though temporary, for some reason it seemed to validate the moment.

I rubbed my hands up and down her arms as I gained composure.

She wrapped her arms around herself and placed her hand on mine.

She then turned and knelt before me.

I closed my eyes.

She stroked my cheek. “I won't ask how you knew, but my thankfulness is everlasting.”

“As is mine.”

She placed a soft kiss upon my lips, then grabbed the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around herself.

She turned, and I watched as she walked to the door. Her ass flexed under the shadow of the sheet, and her confident stride showed she was not a victim in our encounter, as she had been with the men who came before me.

As the door closed, I sighed and pondered all that happened in the past few hours. Never had I received such a profound gift. She didn’t lie with me because she had to, because she was aroused or desperate, but rather because she wished to share the greatest of human gifts—love. Love, of all things! With a creature who had never been granted the capacity.

* * *

The next morning Rhys and I met in the tavern, ready to resume our tour.

I thanked the owner for the quarters, his gift, and wished his son a full recovery.

We were approaching the road that led to the next town when a young girl, about ten years old with long, braided hair and a gray peasant dress hollered after us, “Excuse me sir, excuse me.”

She ran as fast as her little legs allowed. Unable to stop her momentum, she slammed into me. I reached down and steadied her. “What is it, little one?”

“This is for you.” Her little dirt-covered hand pulled a coin suspended from a string from her pocket. “Celestine told me to give it to you.”

I took the trinket from her hand. Inscribed in the coin was the name Ian McCoy 1643 – 1660. On the back the saying, Defender of the Rock, etched in shaking writing.

The little girl tugged on my pants. “She told me to tell you. He needs rest.”

She knew my purpose. But how? Ian must be lying among the countless souls I had yet to release from the Battle on the Rock—a skirmish between two provinces in Scotland, accounted among the most brutal battles. I had every intention of stopping on the way back from my visit with Stanton, but it seemed a change of plans were in order. As the conduit between earth and the possibility of heaven or hell, I remained her Ian’s only hope. And knowing her love for him, how could I deny her?

I took the coin and chain and placed them in my pocket.

“Miss Celestine is amazing. She understands me. She sees so many things the others don’t.” The child grasped my leg, looked up, and whispered. “I see them too.”

“See what, my child?” Careful not to look her in the eye.

“The ghosts,” she whispered.

Many humans spoke of seeing ghosts, but after many tests I’d concluded it was nothing more than misperception. I don’t argue that manifestations of the human soul roam the earth—they always have, but human awareness of them was a fallacy. “Do you now? There is nothing to fear.”

“You see them too?” She grabbed my pant leg and pulled harder.

“Yes. Now run along and tell Miss Celestine that her wish is my command.”

Rhys pulled a coin from his pocket and handed it to the child. “For your trouble.”

She beamed.

“Oh, thank you, Sir. I’ll go tell her right away.” She grabbed the hem of her dress and ran with high steps through the tall grass in the opposite direction.

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to tell me? No explanation?”

I patted the pocket containing the tribute, making sure the contents were secure, and looked over at Rhys. “Oh, and we’ll need to make a slight detour.”

“To where?”

“West Rock.”

“Why? The place is nothing but a wasteland since the battle, nothing but moors and ghosts of the dead soldiers.”

“That’s what I’m counting on. Come.”

Rhys tilted his head further, disbelief evident in his features. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Never underestimate love. It never dies; it simply waits.”

“The great and powerful Cyril speaks of love? You’re never with the same woman twice.” He snickered.

I smiled. I did have a reputation to up hold. “Need something to pass the time. Waiting is a troublesome burden.”

“Are you getting soft, mi amigo?” Rhys raised an eyebrow.

Was he serious? “Shall we go back? I’m sure the innkeeper's daughter can allay your fears. Nothing soft about me.”

Rhys laughed. “No need. Just wanted to make sure she didn’t mesmerize you with her feminine wiles. No, you’re still…
dios ayudame
… yourself.”

“You thought a human woman had the power to change me?” I laughed.

He picked up the pace. “
Si
, a foolish notion indeed.”

To read what happens when Cyril finally finds his ‘Light,’ check out
Symphony of Light and Winter
, Book One of the Symphony of Light Series.

~ About the Author ~

Renea Mason writes steamy romances to help even out the estrogen to testosterone imbalance caused by living in a house full of men.