A Taste of Dawn

Michael didn't ask her for sex. He wanted something more. Always, with him, there was something more. Stretched beneath her, resolute, determination set in his jaw, he waited for her to answer. He didn't coax her with his hands, his mouth, the warm brush of his lips against hers, or the thrust of his tongue. He was hard as steel between her thighs. Even his arousal, pressing against her, was patient, holding its breath, waiting for her to decide. "Yes," she answered.

She could have run. She could have turned him away. She could have spent a lifetime debating his answers to every question in her mind. She could have let this moment pass between them. But, once this moment was gone, she'd lose it forever and she'd lose the man along with it. If she ordered him to go, he would. If she ordered him to never speak or think of her again, he would. His honor wouldn't allow him to beg. Whatever she asked. He'd do. Now, she was asking for what they both wanted. Offering the truth they both knew could pull them together or drive them apart. "Yes."

Michael silenced the question her pretty little mouth posed to ask with a demanding kiss. He'd kiss her senseless, leave her breathless, conquer her with his mouth and tongue, and relish in the sweetness of his victory between her thighs. On his back, there was plenty to explore with his hands. He ran his palms over the lush curve of her backside. He roamed the decadent bend of her hips with his fingertips. Traveled along the soft plane of her stomach with his hands and scaled the peaks of her perfect breasts with his thumbs, eliciting a throaty moan of approval from her throat.

She hovered over him, body rocking against his hardness, driving him to the point of madness from the wonderful sensation of friction she created. The rise and fall of her breasts beneath his fingertips with each deep sigh, soft moan, and desperate gasp for more was potent, inching him closer and closer to losing himself in the wonder that was her. He wanted it all, her body, and definitely, beyond any shadow of a doubt, her heart.

Impatient with the clothing that came between him and skin to skin contact with

her body, he fumbled with buttons, struggled with zippers, and clawed like a hungry beast, tearing the finest of silks and laces in his urgency to free her. He thought the torn designer clothes might be a deal breaker. "Buy you more," he rasped, pawing his way through the leftover scraps of satin that came between him and the heaven of her hilly breasts.

Bianca threw back her head. The sensation of male heat seared through her sensitized nerve endings till they jangled insanely down her spine. Impatient with all the fabric between them, she ripped the silks and laces free, revealing her body for his inspection. Oh, and inspect her he did, thoroughly.

He tasted and stroked her breasts, hungrily, like a starving man at a buffet. With his hands busy at the waistband of her wool slacks, his mouth suckled and lapped at one peak and then the other. She was wet for him, needed him more than she needed air to breathe. She wanted him now. The wool shredded beneath her fingertips like paper. "Have pants... dozens and dozens more," she gritted, barely coherent as he traced the curve of her hip with a fingertips and plunged deep into the soft down between her thighs. Rising up on her knees to give him better access, she threw her head back and released a gasp of sheer pleasure, as he hit a particularly sensitive area.

Watching his woman, yes HIS woman, on her knees, naked as the day she was born, stripping him of his weapons was sexy as hell. She handled his blades with respect, almost reverence. His cock did a happy dance, jerking eagerly, at the wayward thought of how, if she could handle an inanimate object constructed for death with such care, how she would handle the huge erection pressed painfully against the zipper of his leather pants. At this rate, he wasn't going to last to the main event. Down big boy...wait for it...he thought, grinding his molars.

The pile of weaponry on the floor was getting bigger and bigger as she worked her way down to remove first one heavy boot and then the other. Her sleek hair ended in a curling spill of black decadence over her shoulders. Her lips curved in a wicked smile as she glanced at him over the bare curve of her shoulder. Eager to help, he lifted his hips and sucked in a breath at the feel of soft, well worn leather, and the hot brush of her fingers, working it down his thighs and calves.

Finally naked. Finally with his woman. Finally! Finally! Finally! His body was a roaring torrent of need and desire. Her mouth was hot, lips soft as silk, kissing and tasting, maddeningly taking her time, working their way up his calves, pausing to tickle the sensitive skin behind his knees, lapping up his thighs with her tongue, and stroking at his erection with the casual brush of a fingertip. WANT WOMAN NOW! His body cried out at the slight contact of her touch. He always thought he'd meet his death on the battlefield. Not at the hand of this woman who could kill him out of sheer anticipation. He stifled a whimper, almost a plea, as she worked him with her palm and her mouth.

"Not going to last long...," he ground out. "Need you...," he begged. Her mouth was hot satin on his hardness, endearingly soft, terrifyingly good...so good. Instinct took him to places he'd never known existed. He struggled to maintain control. Had to make it good for her. Had to go slow. Gentle. So gentle for her. She was experienced, that he knew. But, for all intensive purposes, she was a virgin. Had to be careful. Couldn't hurt her. Needed her to feel good. "Bianca..." Her name was both a curse and a begging plea on his lips.

Bianca writhed beneath Michael's touch. She liked to be in control of her men. She liked to direct the action. Command the when and how of the act. With Michael, she wanted to be out of control. Hand the reins to him and let him take her to places that she'd never gone before. The carpet was soft beneath her back. Tickling wisps of fabric teased at her skin, making it all the more sensitive. He was straining against the force of his own desire. Trying desperately to be careful of her. He didn't need to be. She'd long ago discovered the pleasure behind the pain of her permanent condition.

Forever a virgin, Eric meant to take even the simplest of pleasures away from her. She gave him no such satisfaction. The pain of a lover filling her was only temporary. With proper preparation, the pain could be good...so good. Michael's hands roamed over her body. His fingers sought out the secret places. Soft lips placed gentle kisses on them. She moaned in delight as he stroked her arousal with his mouth and tongue. His fingers gently probed her depths, mindful, ever careful and reluctant to cause her the slightest sensation of pain. She was close, so close. She wanted him inside of her, buried to the hilt, when she came. "Please, need you."

Bianca's voice was soft and pleading, her breaths ragged and uncontrolled. She bucked against his fingers in wild abandon. Her hips lifted and brought the sweetness of her taste to his lips in her eagerness. "Hurt you," he uttered. She clawed at his back with those sharp, perfectly polished nails of hers and dragged them through his hair, fingers pulling at his scalp to bring his body along the curve of hers. Nestled between the heat of her thighs, he paused at her entrance.

One push would take him to paradise and send her to hell. A half-roar loosed from between his lips as she dug those needle sharp nails into the meat of his backside, gripping his hips with her thighs. She wanted him inside of her. He understood. He wanted inside of her too. He was not a mindless bruit. He would not hurt her. Ever. Once she came and he was sure she was stretched and slick, he'd hazard to enter her. Her pleasure meant more to him than his own. He could wait.

Bianca ground her hips against the hard steel of his erection. He was big. Didn't matter. Pain was a state of mind as much as a condition of the body. Eric had forced her on kings and noblemen, bruits that rutted like beasts and it had hurt. With a willing lover, someone who gave as much as they took, the temporary pain was more of an inconvenience than a burden. Short lived in the wash of pleasure. Michael wouldn't hurt her. In her mind she was where she needed to be to enjoy, only enjoy. "Worth it," she breathed in a voice heady with want. "Won't hurt."

"Will," Michael grunted. Bianca tightened her grip on his backside and positioned her hips against him, nudging him into her. He tensed. She was so warm, so tight, so very tight, every instinct roared at the intense feel of her. Her body yielded to him. He tried to hold back, take it slowly with her. He was too far gone for slow. Too drunk with desire to take his time. He pushed in, cursing himself for causing the frown of pain to cloud the beauty of her face as he dove into her.

Bianca tensed at the invasion. Stretching her, he filled her completely. Soon, the sting faded to waves of pleasure, just as she knew it would. She kissed the hard line of regret from his lips and rocked against him. She used her body to reassure him. There was no need to hold back, no need for careful, that she felt nothing but sheer joy from him being inside of her.

She was so close. He was right there with her. Tight, sleek walls made of silk gripped him, milking him as orgasm overtook them both. He pumped inside of her, drowning in her heat. The scent of her blood and desire mingled in the air. Her virginity would come back every time they made love. He'd cause her this pain every time. He hated that, for her and for himself. He hated that she'd never know pleasure without pain as a preamble and that he'd be the one to cause her that pain, over and over again.

Bianca drew in a deep breath of air and released it in a cry of passion. The orgasm washed over her, sending her senses reeling, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, the sensation of pleasure ripped through her. Michael was there with her, lost to the waves of his release, filling her with the milky hot jets of his orgasm.

As pleasurable as the act was, and damn, it was good. Something was missing, their joy not completely at the apex of its zenith. She'd given him her body. He already owned her heart and soul. He had yet to possess her completely though. She tipped her head to the side, baring an expanse of pale, tender flesh. He was hardening inside of her. Instinctively, shifting his hips to press into her. Another wave of unfulfilled desire overtook her, as he drove his fangs into her neck, drinking her down, one mouthful at a time.

Michael moaned in pleasure and roared in absolute abandon as he took possession of his woman. Her tiny fangs found purchase in the meat of his neck. The knowledge that she was drinking from him, swallowing every bit of his essence, filled him with male pride. She marked him as hers just as absolutely as he'd marked her as his. They were joined, body and soul through flesh and blood. From this point on, his life was hers to do with what she would and hers was his. There was no more individual, just the pair of them, together, bound, forever.

Bianca dozed atop of a mound of soft pillows, embedded in the sleek warmth of her man and the smooth glide of satin sheets. At some point during their night together, they'd migrated to the privacy and intimate setting of her bedroom. She pushed her body up on the pillows and stared down at the perfection of Michael's chiseled features. She'd bound him to her and herself to him without as much as a twinge of doubt.

The world was an uncertain place. The future always changed, forever set in motion by a series of choices. Some made in the heat of passion. Some planned with careful forethought. Each choice affecting another, like dominoes toppling, when one fell, so did the rest.

She could give herself a hell of a headache, just thinking about the possible futures that stretched before them. Where would they live? What kinds of sacrifices and compromises would they have to make to be together? She had no answers. Neither did Michael. Only questions that time in the slow tick of the clock, would answer when it was damned good and ready.

Michael awoke, blinking awake to find Bianca staring at him, lost to her thoughts. He could hear the gentle whisper of her mind, blended in with the voices of his brothers. Her voice was a harmony to theirs. She complemented them and she completed him. He'd waited lifetimes to find her and now that he had her, his mate, the woman he'd always dreamed of and never expected to find. No matter what, he was never letting her go. "Love you."

Bianca smiled, a blissful curve on her lips. "Love you too."