Eternal by V. Forrest (new reading TXT) 📗

“Bedroom?” he whispered in her ear.

“I don’t need a bed, Romeo.” She tugged at the buckle of his belt.

“Sure you do.” He rose off the couch, taking her hand in his. “You going to show me which way or did you want me to carry you?”

“You wouldn’t.”

He leaned over the couch, arms open as if he was going to lift her and she jumped up off the couch and led him down the dark hall, wearing nothing but her panties. A soft glow of light came from the bathroom, but her bedroom was dark. At the bed, he kissed her, long and hard, the way she liked to be kissed, and then they fell onto the bed.

She found herself laughing, although why, she didn’t know. She didn’t remember sex ever being this much fun.

Again, her hand found his belt buckle and this time he let her have her way with him. Pants, shirt, socks off. Nothing left but the boxer briefs that were straining under the pressure of his erection.

Fia rolled on top of him, rotating her hips, pleasuring herself and him at the same time. They kissed again and then he rolled her over so that he was on top. Somehow, in the process, he lost the briefs.

“Oh, so you’re one of those.”

He held himself up with one arm and tenderly brushed hair off her cheek. “One of those?”

She lifted her hips to press them against his. “One of those men who always needs to be on top.”

He kissed her lightly on the lips. “You one of those women who always needs to be on top?”

He made her smile. “No…” Then she had to laugh when she thought about it. “Okay, I guess maybe sometimes I am.”

His hips were moving against hers rhythmically, making it hard for her to think about what she was saying.

“But I’m doing okay…at least for now? Me on top.”

She closed her eyes, letting the waves of pleasure wash over her. “Okay for now,” she agreed.

He reached down with his hand and she instinctively parted her legs, lifting upward to meet his first thrust.

Fia didn’t know how long they made love. Ten minutes? An hour? Time became elastic. No past. No future. Just the now. Glen was incredible. Stamina. The right balance of tenderness and pure lust. She had three orgasms and fell asleep in his arms.

It was the first time she had slept with a man through the night in more than a hundred years.

A week later, Fia and Glen wound up at the same pub they had met in the day he came to town. One drink and she was ready to go home and hit the sack with him. But he insisted on dinner and conversation.

“My idea of foreplay,” Glen whispered in her ear as they were shown to a table under the windows.

She gave his jacket a tug.

At the table, he ordered the house pale ale; she ordered her tonic and lime. She had no intentions of letting anything get between her and the orgasms she intended to have tonight. Glen was an amazing lover. Nothing like the man she knew in an investigation. Once between the sheets, his calm, calculating demeanor was gone. He was spontaneous, adventurous, eager to please, all the things she wanted in a lover. And the funny thing was, the sex, the closeness afterwards, was enough for her. She didn’t need his blood. Didn’t really want it.

While they waited for their drinks, he slid his hand across the table, taking hers. He was so cute. It was like a real date, only better because she knew they were going to end up in her bed later and it would be good.

She couldn’t stop smiling. She felt like a dunce. As if she was fourteen again and just awakening to her sexuality. She thought about him when she was in the shower, driving to work, at work. Her obsession had fallen just short of doodling their names in the margins of her notes with a big heart around them. This week had been a real reminder of what Kaleigh and the other teens in Clare Point had to be going through right now.

The waiter brought their drinks, took their order. Glen wanted chicken Monterey, she, a steak, rare. The minute the waiter was gone, he reached for her hand again.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said.

“Do what?” He squeezed her hand.

“This. Dinner. Buying me drinks. Dessert. Holding my hand. I’m already having sex with you. I don’t need to be bribed.”

“So maybe I need it. Maybe I need to be wined and dined before I have sex with you.”

She frowned, not sure how serious he was being.

Still holding her hand, he leaned forward. “You already know about my previous failed attempt to find love and happiness, but I don’t know anything about yours. Good looking, hot six-footer like yourself, you can’t tell me you haven’t been in any relationships.”

She looked away. They were sitting at a window that opened onto the street, but it was already dark out. All she could see were the flares of headlights as cars passed on the busy street.

“You don’t want to hear my sad tale.”

He leaned over the table bringing her hand to his lips. It was so silly. So 1940s-romance-movie. So stinking cute.

“I do want to hear your sad tale. I want to know why you’re so cautious.”

“It’s the way we FBI agents keep from getting our heads blown off,” she quipped.

“I mean, with your heart,” he said quietly.

So he was serious. He really did want something out of her besides sex. She glanced out the window again and shrugged. “I told you before. Ian. Remember? Not that complicated a story. I fell in love. He said he loved me. I believed him.” But as she spoke, the car headlights on the street turned to burning torches and she closed her eyes for just an instant.

Ian had asked her to marry him. She had told him