Timeless Heart (8 page)

Her hands caressed his chest now, in slow
circular motions, flicking his nipples just barely, her fingers
roaming through the light curly hair covering his torso.

"So firm, so rigid," she moaned. She went
lower, over the muscled ridges of his stomach. "So...fit." She
looked down at him and smiled. "How do you keep yourself in such
fine shape in 1821?"

God's blood, she was expecting him to
speak?

"I do work on my property, I
ride...ahhhhh...."

He could not finish his thought, she had a hold
of him, stroking, squeezing. She leaned down and flicked her tongue
across the head. Jerrod almost came off the bed.

"Enough torture, you wench..." he teased.
Grabbing her, he flung her on her back, getting a squeal of
laughter in response. This is what he wanted, playfulness,
laughing, sharing. A lover not afraid to explore, taste, give
pleasure and get pleasure. God, she was everything he ever wanted
in a bed partner. She handed him another sheath. At this rate, they
would be using them all.

She spread her legs, and he cradled between
them, sliding his cock along the wet, hot crevice nestled in soft
hair at the core of her. God’s blood, she was beautiful. Resting on
his elbows, he slid into her.

This was enough to send him over the edge, he
fought for a measure of control, but it was impossible. What began
as a slow rhythm soon became more urgent. He increased his pace,
ramming his cock in to the hilt, pulling all the way back out and
slamming it back into her core. Sweet Christ, never had he
experienced this before. Never. He was grunting like a wild boar,
but he didn't give a fuck. Her nails dug into the flesh on his
back, yes,
damme, yes. Make me bleed, scratch me all to
hell
, he thought.

He heard Sandra laugh seductively. Did he just
say that aloud? Her legs locked around his waist tightly, the angle
plunging him in even deeper. Her inner muscles tightened about his
cock, a caress so intimate, he could feel his heart contract in
time with her cunny.

How much time went by, he did not know. They
were both covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the sounds and smells
of their vigorous lovemaking, a heady, intoxicating mix, infusing
the room.

Jerrod relished her obvious pleasure. He could
feel her climax building, he raised himself up on one hand, his
other hand cupped her ass, bringing himself in deep, angling her
for maximum penetration. He quickened the pace again. Christ, he
was going to have an attack of apoplexy, his cock felt as if it
were going to explode from the exquisite pressure.

He wanted to stay like this forever, buried in
the hot wet juices of her cunny. Her inner muscles gripped him even
tighter, pulling him to blessed oblivion. He threw his head back
and roared like a wild animal, every muscle in his neck straining
as he pumped endlessly.
Mine, bloody
hell
...
mine.

Sandra screamed and shuddered under him,
together, they roared their release.

When they could both breathe again, he reached
for her, pulling her close, entwining his fingers through
hers.

Sandra reached up and touched his cheek. "Oh,
Jerrod..."

He took the hand and kissed it. "I know," he
whispered huskily.

Her hand trailed down his torso, until she
reached his semi-erect member. She gripped him tight, her hand
slowly working him into hardness once again. "This...this is so
big. I love the way you fill me, stretch me."

She tore off the used condom and tossed it
aside. She sat upright and leaned over him, her face inches from
his stiffness, already a pearl of semen appeared at the head. She
bent down further and licked it away with her sweet, pink
tongue.

"Sweet Jesus!" he cried out. He saw her sly
smile as she looked at him, then looked back at his twitching cock.
"Yes, put my cock in your mouth, suck me dry, take it all," he
hissed through his clenched teeth.

He could tell she was not overly experienced
with oral pleasures, but she made up for her lack of finesse with
blatant enthusiasm. He reached and put his hand on the back of her
head, guiding her to a rhythm that had him moaning in surrender.
She caught on quickly, creating suction with her mouth that nearly
drove him to sobbing his eyes out. And she took him, all of him. He
knew he was large, enough women had told him so in those back
alleys and back rooms. The salacious giggles, the lustful looks,
the unashamed admiration. And he had to admit, he liked the
appreciation, making him more of a preening cock than he really
was. But he also knew it had nothing to do with performance, with
making a woman scream with desire. His couplings were often quick,
frantic, against a fence. No finesse, no real satisfaction for
either him or the woman in question. Nothing like what he shared
here with Sandra. Nothing.

He opened his eyes and glanced down, her golden
hair a curtain over his thighs. She was so engrossed in her
administering, she did not glance up. She pulled her lips out to
the tip of him, her tongue flicked the slit in the head of his
cock. She was going to unman him, he knew it. Her mouth plunged
down deep, taking all of him, down to the back of her throat, how
was she not choking? A low, husky rumble escaped his mouth, he was
breathing hard, panting. "More," he managed to croak. He didn't
want this to end, ever. Her lips, her mouth, her throat, and his
cock. Forever. He lifted his hips off the bed in a gentle thrusting
motion. It was taking all his self control not to ram it as far
down her throat as he could, as roughly as he could. He had never
experienced this before. Oh Christ, he was going to
come.

"Sandra," he rasped. “I'm close."

He didn't want to spill his seed in her mouth,
she may not like it, most women didn't, at least that was his
experience. She slid him out of her mouth, her lips teasingly
kissing his cock, her voice filled with desire, "Come in my mouth,
Jerrod. I want to taste you, swallow you." Sandra took him in her
mouth again, sucking deeply.

That did it. He exploded, pumping copious
amounts of his seed. He hadn't thought he had that much in him.
Sandra took it all, swallowed, licked him clean. He never saw
anything so glorious in his life. A small trickle of his come ran
down the side of her mouth, and her tongue darted out and caught
the thick juice. He groaned, his cock twitching to life...again.
God's blood, again?

Sandra curled into his embrace. She was still
licking her luscious lips. He may very well not survive this
night.

Chapter Five

Sandra opened her eyes. The room was
illuminated in a pale gray light between waving shadows. The moon,
clearly visible through her large bedroom window, hung low in the
late night sky. A gentle breeze swayed the treetops and cast a soft
cluster of shadows around her room. She looked at the clock radio
by her bed. It was 4:20 in the morning and she was not
alone.

For once.

In the wash of magical moonlight and shadow,
the man she just shared hours of unbridled passion with was
sleeping sounding next to her, completely, gloriously naked. He lay
on his back, one arm resting across his taut abs, his head turned
slightly toward her. She wondered for a split second if he was even
breathing. He did not make a sound, his chest hardly moved, like
some slumbering prince from a fairy tale. His hair was disheveled,
and lay spread on the pillow like a golden halo. One errant lock of
wavy hair lay across his forehead, giving him a youthful look that
was in direct contrast to the virility spread out before
her.

She rested her head on one elbow and slowly
perused every inch of his skin with her heated gaze. Most men did
not look like this, she knew that, which made this whole situation
more and more like a dream. But she knew now, it wasn't a dream.
What she found on the internet had proved it to her absolutely.
Time Travel. From the past.

He turned his head slightly away, his perfect
nose twitching. Exhaling, he fell back into his soft slumber.
Sandra felt the tears cluster at her eyes. She reached out and
touched him gently. Jerrod was real enough. The throbbing between
her legs from their wild lovemaking was real. Her heart swelling to
the point of bursting was real.

Her tears began to spill over her cheeks. She
had found the man she always dreamed of, and he could be taken away
from her. She curled herself next to him, his warmth like a wood
stove. She laid her head on his broad shoulder, he did not
stir.

Sandra closed her eyes. She was definitely in
love with him, no other word for it. She wanted him to stay, but
she wanted the decision to be his. She would not ask, or hint, or
beg. She could not ask him to make such a sacrifice. She wanted him
to be happy, she loved him that much. And she knew he would not be
happy in 2011.

Jerrod had not mentioned her going with him.
Could she? She had a life here, just as he had one back in 1821.
How would she adjust to 1821? She couldn't, she would be miserable.
No electricity? Hot water? Life would be simpler, too simple. Go to
bed at sunset, rise at dawn. Drink tea in stuffy parlors. Read.
What in hell else? She would find it all tedious.

Jerrod would be there, every day...and
night
. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She thought of Brian,
stating there was no guarantee he would wind up back in his own
time or in Cornwall. It all seemed so hopeless. So futile. So
heartbreaking. Sandra cried herself back to sleep.

****

For the next few days, Sandra and Jerrod were
hardly out of each other's company, or each other's arms. Or out of
Sandra’s bed. Jerrod had never felt this way with a woman. He loved
how she returned his affection and desire. This was all new to him,
the intensity, the depth of the emotions involved, the never-ending
sex that went on for hours.

In his age there was too much decorum, and
society rules. Sitting in stuffy parlors making small talk. It was
much more open in this age. He found it...liberating.

And here and now, after such glorious days and
even more glorious nights, they stood, close, not wanting to be
parted even for a moment. He leaned in, his hand on the wall next
to where she leaned, and rubbed his cheek next to hers. They had
shared so much these last few days, intimacies he had shared with
no other woman. They talked of so much, of their lives, the
different times in which they lived. But they did not speak of
love, nor of him leaving. Perhaps neither wanted to break the
spell.

But speak of it they must.

"Sandra, the longer I am here, the more
difficult it will be for me to leave. We must act, but when you are
near me like this, I want to throw caution to the wind," he
whispered. "I know it is a risk, but I must try. I do not belong
here," he continued remorsefully. "My family needs me, Pendern Hall
needs me. And what of the other people in that carriage? What if my
return is tantamount to their release?"

"You don't belong here," she said
simply.

Jerrod glanced at Sandra. Were there tears in
her eyes? This is why he did not want to bring up his departure, if
there was to be one. He had been thinking about it since the first
night they had made love. Could she come back with him? It would be
too much to ask. He could no more ask her to come than he could
stay. They were at an impasse. He refused to consider that their
plan, as weak and fragile and illogical as it was, would not work.
He had to believe. Hope. Or all was lost. To risk all, his very
life, on a crack of lightning? Utter bollocks. But he had nothing
else to cling to.

He reached and cupped her face in his large
hands, forcing her to look up at him. God's blood, there
were
tears in her eyes. A few trickled down her flushed
cheeks, he reached with his thumbs and gently wiped them away. The
over whelming feelings of tenderness swamped him afresh. He wanted
more than anything to protect her. To make her his own.

He leaned down, still cupping her lovely face,
and kissed her. Tenderly at first, a slight brushing of his lips to
hers, but it soon escalated. He could not help it. Her nearness,
her touch. His tongue plunged deep, and he moaned. As she had the
last few days, she returned his passion, giving selflessly. Opening
her heart in ways he was afraid to. He was utterly terrified at the
emotions washing over him.

No more kissing, he wanted her now. In the
basest, most carnal way imaginable. He threw her over his shoulder
like a warrior of old, and stalked toward her bedroom, solemn in
his purpose. His purpose of fucking her quite thoroughly. He
dropped her none too gently on the bed, and began to tear at his
own clothes. A few buttons popped and hit the floor as he tore his
shirt from his body. Sandra watched him with intense
interest.

"Take off your clothes, now," he growled, his
voice demanding in its need, rough in its unashamed lust. By the
time he was naked, Sandra was still trying to remove her panties.
Jerrod reached, grabbed a fistful of silk and ripped them right
from her body.

"Oh my God!" she cried out. No, she hadn’t
expected that. She would not expect what he was going to demand
next either. It was if some beast had taken control of him. "On
your hand and knees, hold onto the headboard. Quick
now."