Forbidden Embers Read online

  Pissed off, out of sorts, and so aroused that breathing had become an Olympic event, he fisted his hand around his cock and willed Cecily to let him in just a little more.

  She was twitchy. There was no other word for it. She’d been home for nearly three hours and despite being exhausted, she couldn’t settle. Instead, she prowled through the house, her eyes focused on the blackness of the night beyond the huge picture windows her father had put in years before.

  She wanted to be out there, racing through the cool darkness as the wind wound itself around her body.

  She wanted to relax, to let go of the control that had stifled her for so long, and just be.

  She wanted . . . she wanted Logan. She wanted to be back in the mountains with him, holding him again. Kissing him.

  What was wrong with her? She’d dated men before, had kissed a number of them, but none of them had left her feeling like this. Like her skin was too tight and her blood was too hot and every other part of her body was screaming for relief.

  Unable to take being cooped up in the house one second longer, she threw open the back doors and walked out to the patio. Immediately, a cool wind brushed against her, but instead of relieving the heat that was burning her from the inside out, it just stoked it. Made it worse, until she could barely think.

  Why had she walked away from Logan that afternoon, when it had been obvious that he would have been more than happy to give her what her body was begging for? She didn’t prize her virginity, didn’t plan on using it to bargain for power or position, as her father had always planned to do.

  So why hadn’t she followed through with what both of them wanted? Sex wasn’t a big deal to most shifters—or, at least, not that she could tell. With their animal natures, it was just one more need to assuage, one more itch to scratch.

  Annoyed and achy, she flopped down on one of the big chaise longues that overlooked the pool and tried to concentrate on something, anything, besides the emptiness she felt inside her.

  It didn’t work.

  She glanced up at the sky, at the stars that were specks of gold and silver against the blanket of night, and thought of Logan. What it had felt like to be touched by him, held by him, kissed by him.

  It had been hours, and her lips still felt swollen and well used. She’d never been kissed like that before, like a man was ravenous, starving for her.

  And not just any man, but Logan.

  Let me in, Cecily. Let me touch you.

  The voice came out of the night and into her head so naturally that it felt like it had always been there. Though she knew it was only fantasy, knew her lonely mind was conjuring up the contact, she reveled in it. Wrapped it around herself as she closed her eyes, stretched out on the lounger, and let the sound of his voice—of her fantasy—spread through her.

  That’s it, A stor. His voice was as rich and delicious as the caramel syrup she put in her coffee every morning. It burrowed inside her, lit her up from the inside out. Just relax.

  She almost laughed. She was so wound up, so needy, that relaxing was out of the question.

  But she needed Logan, needed something if she couldn’t have him.

  Then take it, the voice in the back of her head said. Take what you need. I want to pleasure you.

  She gasped at the words, at the realness of the fantasy she was building for herself. Reaching up, she stroked her fingers lightly—so lightly—over her forehead, down her temple, across the bridge of her nose before sliding them down her cheek and pausing at her mouth.

  She parted her lips, sucked her finger a little inside. Imagined it was his again and he was staring at her with that narrowed, intense amber gaze. Just the thought of his look—so wicked, wild—had her back arching, her breasts aching until she thought she would go crazy.

  Touch them, then. There was that voice again—his voice—encouraging her to take what she so desperately wanted. Lift up your shirt, A Ghra, and feel yourself. Run your hands over those beautiful breasts.

  She did as her fantasy lover asked—as Logan asked—and slid her hands beneath her shirt and cupped the heavy weight of her breasts. Then nearly whimpered at the relief of it, at the feel of her flesh, firm and resilient beneath her palm and fingers.

  Her fantasy lover groaned a little and the sound shot straight to her sex, made the hurt and the heat just a little bit worse.

  Fuck, you’re so goddamn sexy, her lover told her in a low, gravelly voice, and she nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of her own imagination. She’d never been called sexy a day in her life, had never had a man look at her as anything more than Princess Cecily. The fact that her fantasy lover told her what she’d always wanted to hear spoke so much louder than his words. But, then again, that was kind of the point of creating a fantasy in her own head, wasn’t it? He could say or do whatever she wanted him to.

  Right now, if you don’t get back to it, I’m going to throw you across my lap and spank you until you scream for relief, the dark voice in her head bit out.

  Fire spiraled through her at the image, and she started to obey him. But something stopped her, some part of her that she hadn’t known existed before tonight. She waited, breath held, to see what her lover would do.

  So it’s going to be like that, is it? For one brief moment, she swore she could feel his hands on her.

  His fingers gripping the back of her neck in a sign of painless but obvious dominance.

  His body resting above hers, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against her bare stomach.

  His mouth sucking roughly on her nipples, bringing them to hard, painful points.

  She moaned, trembled, and he laughed—low and hot. She felt his hands brush over the skin of her abdomen and she spread her legs, whimpered. But the tangible aspect of him was gone as suddenly as it had come. Only his voice was left.

  I love the feel of your skin, Cecily. So soft and creamy, like the petals of a flower just on the brink of opening. Touch it for me again, he whispered. Touch your breasts and those cherry red nipples I swear I’ll never get enough of.

  Aroused, out of control, desperate for the feel of his mouth on her again, she never even thought to disobey. She brought her hands to her breasts again, kneaded them slowly, softly, then harder as pleasure streaked through her like lightning.

  Touch your nipples, he told her again. Brush your fingers against one and then the other.

  She did as he asked and felt sweat bloom on her skin, despite the coolness of the evening.

  Good girl. Now do it harder. Pinch them; play with them. Imagine my mouth is on you, licking and sucking and tasting you.

  She whimpered—she couldn’t help herself. The picture he had painted was so real, so devastating, so arousing that she was swept up in it. Swept away by it even as she obeyed him.

  Oh, God, she moaned inside her own head. Logan—

  Do you like that? he demanded.

  She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer; she was too caught up in the sensations cascading through her body. Though all she was touching were her breasts, she could feel the sparks streaking through her from her breasts to her stomach to her sex.

  Answer me, he barked. Tell me what you’re feeling.

  Her cheeks flushed at the order, embarrassment sweeping through her. What was she supposed to say—that she felt empty, aching? That she could barely keep herself still when every instinct she had screamed that she needed to be filled.

  Yes! Fuck, yes. If that’s what you’re feeling, say exactly that. Tell me.

  I already did, she wailed.

  Tell me again. His voice was deeper, shadowy and brooked no disobedience. For a second, she wondered about this fantasy, about the dominance and darkness of it. It was so different from anything she had ever experienced before, anything she had ever thought she wanted.

  You don’t like it? her fantasy lover asked. I can go.

  No! She all but screamed the objection. Don’t leave me.

  I’m not going anywhere. She could almo
st see his fallen-angel smile. I just needed you to know it, too. Now tell me what you’re feeling.

  I need more. It feels like I’m being ripped apart from the inside. I need . . . I need—

  What do you need, Cecily? Tell me. His voice snapped like a whip across her consciousness, stoking the flames even higher.

  I need you! she wailed.

  Where do you need me? On your breasts? For one, hot second she felt his teeth on her nipple. She clutched at him, tried to keep him there, but came away with only air.

  In your mouth? He was there, his tongue thrusting past her lips and tangling with her own.

  Or do you need me lower?

  His lips skimmed down her neck to her shoulder. Then it felt like he was beside her, his lips trailing sweet, hot kisses down her shoulder to her hip. She was trembling with the overwhelming pleasure of his touch, shaking apart from it.

  Do you need me here? he asked.

  She gasped, barely able to hold back a scream as his finger slipped beneath her and circled her anus before slipping inside.

  She clenched around him as threads of pleasure shot through her in all directions. What he was doing was wicked, was nothing she had ever imagined before. But the feel of it, the sensations, were incredible. Unbelievable. Like nothing she had ever dreamed existed.

  Is this what you want, sweet Cecily? he demanded, and his voice was a growl, barely recognizable now. Or do you want more?

  More? There’s more?

  Oh, A stor, there’s always more. And then he was between her legs, his mouth on her hot, wet sex.

  She did scream then, arching and struggling against a pleasure so overwhelming that she was certain she would shatter at any moment. She started to cry, great sobs shaking her body as her fantasy lover—as Logan—took her higher and higher.

  Baby? Cecily? Are you okay? For the first time since this whole, crazy roller-coaster ride had started, he sounded uncertain. Do you want me to stop? The pressure and pleasure eased, but its absence only made her crazier.

  No! No, no, no. Don’t stop. Please— She thrashed against the chaise, arched and trembled and begged. In those moments, nothing mattered but him and the pleasure—the incredible, overwhelming pleasure—that he could bring to her.

  Are we there already, A Ghra?

  Yes! Oh, God, yes! she answered him, desperate for some relief from the agony and the ecstasy of her arousal.

  All right, then. He lowered his mouth to her again, thrust his tongue deep inside her sex, and she went insane, bucking and twisting and pleading with him for more. For everything.

  One of his hands came down on her abdomen, held her in place as his tongue stroked her from the inside. Once, twice, then again and again before he pulled out.

  No! She clutched at his hair, held him in place. Please—

  But she’d misunderstood. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was just readjusting, changing position.

  Suddenly she was on her knees, facing the tall back of the lounger and he was lying beneath her, one hand on her hip and the other on her ass as he sucked and licked and nibbled his way from the bottom of her pussy to her clit.

  She screamed when he touched the little button for the first time, her hands clenching the chair as she rocked against his chin, his mouth, his nose. Logan, Logan, Logan. It was a chant, a mantra, a prayer. The only word she could hang on to in the crazy maelstrom of pleasure that surrounded her.

  Wave after wave of ecstasy swept through her, took her away, as orgasm hit—huge and wild and totally overwhelming. It enveloped her totally, swamped her, and still he didn’t stop. Still, his tongue fluttered and circled her clit. Still, his finger flexed inside her.

  The pleasure was insane, all-consuming, and it went on and on and on, one orgasm running into another until she was blind and deaf and dumb with it. Until her body had dropped away and she was nothing but pure, absolute sensation. And still he didn’t stop.

  No more! she gasped finally. I can’t take it—

  You’ll take it, he growled. I need more. I need everything. He pulled her clit between his teeth and bit down softly.

  Logan! Her body convulsed again, harder than it ever had before, and suddenly it wasn’t enough. She wanted to pleasure him, as well, wanted him to feel just a little bit of what she was experiencing.

  Believe me, A stor, I feel it. Touching you brings me more pleasure than—

  She took one hand off the chair she’d been gripping, reached behind her and rubbed him through the thick fabric of his jeans. He groaned, thrust against her palm, and then he was naked, his cock hot and hard and satiny against her palm.

  She wanted to take her time, to explore him—even if it was just a fantasy—but his mouth was still on her, his tongue fluttering against her clit and her labia before thrusting inside her.

  She cried out as another orgasm hit, her hand sliding up and down his cock as she thrust herself against his mouth.

  Fuck, damn, shit. A stor, you can’t—His hand came over hers, started to unwind her fingers, but she whimpered and tightened her grip. Not enough to cause him pain, she hoped, but enough to let him know she wasn’t giving up.

  He didn’t take much convincing. Suddenly, his hand was moving over hers, lifting and lowering her palm and fingers on his cock as he taught her what he liked and how to pleasure him.

  She was leaning back now, her back arched, her thighs trembling a little with the strain. She started to move so that she could pleasure him better, but his hand came back to her hip, held her in place directly over his mouth. One flick of his talented tongue and she was coming again, spiraling out into the night, head over heels, floating, floating, floating . . .

  But then it didn’t matter because he was coming, too, his big body jerking beneath her as he spurted, warm and wet and silky, against her hand.

  When Logan came back to himself, he was standing thigh deep in the lake, his hand fisted around his dick and the remnants of a powerful orgasm still working their way through him.

  What the hell was that? he wondered when he could finally think again. What the hell had just happened? One minute he’d been thinking about fucking Cecily, and the next minute he’d been right there, his mouth on her breasts and his dick aching for relief.

  He’d made love to women with his mind before—hell, he had to get what joy he could out of this gift. But never one he had not already been with in reality. And never had it been as powerful, as earth-shattering, as what he had just experienced.

  After quickly rinsing himself off in the lake, he climbed out and reached for a towel. As he settled onto his sleeping bag—he hadn’t bothered to set up the tent—he stared up at the myriad stars that were just as bright here as they were back in New Mexico. He wondered if Cecily was looking up at the same stars right now, and if she was, if she was thinking of him as he was thinking of her.

  A quick mental zap against the barriers he’d hastily erected told him that she was, indeed, doing the same thing he was doing. Which left only one question: what the hell had he gotten himself into?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Cecily came awake slowly, shocked to find herself lying outside by the pool, her nightgown around her waist. Memories of the night before—of her fantasies about Logan—bombarded her, and she sat up, hastily yanking her gown back into place.

  What came over me? she wondered, pressing cold hands to her suddenly hot cheeks. She’d masturbated before—she was more than forty, a shifter and untouched, which pretty much made masturbation a requirement, especially when her dragon’s hormones got the best of her—but never had she experienced anything like what had happened last night. Never had her fantasies felt so real. Never had her imagined lover felt so hot and hard and ready.

  A picture of Logan rose in her mind, his eyes glowing with sex and need and pure, unadulterated wickedness. An arrow of heat shot through her and she nearly came again, just sitting there imagining all the things he had done to her body last night.

  In my dreams, she rem
inded herself as she climbed shakily to her feet. In my fantasies. None of what had happened last night had been real, no matter how it had felt at the time. She needed to remember that. As it was, she wasn’t sure how she was ever going to face him again.

  When she’d left him yesterday, she had told him she would return. After the way he’d kissed her—and after what her mind had conjured up the night before—she was more than eager to do just that. But at the same time, she was embarrassed by her imagination, shocked by the creativity and reality of her own fantasies. What would Logan think of her if he knew what thoughts she’d been having about him? Would he like her fantasies or be disgusted by them? Last night had been raunchy and raw and more graphic than any fantasy she’d had before. In the light of day, it shocked even her. How could he fail to feel any differently?

  And yet I want to find out, she realized as she walked into the house and straight for a hot shower. She wanted to know if the reality of Logan would live up to her fantasies, or if she was just setting herself up for disappointment. He was the first man she’d ever fantasized about. Usually, her dream lovers were shadowed, faceless men who pleasured her but whom she could never quite connect with.

  Last night, she couldn’t have been more connected with her fantasy than if they had been handcuffed together. The thought brought on a whole new kind of heat, and Cecily nearly died. What was wrong with her? Why was she suddenly thinking and behaving like a sex-crazed fiend? And why wasn’t she more upset by the fact that she had masturbated in the middle of her backyard, where any dragon flying by could have seen her?

  Who was this woman she was becoming, and what had happened to the old Cecily, the little mouse who hid in her father’s mansion and never dared to make waves?

  A glance in the mirror told her she even looked different after last night. Her eyes were wide and glowing, her mouth swollen, her skin flushed a rosy, satisfied pink. Her nipples were standing at attention, stiff and tight beneath the thin cotton of her nightgown, and her muscles felt weak and achy, like they did after she’d overtaxed them with a particularly long flight.