To Eternity (6 page)

“I didn't say that.”

“Then I don't see the difference at all, at least not about the idea of a child. You say you didn't have a permanent relationship with her mother.”

He leaned forward to cup her chin in his palm. “I know. But, please, believe me, there is a difference. For us to share our lives, for you to have the child you want, within a lasting relationship, we'd not merely make love. There is much more to consider.”

“I see. So, in fact, we're back to our last conversation about this. You have to make me your mate, not your wife, not your live-in lover, but your mate.”

He reached for her, put his arms about her and pulled her up from the warmth so she straddled his thighs. She closed her eyes as he took her mouth with his. He kissed her until she whimpered.

“Yes.”

His thought powered through her, melted her bones and she relaxed against him. Desire smoldered in her skin, so her nipples hardened in anticipation of his caresses. She moved her mouth from his. “Then do it, Magnus. Please, I'll beg if I must. Do it. Make me your mate.”

“Not yet.” He moved her to lie over him in the water. “I know you think you are certain this is what you want, but I need you to have more time to think about all the possibilities, the dangers, the way of life you'd have to accept.”

She sighed. Some, though not all of the pain, eased from her heart.

“Forgive me?” he asked. “I swear I'll not be so thoughtless again.”

Everything she'd told herself in the woods, all the tears, the hurt, and the determination to do whatever she must to keep him, swept through her. His reasoning caught at her heart.

He tightened his embrace about her until she gave a small squeak.

“I'll not let you go unless you truly wish to leave. I will know if such bitterness is to be mine, Sian. I want you to stay so very much. Everything is right with you.” He found her lips with his and kissed her until the water around them matched their body heat.

“I'll take you to bed now and show you how much you mean to me until dawn.” He rose from the tub with her in his arms.

“You'd best tell the staff we won't be down for dinner,” she murmured.

“You can telephone down to them while I dry you off in front of the hearth.” His dark gaze held hers, full of promises to make her stomach roll with desire.

God help her, wolf curse or not, she loved him.

Chapter 6

Hunched from the pain, and clumsy in his efforts to open the door, Franklyn Gorsewell dropped the keys. He stooped in a welter of agony. He grunted like a hog as he fumbled around the moss-coated plant container beside the front step to find them. At last, the chilly metal met his fingers and he opened the door into his ground floor apartment. After kicking the pile of mail and assorted junk publications aside, he went down the short hallway. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose as he walked into his darkened sitting room
.

The place stank
.

The unmistakable scent of urine, mixed with the metallic smell of blood, blended with a savage animal musk. The odor sent a shiver down his spine.

He flipped on the light. The arcing splatter of blood up the walls had spurted from an artery to create a huge pointillist curve on the ceiling. The boarded up window relieved the rusty brown pattern. Thank God, the neighbor found him when she did. The patio window glass had shattered the night of the attack. A welter of lethal shards still lay where they'd fallen, some stained with his blood. Many sat end up, buried in the thick carpet.

He'd bled so much, he should be dead.

The wide patch of dried blood appeared so much worse than he'd imagined. No wonder the ambulance crew and the doctors in the emergency room thought he could lose his arm from the horrific injuries.

A fresh memory of the creature with its snarling jaws tormented him. Instinctively, he drew back from the pain of its bite. He forced himself to look at the room. No monstrous beast salivated with hate in its eyes. He set his bag down by the door, as far from the glass fragments on the carpet as he could. No one would believe the truth if he tried to explain. It was better the medical staff had recorded that the glass caused his wounds.

His recovery, remarkable in itself, had given the medical team so much to ponder. The causes had faded from their interest, but he'd known. Hovering in a daze from the painkillers, he hung on to his sense of self by his fingertips. He'd understood when the torn skin, savaged muscle, and shattered bone healed at a stunning speed. Inside he'd changed. While he had recovered, he'd accepted the strange alteration to his senses, and he'd learned to dream.

A surge of excitement twitched through his cock. In his first dream after the attack, he'd found Sian, along with a sense of reality he'd never experienced before. The heated throbbing recalled how close he'd been to screwing her. He'd lunged between her wide-spread thighs, his cock oozing pre-cum, and he'd almost entered her pussy.

She'd been coy at first as they'd danced, typical Sian, but when she'd understood he wasn't going to take “no” for an answer that night, she'd kissed him. He had thrust his tongue down her throat as she gave in. He could still hear her enticing noises, feel her writhing beneath him on the smooth polished floor when he had peeled off her short dress, followed by the sexy bra. The little whimpers she'd made when he had sucked at her nipples and tugged down her tiny panties to strip her naked, had almost taken him over the edge.

He shook at the recollection of her luscious, smooth, round ass under his palms, her hot, hard nipples pressed tight against his chest when he moved to mount her. If only he'd managed to go all the way to get inside her that night.

His desire, checked by her youth and innocence when he'd first hired her, had built until he had to fight to control it whenever she was near. The wicked little temptress, she knew he wanted her. She tormented him. He'd thought it kind of cute the way she'd made so many efforts in her leather gear or rubber dress, all intended to appeal to him. He'd been on the verge of making a move when she had gone walk-about at the Darnwell Estate.

His sweet, sexy muse had no idea how many times, and in how many ways, he'd filled her pussy with his cum over the last four years. But, the strange dream he'd had the night he awoke in hospital, so powerful and strong, it took his need for her up another million notches. He'd tasted something better than the usual lust-filled explorations his imagination contrived. A kind of perfection he wanted every other fantasy of Sian to mimic.

He'd felt her warmth beneath him and needed it again. Like a drug, she fed his hunger. That night she'd been with him all the way, rubbing her silky mound with its little strip of curls against his hand, urging him on. When he had parted her thighs, she'd made fantastic, gurgling pleasure noises. She had lifted her hips for him as he licked and sucked her rigid nipples and probed deep in her pussy with his fingers. The memory of the sensation blasted back through him.

Fabulous.

Tight, hot, wet, and magic. Until she had fled. She'd wriggled like a wanton little snake, had shaken her pretty tits in his face, before she had slipped from his grasp and run.

Damn her bloody tower.

She'd hidden inside the tall stone tower in the dream. Though he knew where she was, he couldn't penetrate the brambles to reach her. She had hidden inside until the dawn.

Franklyn eased the snakeskin jacket from his damaged shoulder. Most of the normal range of movement had returned but at the cost of exquisite pain. He'd also suffered the onset of referred trauma to his hip. He limped bad enough to use a stick. The specialist's promise that the torture would ease as time passed had yet to materialize. When it did, he'd be ready to take Sian and deal with the big threatening bastard she'd brought to the hospital to torment him.

Though he'd been so sick, near dying, Sian had turned up with the one responsible for his injuries. He had known the animal who'd attacked him. The one who had delighted in menacing him with veiled threats while he lay helpless in a hospital bed, and the horrific beast, they were the same.

He wouldn't always be defenseless. Every day he got stronger. Soon he'd be well. The arrogant creep she'd taken up with would find out Franklyn Gorsewell was no one's yes-man. He smiled.

Yes. Squaring up to that thing, even if it came in wolf form, would be a pleasure. The disconcerting sensation of constant aggression, his heightened hearing, the acute sense of smell, the shivery strangeness building inside him, it would pass or he'd find a way to deal with it.

No one and nothing would come between him and his treasured muse. From the first day he'd seen her, so vital and perfect, she'd been his “darling girl.” The emerald-eyed, naive, little teenage minx the job center sent around had mesmerized him. He had hired her as his assistant on the spot. She was all his to adore, to teach, to entertain, the flawless unformed clay he could mold into the perfect woman.

Sian. His Sian.

Perhaps he'd indulged her too much. He'd sent her on a two-day-a-week training course for two years, had found her a decent place to live, and had gotten her out of the poxy bedsit she'd been in since she came down from Bath. Discovering she had lived alone since her mother had died, he'd never been stern with her, always sought to ease her worries and fears, had done so much to make her smile. He understood his mistake now. All the indulgence had turned her into a spoiled brat. He'd been so busy this past year, and she'd rocketed out of control. The last few months she'd turned uppity, and had lacked his guidance while she was at Darnwell. She'd even forced him to threaten to fire her.

He should have had her sooner and made her his.

If he'd been sensible about things rather than quite so caring, he'd have put his foot down about boyfriends when she had first taken one. He should have fucked her silly little brains out on a daily basis as soon as she'd hit her eighteenth birthday, not left it to some other lucky bastard to claim her virginity. He recalled the disappointment when he had discovered what she'd done. That was the opportunity to show her who was really the boss, but he hadn't taken it. Being a thoughtful gentleman didn't always bring its rewards. The regrets didn't do much to help his mood, but a new wave of determination squashed them. He'd make up for the three years he'd lost since he'd bought her the silver eighteen badge.

The first chance he got, his cute Little Missy Armstrong would be bouncing her sweet cheeks in his bed or on his office chair. Whenever and wherever he wanted her, she'd be willing. Once he'd schooled her wild side, they'd be married before next year was out. He smiled at the image of Sian, naked and sweaty, her pert little tits jiggling as she pounded out her long-standing dues by grinding on his cock. How sweet she'd look. He massaged his swollen erection as it strained up toward the waistband of his tracksuit trousers. Sian would grunt and groan for him, too, her tight pussy stretched and slippery hot as he filled it. She would moan her pleasure.

Later.

He'd finish a long wank with her in mind, later. He had things to do first.

Heading into the kitchen, he faced the lure of the half-empty Scotch bottle. It was only mid-morning, but he could do with a belt. The alcohol's interaction with the painkillers might prove enough to finish him, though. The Scotch would have to wait for another day. He filled the coffee machine, then waited, tapping at the counter until it produced the brew he needed. The milk in the plastic bottle had blue veining like ripe Stilton cheese. There was no need to open the top to take a whiff. He binned the milk and two monstrous hairy things, which might have been tomatoes. He carried his mug of black coffee through to the desecrated lounge where he sat facing away from the worst of the damage. Before he took a mouthful of coffee, he opened his laptop. While the log-on took an age, fourteen lots of updates to download, he drank the first decent cup of coffee since the attack, but the taste wasn't quite right. Maybe the coffee had gone off while he was away. Once he got in, e-mails jammed his in-box, but he ignored them.

First thing was to get this place cleaned up. He'd book into a hotel for the rest of the month while repairs and redecorating went on here. Scrolling, he dismissed his usual hotel haunts. He'd stay in a quiet place where he'd be able to sleep in peace, somewhere he could dream. Soon he'd be at the stage he wouldn't need the mind numbing drugs to help him sleep. He punched in the credit card details as he booked a room. His muse—she better look out. He'd find her in the dreams, haunt her every moment until she opened her legs for him, and when she did, he'd make sure she entertained his cock majestically.

He'd start by giving her fantasy nights so she'd wake up wet because of him. That would do until he got to fuck her for real. His cock gave another throb as he stroked it.

Oh, yes, she'd love it all. Maybe he could manage more than once or twice if he flipped the dream sequences.

When she was back in the office, where she should be, he'd stifle any excuses, hold her tight in his arms and kiss her before he gave her pussy the kind of workout she'd never forget. Maybe he'd lift her shirt, stroke over her tits, or put his hand up her skirt to massage her ass, before he sent the other girls out of the office for a break. Either way, he'd make sure he did something to give Evie and Jess a good idea of just what Sian was about to get. She could babble as much as she liked about their relationship being solely business, but she'd never be able to deny he'd fucked her after the other girls saw her tits in his hands. Each single member of the Gorsewell production team would know she'd given him everything he wanted.

Perhaps if he timed things perfectly for their first fuck, when the other girls got back from their break, Sian would have her long legs hooked up over his shoulders. He'd be humping her ass on the desk. She'd come hot and hard, yelping and screeching her delight. She'd beg him to fill her. Fabulous.

His muse was going to wail like a she-cat when she came. He could hear the delightful sounds she'd make as he enjoyed a full recompense for all the fucks they'd missed the last three years. His breathing snapped to a faster rhythm. He dumped the laptop on the small table. He was ready for her so he eased his trousers down. He closed his eyes as he laced his fingers about his cock, pictured Sian, her face contorted in orgasmic pleasure while she rode him, naked, with her pretty tits bouncing. She'd hump like a bitch.

A fresh surge of blissful throbs pulsed the length of his cock in response to her trembling pleasure cries in his office. He'd have her legs spread so wide they'd straddle the arms of his chair to make a bold offering of her pussy for his pleasure. How she'd howl. “Ohh! Ooo! Ohh! You're the best, Franklyn! Ooo. Ohh. Ohh. Yes! Franklyn, you're the bessst!”

Tension swelled through him. He pumped hard at his cock, beating the meat as the up-swell of spunk burbled in his balls. He'd fuck her so she passed out, so she screamed in pleasure, so she came as hard and fast as he…. The cry of orgasm burned his throat. Hot, wet jets spurted through his fingers.

Even as a wank, she was perfect. He had to have her, he must, no one could match her. He wiped his wet and sticky palm on a wad of tissue and cleaned his stomach, loving her for the fabulous fuck she was.

As for the current hulk of a boyfriend, he may well wind up dead. Franklyn Gorsewell had friends, lots of them, useful friends who didn't ask too many questions, and he always got what he wanted.