Predatory (Immortal Guardians #3.5)(87)

He had known it would be like this. All those nights he had imagined being right here, moving inside Jenna, his feet hanging off the too-short bed, he had known it would be better than anything he had ever experienced before. And, when she threw back her head and cried out as another orgasm claimed her, her inner muscles tightening convulsively around him and driving him into his own, he knew he was lost. There would never be another for him.

Jenna was it. She was the one.

Rolling to his side, Richart held her close.

And tried not to think what the future would hold for them.

The weeks that followed were perhaps the most blissful of Jenna’s life. She and Richart were inseparable. When they weren’t working, they were together. When he was working and she was at home, they talked on the phone or texted, pausing only long enough for him to slay vampires, which was bizarre.

She learned something new about him every day. None of it frightened her, though, despite his concern that each revelation would be too much, that this or that would be the thing that was just too weird for her.

One night Richart hefted her effortlessly onto his back and raced through the countryside at preternatural speeds. It was scary and exhilarating and so much fun. Richart could outrun cars. And did so just to impress her, his eyes sparkling with boyish pleasure as she laughed.

He made her feel like a teenager again. Carefree and young, despite the fatigue that pulled at her. Working all night and playing with Richart nearly all day was taking its toll. But it was totally worth it.

They never spoke of the future. Never discussed what might happen to their relationship long-term. What would happen when she began to age and he stayed young.

He had mentioned once that, if she wished, she could have her DNA tested to see if she could be transformed without turning vampire. Jenna suspected he hadn’t mentioned it again because he feared what the test may reveal and wanted to hold on to hope for just a little longer.

The fact that she was actually a brunette seemed to please him. Jenna had been dyeing her hair off and on ever since she had begun to go gray prematurely at the age of twenty. An overwhelming majority of gifted ones apparently had black hair. He did know of two, however, who had brown hair.

He hadn’t asked her if she wanted to be transformed, probably because it wasn’t as easy a decision to make as one might think. If she were transformed, Jenna would outlive her son, the grandchildren he would give her in the future, and their grandchildren, too.

Shaking off the somber thoughts, Jenna finished washing the breakfast dishes and dried her hands on the towel hanging beside the sink.

“What time is Richart coming over?” John asked, still poring over one of his textbooks at the table. He wouldn’t have to leave for his first class for another hour.

“I don’t know. He said it might be a late night and didn’t want to talk because his sister and another immortal were with him and would overhear.”

“Ahh.”

In the next breath, Richart appeared in the living room. He wore his usual vampire hunting togs: black shirt, black pants, long black coat, daggers and throwing stars in every loop and pocket and sheath. Smudges of blood adorned his upper lip and chin, as if someone had punched him hard enough to break his nose. His eyes glowed a vibrant amber. His features, when he caught and held her gaze, bore an intensity that sucked the breath from her lungs.

“What happened?” Jenna asked, closing the distance between them.

Looping an arm around her waist, he yanked her to him and claimed her lips in a long, passionate kiss.

Jenna forgot everything as fire burned through her and every nerve ending sprang to life. Forgot the blood on his chin. Forgot the weapons weighing him down and poking her as he pressed her against him. Forgot her son.

By the time Richart raised his head, she was as breathless as though she had just run the 400-meter relay.

Richart looked over her shoulder and nodded abruptly. “John.”

“Hey,” John said, sounding stunned.

“Excuse us, please.” As soon as Richart finished the husky proclamation, he whisked them to his bedroom in his home.

Jenna had no time to ask him what was wrong. He went to work, removing their clothing at preternatural speeds. His kiss was fierce, his hands aggressive in their exploration of her, turning her body to liquid fire.

Richart said nothing, the need to touch Jenna, to feel her against him, overwhelming. He was so desperate for her. He worried he might be hurting her until she wrapped her legs around him and begged for more.

Tossing her onto the bed, he dove after her. There was little foreplay this time. He needed her too much. As soon as he felt how wet she was for him, he sank inside, taking her fast and hard with strong, powerful strokes.

Jenna clutched Richart closer, panting, pleasure rising. His touch contained a hint of desperation, a roughness that had never been there before and excited her above and beyond. She cried out as ecstasy consumed her, reveled in hearing her name on Richart’s lips as he came soon after.

Her muscles went limp.

Richart sank down on her, forearms braced on the bed to keep the bulk of his weight off of her. “Did I hurt you?” he murmured.

“No. It was fantastic.”

He nodded, face buried in the crook of her neck, and rolled them to their sides, still joined.

Jenna waited for her heartbeat to slow its frantic pace. Richart never loosened his hold on her, cradling her close.