The Crossing (Immortals) (12 page)

If Mac weren't immortal, he'd have thought he'd died and
gone to heaven.

Artemis, bare-chested, on her knees, her lips full and
wet, was an absolute dream. One he sure as bloody hell
wasn't in a hurry to wake up from. Had he thought her not
much of a looker? He was rapidly revising that opinion.
She was perfect. He itched to touch her smooth olive skin
and her perfectly shaped breasts. Take her peaked nipples
into his mouth.

She rose to her feet. His eyes followed the movement.
With fluid grace, she braced her hands on his chair's armrests and leaned forward, breasts swaying. He waited for
her next move in delicious anticipation. Artemis was so
very much more than any woman he'd been with in a very
long time. She had the rare ability to surprise him. He
hadn't realized until just this moment how much he
needed that.

Dipping her head, she planted a brief kiss on his lips.
But when he reached for her, she murmured, "No" and
moved back. Her fingers went to her waist, slipping the
button of her jeans. Mac watched with riveted focus as
denim slid over lean, tanned legs.

She wasn't wearing any knickers.

He sucked in a breath. Her hips and belly, gently
rounded with just the right amount of flesh, beckoned with a seductive sway. The triangle of curls between her
thighs matched the hair on her head-velvet night, tinted
with unexpected gold. The sweet scent of her arousal sent
his lust spiraling. But it was her magic that inflamed him
most of all. That mysterious balance of light and dark.

He all but fell out of his chair in his haste to get his
hands on her. On his knees, he gripped her hips and
canted her forward, pulling her off balance. He liked her
off balance, he decided. She gave a small, incredibly sexy
cry, her legs tensing, her hands grasping at his shoulders.

"Don't worry, love. I won't let you fall."

The enticing hollow of her navel beckoned. He bent to
kiss it. Lust throbbed through his body, hardening him as
it hadn't in over a year. He was insane to want this witch so
badly. She practiced death magic, and Sidhe abhorred
death magic. It should have been the ultimate turn-off.

It wasn't. Rather than repel, Artemis's magic fascinated.
It called to the slice of darkness embedded in his soul.
Beautiful, strong, and deadly, her dark/light powers glistened like the edge of a finely honed blade. Death and life,
perfectly balanced. Coaxing. Tempting. Luring him to
places he would not have considered going only a year
before.

Her trembling fingers sifted through his hair, blessedly
scattering his thoughts. She held him as his tongue swirled
in her navel. Fingernails dug into his scalp as he licked a
wet line downward. He filled his hands with her generous
arse, urging her legs apart. He nuzzled her curls, drank in
her scent.

He nipped at the sweet spot hidden in her soft nether
curls. She made a beautiful, helpless sound in the back of
her throat. He stroked from her buttocks to the backs of
her thighs, lifting and parting her legs. His breath was
coming heavily now; so was hers. He ducked his head farther and parted her honey-sweet folds with his tongue. She gripped him hard. Her nails dug so deeply into his scalp
he wondered if she'd drawn blood.

"You don't have to worry about getting me pregnant,"
she gasped out. "I'm on the pill."

He nearly laughed out loud. For all her magical sophistication, Artemis was woefully ignorant if she thought any
pill could control his fertility. Mundane birth control was
extraneous-no seed would take root in her body unless
he wished it. And no human barrier to conception could
protect Artemis if he wished to impregnate her.

An image of Artemis, belly swollen with his child, flashed
through his mind. He was appalled at how appealing the
notion was. True, her magic was incredibly strong. Equally
true, she turned him on like nobody's business. But she was
also a thief, a liar, and a death-magic practitioner. Not exactly the kind of mother he'd wish for his child.

Even so, he was more than ready for mating; his cock
was pounding so violently he thought he might explode
before he even got inside her. That wouldn't be very godlike at all. In fact, his divine pride might never recover
from such an indignity.

Best to consummate this act quickly. He was half lying
on the rug already; rolling completely onto his back, he
started to lift her atop him.

Artemis gasped, shoving against his chest. "No... No,
Mac, stop-"

His grip on her hips tightened; she struggled harder,
pushing him away. Blood pounded in his head, and something dark and ugly in his soul roared to life. Stop? How
dare she back off now, after bringing him this far along?

When he spoke, there was a dangerous edge to his tone
he hardly recognized. "Not thinking of changing your
mind, are you, love?"

His fingers clenched, pressing muscle and bone. She
gave a small cry of distress. "No! No, of course I'm not changing my mind. Please, Mac. Let go. You're... hurting me."

She wasn't being coy. She'd gone rigid. He stared at his
hands, clamped on her hips. With very little effort, he
could snap her pelvis in two.

Sickened he'd come so close to losing control, he forced
his fingers to relax. Angry red marks marred her skin;
she'd bruise, certainly. Gods in Annwyn. What had come
over him?

But if Artemis was offended, she hid it well. Still suspended over his body, she ran a hand down his stomach,
ending with her fingers wrapped around his rod. His hips
jerked off the floor.

She sounded breathless. "You misunderstood, Mac. I
didn't mean I want to stop completely. I just want to take
this to your bed. It'll be a lot more comfortable than
the floor."

She punctuated her request with a squeeze, in just the
right place and with just the right amount of pressure. Sheer
relief roared through him.

"Anything for a lady" he gasped.

He stood, lifting her in his arms as he rose. She hadn't
expected that; she yelped and clutched at his neck. Her
naked arms and legs, all smoothness and warmth, wrapped
his torso. His fingers slipped between her legs and stroked
slick wetness.

She buried her head in his chest and moaned. "Hurry,
Mac."

He wasn't inclined to argue. He strode into the bedroom and tossed her into the middle of his bed. She
bounced once, enfolded in the soft puff of the quilt. A
shrug of his shoulders sent his dressing gown slithering to
the floor. Naked, ravenous as a predator, he crawled to her
on all fours. If she was his prey, she was a willing victim.
Her hands ran over his back, urging him closer. Her legs
parted, welcoming.

Her magic shimmered around her, dark and light and
mysterious. He wanted to delve into it, discover its secrets.
Discover her secrets. He was sure she had many. He was
equally sure there were some he would not like. Far from
giving him pause, the thought only inflamed the small
dark void in his soul.

She stretched her arms overhead; her legs wrapped
around his hips. His head lightened; his groin went heavy.
He pressed her thighs farther apart, stroking a finger
through her lush wet femininity.

She twisted and moaned, her hips arching, following his
hand. "Now, Mac. Please."

"Take it easy, love. I want this to be good."

Her grip tightened on his shoulders. "It is good. It's fantastic. Gods. I want you inside me."

He grinned, his fingers still teasing. The play of emotion on her face held him entranced.

"Not yet," he murmured. "I'm having too much fun."

He stroked a sweet spot. Her hips came off the mattress, her reply lost in a breathy moan. Intense satisfaction
heated his blood. He walked his fingers to her navel and
circled the tantalizing indentation. She whimpered, her
breath reduced to short, sharp pants. He'd never seen anything so lovely as her dark, pleasure-hazed eyes.

"You... have this... kind of fun... on a... regular
basis?"

"Not as regular as you might think, love." He nuzzled
between her breasts.

"I can't... believe that. What about... all those girls...
following you?"

If she could talk this coherently, he wasn't doing his job.
He slipped a finger inside her and was rewarded with a
moan. "Those lasses are far too young for me."

"There... have to be... older ones."

Would she never cease talking? This babble had to stop.
It was quickly becoming a matter of pride. He swooped down and captured one deliciously hard nipple in his
mouth, first scraping it with his teeth, then drawing it
firmly into his mouth and suckling. At the same time, he
slipped a second finger inside her and pressed, finding another, deeper, sweeter spot. She gasped and arched,
squirming against his hand, all speech forgotten.

There. That was more like it.

Yet for some reason, he found himself answering her
query. "There are older women. I take what they offer often enough. I'm half Sidhe, after all."

Her hands roamed his sweat-slickened body, leaving
perfect, impossible magic glimmering on his skin. It felt
good. Incredibly good. He was struck with the urge to
purr, like a big cat.

"Ah yes," she said. "And Sidhe are insatiable."

"Speaking from experience, are you?" His words were
light, but his hand stilled. The thought of Artemis making
love with another Sidhe ignited a dark, heated rage.

"I've never slept with a Sidhe. But I've heard the stories.
Everyone has."

He lifted his head and looked at her. "As I said, I'm only
half Sidhe."

"I don't suppose a god has any problems getting a date,
either."

He laughed. "You're right about that, love. Hang on.
You're in for a wild ride."

He nipped at the upper swell of her breast. Licked a line
along her collarbone. Caught her earlobe with his teeth.
Then he covered her mouth in a lush, openmouthed kiss.

She responded like fire before a hot wind, wrapping her
arms and legs around him, molding her body to his. He
filled his hands with her, his palms gliding over her soft
skin. But when she tilted her hips, encouraging him to enter, he held himself just out of reach. When she reached
between them, trying to take control, he caught her wrists and stretched her arms over her head, anchoring them to
the mattress.

"I want to touch you," she panted.

"Not your turn, love."

He caught her protest with his mouth, chuckling as she
twisted and turned, trying to escape his hold. He transferred both her wrists to one hand, leaving the other free
to touch her breasts. All the while, he nibbled along her
bottom lip, rained kisses over her nose and cheeks and
eyelids. His tongue completed a leisurely exploration of
her right ear while his thumb and forefinger plucked and
rolled her nipples into hard, exquisite pebbles.

She shuddered and writhed, her legs clamped around his
hips. Her eyes were closed, her wild curls framing her
flushed face. It was all he could do not to give in to her pleas
and plunge into her wet heat. But he wasn't ready. Not yet.

First he wanted to see her shatter.

He shifted, allowing her arms to move, but only so he
could pin her wrists in a different place, against the mattress on either side of her hips as he drew her hardened
nipple into his mouth, suckling hard, then scraping it with
his teeth.

"Oh gods." She could barely utter the words. "What are
you doing to me?"

"Can't you tell, love? No? I'll just have to do it again."
He turned his attention to the other breast.

"But-" Gasp. "I... we..." Gasp. "Make. Love. Now."

"I am making love to you."

"Not... what I mean."

He scraped his teeth across her belly, working his way
down her body. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk
too much in bed?"

She uttered a sound that might have been a laugh.
"Sometimes."

He frowned. "Do you have a lover? Currently, I mean?"

"You mean... besides you?"

"Very funny, love."

"No. No, I don't." She swallowed hard as his breath
bathed the inside of her thigh.

"Don't worry. It's like riding the London Undergroundyou never forget how. Now, love, try not to talk for a
while. I'm going to be too busy to keep up my end of the
conversation."

His tongue slid into her sweet folds. He feasted there,
dipping and delving deep inside, then drawing back and
suckling. Artemis made a mewing sound, like a kitten. He
moved her hands to the insides of her own knees and used
them to push her legs apart. The sight was incredibly erotic.

Gods, he wanted her. She was sobbing now. Begging for
him to come inside her. She was so close to coming. Lust
beating an insane, demanding tattoo in his groin, he
moved over her. He positioned himself at the glistening
entrance to her body, and with one swift, deep thrust,
united them.

She cried out, her brilliant light/dark magic igniting
around him. Inside him. Gods in Annwyn. It felt so damn
good. He slid his palm under her arse and tilted her hips.
His next stroke hit harder, loosening another sweet moan
from her throat. Her legs came up, anchoring around his
hips, holding him deep inside.

He started a pounding, unyielding rhythm, music to his
soul. He caught her on the high plateau of her climax,
then urged her higher still. His magic shimmered and
flowed with hers, joining, sharing. Her breath came in
small, glorious pants.

He slid deep, then withdrew almost completely. "Come
for me, love."

She shook her head wildly. "No. I can't-"

"That," he said, plunging deep, "is the most ridiculous
statement I've ever heard from a woman." He nipped at
her neck. "Remember who you're with, love."

She gulped for air. "As if I could forget."

He smiled as he moved inside her, enjoying the feel of
possessing her. She was tight, hot, slick. On the verge of
shattering, if his calculations were right. And they were.
He'd spent nearly seven centuries perfecting his sexual
technique. He was never wrong about such things.