Gates of Rapture (Guardians of Ascension 6)

He looked at her neck. He needed her blood, that much he knew, and he would take it … soon.

But he still wanted something more.

Using both his hands, he started at the top of her head, and in a long smooth gliding stroke swept down her body, caressing her neck, her shoulders, her arms, then back up the undersides of each to catch her ribs and rub down to her waist, her hips, the outsides of her thighs, her knees, her ankles, even her feet.

He savored doing it, but he also loved that he could feel the pleasure his touch gave her. Incredible.

He flipped her over. Ah, this was what he wanted. He wanted to take her from behind as he had that first time in the basement of his cabin. Now, however, he had control.

He caressed the back of her head, her wing-locks that were still moist, the mounds of her bu**ocks, which he kissed each in turn, then dragged his hands down the backs of her thighs, her knees, her heels. He stretched out on top of her, his c**k pressed between her legs. He felt her laugh—a giggle really, a warm sound.

How had this come to him, this banquet of sensation? How? He didn’t deserve Grace, not even a little bit. Yet she was here, with him, so completely, 100 percent. And she filled him, filled his soul and warmed him where he had been cold and dead, a metaphorical vampire, for how many decades, how many centuries?

He took her arms and spread them out, his own on top of hers. “Spread your legs,” he urged.

She spread them, and he did the same on top of hers.

“We’re flying.”

We certainly are, she sent. I’d say the words out loud, but they’d be muffled by the bed.

“Are you comfortable?”

She sighed so that his chest rose and fell with her. Very.

“I need to take you, Grace. This body, this state, has very definite needs. I need you in this position.”

Leto, you can have me in any position you want.

He shuddered. He let his legs fall between hers and—as he had done when she had first returned to Mortal Earth—he lifted her up so that she was on her hands and knees. He got behind her and made serious use of his tongue once more until she was groaning and pushing back into his face. Her meadow flavor streamed over his tongue.

He rose up and positioned himself at her opening. He held himself steady as she pushed back with her hips. He entered her an inch at a time, pressing into her, watching his c**k disappear and at the same time feeling what that was like for her. The dual sensations almost made him come, so he took a few deep breaths.

The rough time in the cellar had been amazing. But this was different, taking his time, watching his beast-sized body connect with hers as only a man can connect with a woman, his c**k being drawn into the well of her, into that place built for him.

When he reached the end, he took hold of her hips, kept her steady, and slowly drew back. He groaned the entire distance just as she groaned. He moved his h*ps back and forth, he arched his pelvis, he teased her as he drove in and out.

He paused and leaned down to reach her back. He licked the weeping wing-locks, as many as he could reach from his position. Each time his tongue swept over a lock, and took in her juices, her body shuddered and her h*ps twitched, which of course rolled a new sensation down his c**k and into his balls.

Sex had never been like this before.

“Take my blood, Leto,” she called to him, her voice hoarse. “I need you to take my blood.”

He almost lost it, hearing the words spoken aloud. To offer up one’s blood was a sacred gesture, the most loving, the most intimate. He licked over her neck, sustaining a slow drive into her body at the same time.

She rose up on one arm and swept her hair away from her neck. She had done the same thing the first time he’d taken her, and somehow that memory rushed forward—of how rough he’d been and how good it had felt—and his h*ps started to pummel her.

She was vampire-strong and stayed with him, so that when his lips found her neck and his fangs emerged, she held her head perfectly still. He struck, and the taste of her blood brought him in a sudden rush. He groaned and cried out as he sucked, the sounds garbled against her neck.

But he felt her grasp him and pull deep as she held her upper body still so that he could drink and shove himself into her and come and come and come.

* * *

Grace felt all this muscled warrior slamming into her and coming and sucking hard at her neck. She was hurting, but it was a good kind of hurt, and it seemed to intensify the sensation of her own orgasm as she held herself immobile. She screamed, long and loud, pleasure streaking through her like flames burning and shooting along every nerve.

Her body seemed so strangely fit for Leto in his beast-state, as though all previous encounters had been paltry. She felt alive, as she’d never felt alive before, as though he was beating new life into her with each heavy thrust. As though with each draw on her neck as he continued to drink, and continued to pulse into her, the act of giving of herself was strengthening all that she was.

The color blue rushed at her from all sides, enlivening her soul, enriching her heart, her thoughts. Her mind was swept with blue and more blue. She felt as though she could soar in this position, take to the skies, with Leto servicing her from behind and taking her blood, as though she could speed straight to the stars and explode into a fireball of blue light, as though she could take her place among the heavens as in the myths of old.

This was ecstasy, oh, yes, a blue heaven of ecstasy.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Greaves folded to the Seers Palace, straight to the pit. He needed another hard look into the immediate future so that he could plan his next moves, but what he found was a mess. He wasn’t generally given to profanity, but in this moment he let loose with a couple of very sincere, very descriptive words.

Stannett lay completely naked, his body crusted with red, pink, and white residue. Greaves approached his mind slowly and felt the man’s usual massive shields.

But Greaves wasn’t who he was for nothing. He shaped his mind into a missile and punched hard. He almost fell inside and found a wide sweeping vista of bliss and nothing, as though the man’s mind had been erased.

He didn’t think that was possible, so he began to prod around and found the remnants of more orgasms than a man should ever have. Stannett was in some kind of sexual coma and of no use at all.

All six powerful Seers were dead on either side of him.

Greaves grunted his displeasure. Stannett was one of the most gifted men, the most preternaturally powerful men, he’d ever known. But he had an addict’s psyche and would always let his need for mental relief outweigh his rational mind. Stannett had recently forfeited a perfectly elegant setup at the Superstition Mountains Seers Fortress, not because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, but because he couldn’t make sufficient use of his rational mind to keep his schemes on the down-low.