Sylvia Day - Heat of the Night

Stacey's back arched, her entire body tense and expectant. This was what she needed, what she wanted. To be connected to him, wanted by him. "Yes…"

Connor stroked deeper, his heavy testicles slapping rhythmically against the curve of her ass, making her pussy clench tight around him. She watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, taking in his passion-flushed features and the lock of golden hair that fell over his brow. His biceps and pectorals were defined by the effortless hold he had on her. His abdomen flexed as he fucked her, the golden skin glistening with sweat.

"You're mine," he gritted out. "I'm keeping you."

His possessiveness thrilled her, pushing her that last little bit she needed to climax. Stacey bit her lip to keep from crying out as the orgasm tightened her entire body.

Connor grunted and fucked through her spasms, increasing his pace until she thought she would scream with the pleasure. It was only the nearby door and their need for privacy that forced her to silence.

She felt him swell, grow impossibly harder, and then he groaned, "Stacey…"

His hips jack hammered against hers, rocking the old desk, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs. His cock jerked, then spurted, filling her in a thick rush of heat. He continued to take her, stroking through her clenching pussy, emptying his lust and love at the deepest point of her.

"Fuck," he gasped when it was over, resting his cheek against her calf. "You'll kill me."

"My head doesn't hurt anymore," she said in breathless wonder.

"I can't even feel my head," Connor replied. "I think you blew it off."

She laughed with pure feminine triumph.

Stepping back, Connor withdrew from her body. He dried his cock with a nearby towel and tugged up his sweats, then he took care of cleaning and dressing her.

"Come here, baby." Connor's voice was filled with tenderness as he collected her in his arms.

Stacey held on tight. "I think I'm falling love with you." she admitted shyly. "I hope that doesn't freak you out. I have a tendency to jump into things and with you-"

His lips pressed against hers, halting the spill of words. "Go ahead and jump," he urged hoarsely. "I'll jump with you."

Philip Wager stared at the data on the screen with wide eyes, his heart thumping in a desperate, frantic tempo. His fingers clung to the edge of the console with white-knuckled force and he forced himself to release his grip. He pushed the chair back and rose to his feet.

"Fuck," he whispered, his brain scrambling to comprehend the information in front of him. "That's impossible."

"Obviously not," murmured a voice behind him.

He spun and faced his visitor, wincing inwardly at the sight of the man who stood there. His glaive was out of reach behind him, leaving him completely vulnerable to the tip of the blade leveled at his chest. "Elder Sheron," he replied, glancing over the gray-robed shoulder to the cavern hallway beyond. He searched for both a means of entry and a source of assistance. Neither was readily visible.

"Wager," Sheron greeted in a conversational tone.

"How did you get in here?"

"I can gain entry to anywhere. I had no part in the building of the Twilight, but every upgrade and enhancement made to the matrix in the last several centuries came from me."

Philip's heart stuttered as he considered the value of such knowledge.

"I can see you appreciate the possibilities." Sheron's voice was filled with a mentor's pride. "Most of the Elders chose to concentrate their attentions on making rules. They believe that is the source of our authority. I, however, knew our true power came from our ability to create the Twilight. Therefore, I wanted to know everything about it. It was considered the least desirable of tasks, so I was free to do as I wished."

"You planted the bug." There were hundreds of questions in Philip's mind, but he knew the answer to that query for a certainty.

"Yes, and I always knew you would be the one who would dig deep enough to find it. I tried to have you eliminated, but the others would not hear of it. They did not know my reasons, you see. They felt denying you advancement was punishment enough for your perceived offenses, which I exaggerated, of course." The Elder waved one hand dismissively. "Since you did not have access to the equipment required to find me out, I let it go. But I was aware that someday it would come to this."

"What are you doing?" Philip asked, backing toward his glaive, which rested in its scabbard atop a table in the corner. "You must have been planning this for centuries."

Sheron reached up and pushed back his cowl, revealing a chilling smile. "Yes. I have. Which is why I cannot allow you to ruin everything. All these eons of biding my time, moving my pieces across the board slowly but surely. Can you imagine how much patience has been required? I am so close now. But you could ruin everything in a moment."

"Explain to me what you're up to," Philip coaxed, still retreating, hoping to get near enough to his glaive to lunge for it and defend himself. "I can help you."

"You assume my motives are altruistic and you would want to help me. Or perhaps you are simply hoping to distract me from noticing how you move toward your weapon."

Philip stilled and shrugged. Sheron laughed.

"If it consoles you any," the Elder said, "your sacrifice will serve the greater good."

"Oh really?" Philip drawled. "And here I thought you just wanted to prevent me from telling anyone you have a half-mortal daughter."

"There is that, too. There are only two people who know, and that is one person too many."

"She is partnered with a Guardian." Perhaps his mind was more devious, but for Philip, the possibilities inherent in that mating were both plentiful and terrifying. "Was that your intent all along?"

Sheron gripped his glaive more securely. "My apologies, lieutenant. Time is of the essence. I must kill you now. I cannot stay and chat."

Philip crouched, prepared.

The Elder thrust forward in a fatal lunge.

Stacey eased her foot off the gas pedal as her car approached her house, enjoying the view of her family from a distance. Connor stood in the light of the setting sun like a golden god, his bare back glistening with the sweat from his exertions, his powerful biceps flexing as he drilled another screw into the white picket fence that was quickly replacing her old chain link.

From the moment the realtor had shown her the house, she'd thought its quaint charm was lessened by the modern barrier. Connor, knowing her so well, had surprised her by beginning the project while she was at work yesterday. He was constantly doing stuff like that-sensing her desires and working to make them reality. It was one of many, many things she loved about him.

As she watched, Justin came into view, also shirtless. He handed Connor another screw and then Connor handed him the drill. With endless patience, her dream lover slipped safety glasses over her son's eyes and taught him how to use the cordless drill. Justin finished securing the rest of the board by himself. Then he stepped back to admire his handiwork with pride, transforming his youthful features.

Stacey's chest tightened with the effort required to contain her love. Her eyes watered and her nose began to run. She reached for a tissue and forced herself to take deep, even breaths. If she got too upset, her nose would bleed, a side effect of the mind-infusion that she didn't want Connor to worry about.

As if he sensed the weight of her stare, Connor lifted his head and caught sight of her. He grinned and waved. Collecting herself, Stacey stepped on the accelerator and approached the house, turning into the driveway and shutting off the engine. He was opening the door and helping her out before she even had time to get the keys out of the ignition.

"I missed you," he rumbled, tugging with just enough force to bring her flush against him. "And I love these scrubs."

She laughed, thinking he was silly but glad that he was. Personally, she thought she was a bit nutty herself, and it was fabulous to share her life with a man who complimented that part of her. "You say that about all my scrubs."

"Yeah, but these are my favorite. They're sexy."

With both brows raised, she glanced down at her clothing. "I'm doing something wrong if your idea of sexy is two cartoon dogs."

"Ah, but look at how the girl dog is batting those long lashes at the boy dog. That's romance."

Stacey shook her head and glanced up at him, basking in the warm, affectionate glow in his eyes. "Romance is sexy?"

"Damn straight," he murmured, before taking her mouth in a hard quick kiss. When he pulled away, his gaze was dark with desire. "I can't do more than kiss you with Justin around. Even that makes him queasy, he says."

"Tonight, you're mine," she said, swatting his ass.

"You betcha." Connor caught her hand and pulled her toward the house. "I have something to show you."

"Oh, yeah?"

Every time he "showed" her something, it blew her away. His search for the artifacts forced him to travel a lot, but he was always thinking of her while he was gone. She knew it because of how often he called and by how many gifts he brought back for her. She didn't know how he did it, but he managed to dole out his presents here and there over the far-too-short trips home. Stacey knew she wouldn't have the patience. But, she had to admit, his way was far more fun.

He led her through the living room and into the bedroom, closing the door behind them.

"What about Justin?" she reminded, feeling her blood heat regardless. Connor's idea of a quickie put any other man's sexual marathon in the pale. They'd once been heading out the door to take him to the airport when he decided he needed to say good-bye intimately… again. He'd dropped his carry-on, his pants, and her scrub bottoms in half a minute. Within five more he'd had her muffling orgasmic cries into the cushions of her sofa as he rode her fast and furious from behind.

"He's waiting for me." His smile made her tummy flip. "We're going to finish that side of the driveway before the sun sets."

Connor tossed her purse and keys onto the bed, then reached for the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head. Immediately, he dove for the valley between her breasts and nuzzled there.

"Yum… You smell good," came his muffled praise.

"You're crazy."

"Seriously." He lifted his head and arched a brow. "You and your apple pie are the best smelling things in this stinky world."

Laughing, she ran her fingers through his thick hair. "The world isn't stinky."

"Who are you kidding?" He reached for her waistband and pulled her pants down, pausing a moment to admire his handiwork as she kicked out of her sneakers. "Now that's sexy."

"Better than cartoon dogs?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

Her body was in pretty good shape these days, considering the work out he gave her when he was home and the extra care she gave to her appearance when he was gone. She trusted him implicitly, knew he loved her with every centimeter of his big heart, saw the proof of his pent up longing and lust in his gaze the moment he caught sight of her in the airport. But she also never forgot that the man was otherworldly fine. He looked gorgeous for her, the least she could do was try to return the favor.

"Maybe," he said, with a roguish shrug.

Her mouth fell open in mock affront, and he reached around her and undid the clasp of her bra.

"Okay." His brogue deepened at the sight of her bare breasts. "That's definitely better than cartoon dogs."

"Well, that's something, I guess."

"But not the something," he teased, dropping to a crouch and taking her panties with him. Connor pressed a kiss to her pelvic bone and stood. "Come on."

With his hand at the small of her back, he directed her to the bathroom. There she found their new self-heating spa tub filled with steaming water and surrounded by unlit candles. A metal caddy tray traversed the distance from one side of the tub to the other and held a small crystal vase of stargazer lilies-her favorite flower-and a jauntily opened box of gourmet chocolates.

"Nice!" She whistled, mentally calculating days and dates in an effort to recall if she should be marking an anniversary or special occasion of some sort. She winced as pain lanced through her head and she instantly gave up. Now was not the time to have a nose bleed.