Xavier's Desire (Dragons Of Sin City Book 3) Page 53

  Hava submitted to him, allowing his hands to move patiently over her body, removing each article of clothing until she lay bare in front of him. She felt herself trembling with nearly uncontrollable desire, a need that far surpassed the time she had known him to a connection that she couldn't understand but craved.

  He gazed down at her admiringly, seeming to take in all of her before pushing back off the end of the bed to stand over her. She watched him kick off his black boots and bring his hands to the front of his belt.

  "Your hair," she whispered and he paused, "Take your hair down."

  He complied, releasing his hair from its tie and letting it tumble down around his shoulders. Hava bit her bottom lip, wriggling her hips against the bed as she sought relief from the incredible pressure building between her thighs.

  Makhahr continued undressing, releasing the sexy studded belt and unbuttoning the buttons along the fly on his pants. As soon as he eased his pants down his hips, she knew what he meant by more powerful. She gasped at the sight of him and felt her mouth water. Rather than intimidated by his sheer size, she was even more aroused. Her body readied for him with a wash of hot slickness and she opened her arms as he crawled up onto the bed.

  Gathering him in her arms, Hava let him part her thighs and pull her pelvis up so that the tip of his erection massaged her. The delicious feeling flowed through her and her head dropped back against the pillows. He continued to rub against her, nurturing her and bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

  His hand smoothed along the inside of her thigh and down the juncture between her hip and leg so that he could touch her. As soon as his fingers traced through her folds, she heard him groan.

  "You are so wet," he murmured.

  Hava's body squeezed at the pure, unfettered eroticism of the words and heard a whimper escape her own lips.

  "Are you ready for me?" he whispered.

  Hava nodded.

  "Yes."

  The tip of his shaft replaced his fingers at her opening and she felt him gradually sink into her. He eased forward slowly and cautiously, and she gasped as her body stretched to hold him. The feeling was intense, but wonderful as he filled her completely.

  "Relax," he said softly and she willed her muscles to soften and accept even more of him.

  As her body eased, she felt him start to move. He rolled his hips, sinking deeper into her with each stroke until she finally felt his hipbones touch hers. His hands gripped her butt and she felt him hold her in place as he thrust, putting himself at an angle that caused her to cry out each time the tip of his erection hit the deeply pleasurable place inside her.

  Hava buried her fingers in his hair and stared into his eyes as he increased his pace. His sounds began to build and she felt the pressure tightening within her body until suddenly it crashed, contracting around him and then dissolving into a series of tremors that took her breath away. As her body milked him, she felt him swell and harden even further until he threw his head back and let out a roar, spilling into her with each throb deep inside her.

  When the most intense waves of their climaxes slowed and quieted, Makhahr lowered himself beside her and tucked his head onto her shoulder so that he could rest a kiss to her neck. She cuddled against him, letting his warmth surround her and lull her into a deep, restful sleep.

  ****

  The next morning Hava and Makhahr sat beside each other at the same long table as the night before. She held his hand in both of hers and rested it on her lap, finding comfort in him being so close to her. He had tied his hair back and wore his mask again, but now Hava found the intense, dominant effect even sexier.

  "We will send the warriors back and let them deal with the rogues there."

  "That is too dangerous. What if the battle is more severe than we anticipate and critical lives are lost? Ben has not been able to figure out why the people who have fallen have no hearts when he autopsies them. If we do not understand their attack methods, how are we to fight them?"

  "We are running out of time. They have positioned themselves at just 24 hours from the vote. By now they have likely noticed your absence, gentlemen. It is important that you return at the proper time."

  Hava listened to the men for several minutes before she realized that two were missing.

  "Where are Jake and Josh?" she asked, suddenly feeling frantic.

  "We unlocked a portal that opens in a different location close in time to the one you used to get here. We have returned them home."

  "You sent them back? Without letting me know?"

  "Would you have left?" Makhahr asked quietly and she turned to look at him.

  "No," she answered truthfully, "but I would like to have said goodbye." She gazed into his eyes and something that he had said the night before flashed through her mind again, "If they were able to go back, I think I might know how to end this without losing any lives."

  "What do you have in mind?" the man across the table from her asked.

  "I will need to go with you when you go back to the point in time where they are."

  "It is too dangerous."

  "It may be the only way. Bring me with you and I will explain everything then."

  Hava felt like her lungs were collapsing and she fought to breathe. The air around her burned when she drew it in and the sounds were loud enough that she felt like they were ricocheting in her head, drowning out her own thoughts. She pressed against the stone wall in the alley, focusing on the cobblestones of the street beside her so that she could force herself to acclimate.

  1776 Philadelphia was louder, faster, and more aggressive than she could have imagined. She could feel the stirrings of Revolution in the air and the tension of families and friends torn apart by a singular, critical question of loyalty versus independence.

  "When will the Declaration be finished?"

  "Tonight. The men have all returned to their positions and will follow through with the pattern as we know it. It is our job to protect them and ensure that they get the document completed and distributed. As soon as it is read, the pattern is set and the rogues are destroyed."

  "I need a piece of parchment."

  Makhahr gave her a quizzical look.

  "Why?"

  "Please just trust me."

  He nodded and they crept down the alley toward a backdoor that led them into a room near where the men were meeting. She could hear a heated argument and caught familiar phrases. They were piecing together the Declaration, stitching the words carefully to create a document that would change the course of history.

  She found a piece of clean parchment and a pencil and jotted a quick note on the back. When she was finished, she handed it to Makhahr.

  "Make sure that this is the piece of parchment that they have the official copy transcribed on. Meet me outside in ten minutes."

  She touched a quick kiss to his lips and ducked back outside, stepping out into the oppressive heat of a July afternoon. They had told her how to recognize the rogues and she scanned the people who passed by carefully. None seemed to notice her, almost as though she were so out of place that they simply didn't register that she was there. Finally, she noticed one of the rogues and began to follow him.

  Hava stepped up close behind him, letting images of Makhahr temper the fear that was building inside her, and started to murmur words just loud enough for him to hear.

  "When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth…"

  She felt a hand grab her by the back of the neck and she suppressed a scream as the hand dragged her into another alley. The man who had been in front of her followed and as soon as they were away from the street, he pushed her up against the wall.

  "How do you know those words?" he hissed, his face so close to hers that she could feel the spray of his saliva settle onto her cheek.

  "I learned them in school."

  "They
have not finished those words yet."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Hava?"

  She heard Makhahr's voice and she ducked suddenly, managing to slip under the man's arm and run down the alley toward him. A few people jumped out of her way, suddenly aware of her presence, but she couldn’t stop to worry about that. She could feel the rogue following her and she knew she had only a few minutes. The sun was already setting and the Founding Fathers were more vulnerable than ever.

  "Bring me to the portal," she demanded when she saw Makhahr, "Do not stop the man who is following us. Just come with me."

  They ran until they were back at the portal and Hava felt herself dragged into it. The feeling had become familiar to her and she didn't resist it, enabling her to land on her feet and continue running.

  "I need you to get me to Washington, D.C.," she said as they ran through the building toward the original portal where she had arrived, "It doesn't matter when."

  Makhahr moved levers along the wall until it shimmered and glowed in a purple so vibrant she had to squint. She reached for his hand, needing his touch to soothe her, and let the portal take her. When they landed, she looked around and realized that they were in the National Archives. She gave a sob of relief and pulled Makhahr to the side, concealing them around a corner.

  Seconds later the rogue landed in a crouch beside the portal. He rose slowly to his feet and another appeared behind him. A moment later, two more appeared. Makhahr glared and began to rush toward them, but Hava held him back.

  "Wait," she said.

  They hesitated for a few more moments and then Hava grabbed him by his arm and started to run. Relying on her memory from fieldtrips when she was younger, she guided him, and the rogues now chasing them, through the National Archives Building until they reached the Rotunda. She sent up a prayer of thanks that the space was empty of tourists, ran up to the podium set in the center and wrapped her hands around the velvet rope blocking access to it.

  "We hold these truths to be self-evident," she started to read, "that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

  She saw Makhahr's face brighten and heard strangled gasps behind them. She turned in time to see the rogues backing away from their, their chests collapsing in before they finally crumbled into dust. Her knees buckled and Hava lowered herself to the floor.

  Makhahr dropped down beside her and gathered her into his arms.

  "How did you know what to do?" he asked, pressing a kiss to her hair.

  "You told me that there are moments that must always exist and that the rogues could only change the patterns of time once. I knew that the message I wrote on the back of that piece of parchment would still be there when I came back here, because I heard about it the first time I came to see this copy. If we forced them to acknowledge a future that they didn't want to see exist, they would not be able to go into the past and change it because they already changed that past simply by being there."

  Makhahr tilted her back and looked at her, the expression in his eyes looking stunned but overjoyed. He drew her close and kissed her deeply.

  "You are my yesterday, my today, and my tomorrow," he whispered.

  Hava tucked her hand around his neck and rested her forehead against his. She finally knew what had been calling to her for her entire life. In her heart, Makhahr always was and always would be.

  THE END

  Chosen Alien Bride

  One evening, Charlotte notices a brooding, handsome stranger in a darkened corner of the sports bar that she waitresses at. She finds herself drawn to him as if by some strange supernatural force. He shares his story with her and reveals that he is an alien who has been drawn to her from deep within the cosmos.

  Though skeptical, Charlotte's doubts vanish once he begins to demonstrate his alien "talents." Can Charlotte's stranger convince her to abandon her solitary life on planet Earth and join him on his home planet as his destined bride?

  “Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not polite to touch things without permission?” Charlotte chastised the man whose drink had nearly landed in his lap. It would've served him right, too, given that the precariously perched drink nearly toppled from her tray when he tried to squeeze Charlotte's ass as she leaned over to place the drinks on the table. She glared down at the offender, who returned a look of semi-inebriated chagrin.

  Ugh, I already feel like I need a shower, she thought.

  She was supposed to be off this evening, but she'd naively accepted the shift for a coworker who claimed she had an important family function.

  “Family function, my ass,” Charlotte muttered to herself. By now, she was quite certain that Alison had simply been aware of the guests who would be occupying the sports bar tonight: a bachelor party! If they wanted to spend the evening in a drunken stupor, grabbing at every woman within arms' reach, then Charlotte had no problem with that. But, they really should have moved their party to a more fitting venue—like a strip club or a brothel! But maybe that was the problem; perhaps the groom had blown all his money on the wedding and had none left to enjoy his last night of single-hood with a bang. Charlotte smiled at the pun.

  If he'd only budgeted more wisely, the table full of overgrown little boys could be enjoying all the tits and asses they could afford and Charlotte, who had opted for a job where her clothes remained on, could finish out her evening without fingerprints covering every inch of her uniform. It didn't help that the owner's idea of a “uniform” was a skirt that resembled something a school girl would wear, along with a tight, button-up, white blouse. Yeah, like those weren't designed to provide the bar's patrons with walking fantasies, she thought dryly.

  Charlotte moved on from the table, grateful that the night was nearly over. “Just one more hour and I'm out of here,” she comforted herself. She moved around the room, checking to see if customers needed refills or another order of wings, and then headed back to the kitchen to hand over two more orders for the evening. She could survey the bar from her position just outside the kitchen. It was the part of her job that she loved; watching people come and go, seeing the play of expression on their faces, guessing why they're celebrating or drowning their sorrows in drink. While she was in the crowd, she couldn't see what was going on around her, but from here, it was the ultimate improv—reality TV at its best. It wasn't that she was a nosy person—it wasn't any of her business what was really going on in her customers' conversations—Charlotte was just fascinated with people.

  She'd grown up as an only child, with two professional parents who spent a great deal of their time working. When she was young, it wasn't uncommon for Charlotte to wind up eating dinner with the babysitter, and then once she was old enough to care for herself, eating entirely alone. She used to eat in front of the television; not to keep up with her favorite sitcom or drama, but to watch the news. It made her feel better to know that the people on the television were actually out there somewhere. When her parents passed away in a plane crash just after her seventeenth birthday, Charlotte waited for something to be different. They had gone away for an anniversary vacation and on the day they were expected home, they never arrived. It wasn't until Charlotte was dining that evening in front of the television that she saw coverage of the crash on the news.

  Day after day, she continued with her usual routine. She didn't miss her mother tucking her in at night—her mom never did that. She didn't miss tossing a ball around with her dad—he didn't have time for that. In the days, weeks and months following her parents' deaths, she made her own food, stayed on top of her own homework and tucked herself in at night—just like she always had.

  Charlotte shook her head to dispel the sad reverie, and as her mind cleared, she noticed a new figure sitting in the darkened area of the bar. It wasn't odd to have new customers, and he probably wouldn't have caught her attention if he hadn't been staring back at her with a piercing gaze tha
t she swore he was using to try to see into her soul.

  She was accustomed to her fair share of ogling; at five foot, eight inches with a model's figure, attention from men, and even a few women, was an everyday occurrence. Her flaxen hair shimmered even in the poor lighting of the bar, and her big, stormy blue eyes captured almost as much attention as her long, slender legs and full breasts.

  Even when she met the stranger's gaze, he didn't turn away, and the combination of a thrill and a chill ran down her spine. She knew she should be wary of the stranger; blatant attention like that was often a warning sign that the creep might be waiting outside after work. But for some inexplicable reason, she wasn't scared. And then, seemingly of their own volition, her legs began to propel her forward, moving her slowly toward the table where the stranger sat, still staring. She didn't know why she couldn't help herself—a tiny warning bell should have been going off in her head by now. But, she just kept moving until she stood directly in front of him.

  “Hi there. Is there anything I can get for you this evening?” At least as a waitress, even if the guy turned out to be just another creep, her approach wouldn't strike him as odd or inviting. She was just doing her job.

  “I'm fine for now. Thank you, Charlotte,” he replied politely, still staring at her intently. She wondered how he knew her name, and then figured he read it on her name tag. She wasn't accustomed to the patrons here being sober enough to bother with reading a name tag. But, as she looked down at her chest, following her mind's train of thought, she froze—she must have forgotten to put her name tag on before her shift started.

  “How do you know my name?” she queried, a hint of panic in the tone of her voice.

  “I know a great deal about you, Charlotte. And I'd like to know more,” he responded. The accent in his voice threw her off; she couldn't place it from any country she'd heard of.