A - Immortal Sea

been before, giving himself up for her pleasure, giving himself into her control, letting her take him with her small, smooth

hands and avid mouth. His vision blurred. His breath tore in his lungs, fast and jagged. He felt his release building, gathering

force in his balls and brain like a storm at sea, and choked out something, an imprecation, a plea.

One lick, and then she rose over him, powerful and hungry as the sea, her lips slick and swollen, her eyes hot and tender,

bewitching in her beauty, irresistible in her greed.

His heart stopped.

Grabbing a packet from the bedside table, she sheathed him. Straddled him. “Now.”

He growled, low and savage. “Yes.”

Now.

Forever.

Elizabeth.

She rubbed herself over him like a cat, feeling his stiff cock prod and nudge apart her slick folds, delighting in his big hard

body straining and shaking under hers, his hot strength, his leashed power. He gripped her hips to pull her down and she

grabbed his arms, leaning over him to pin his thick, square wrists to her soft pillows, her breasts brushing his smooth, hot

chest, his breath searing her lips, his body rearing under her.

Time shimmered and stood still as she lowered herself by increments, absorbing him by degrees, impaling herself on his

rigid flesh, biting her lip at how full he felt, how good she felt, how powerful this was, how right. He arched, his thick shaft

cleaving her, splitting her open, hard into soft, male into female, giving her what she wanted while she took everything he had.

His arms flexed. His wrists twisted. His fingers turned and gripped hers as she rode him in a slow, rocking rhythm, their hands

joined, their gazes locked, their breathing matched and ragged. She watched his eyes go blind and bright as her orgasm rolled

through her like a wave, as he drove deep, held, and shuddered in his own release. Lowering her head to his shoulder, she let

herself be swept away.

Morgan stared up at the flat white ceiling of Elizabeth‟s pretty bedchamber as she melted over him, their limbs tangled, her

hair spread over his chest like a net drying in the sun, all warm, moist, fragrant woman. His woman. Sleepy. Satisfied.

She had taken him apart the way Emily‟s kitten would unravel a ball of yarn until his guts were strung out for her to play

with and his heart rolled across the floor. He could not find strength to move or breath to speak, but his instincts, honed over

centuries of survival, quivered in warning.

He was in very deep danger here.

She raised her head from his shoulder, the glow still on her cheeks and in her eyes. Her kiss-swollen lips curved. “That was

nice.”

His system was swamped, his world had been shaken to its foundation, and she thought it was “ nice ”?

He struggled to form words. “Yes.”

She stretched against him, making his libido sit up and beg like a dog. “I feel wonderful.”

He raised one hand, unsticking a strand of hair from her parted lips. “Yes.”

She blushed, modest even after sex. “You‟re awfully agreeable all of a sudden.”

“You have destroyed my brain,” he told her truthfully. “I cannot think.”

She grinned, pleased, and bounced a quick, affectionate kiss off his jaw. Another layer of his defenses swirled down like a

sand castle assaulted by the tide. “I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

He cleared his throat. “How did you survive without a lover all these years?”

“Oh.” She wiggled, distracting him. “I have a decent imagination. And some good memories.”

Memories of him? Or of her husband?

An unfamiliar stab of possessiveness caught Morgan under the ribs. “The finfolk live in the moment. We are not bound by

memories.”

Elizabeth shook back her hair. “What about love?”

“We are not bound by love either.” The words, practiced for centuries, came easily. “Emotions are ephemeral. We are

immortal. Nothing lasts forever but the sea.”

She narrowed her eyes. “The sea and love.”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation. “That‟s what my sister thought, and she died.”

“You have a sister?”

“Had.”

“What happened to her?”

He drew a quick, harsh breath, regretting he had ever introduced the subject. “She died. She took a mortal lover and gave

up everything for him, the sea and her life.”

Elizabeth‟s brow pleated. “Did she regret her decision?”

“I do not know. I never spoke to her again.”

Not a decision he was proud of, upon reflection. But he was not much given to self-examination.

“How sad,” Elizabeth said.

“I believe she was happy,” he offered stiffly. “There were children. Five.”

Tiny figures on the shore, playing by the sea that should have been their birthright. Morwenna had walked with them, her

pale hair floating in the breeze, her husband at her side. The lady of Farness. A wave of yearning for what had been, for what

never was, swept through him.

“The first year . . .” Elizabeth‟s voice faltered.

His attention sharpened. She was no more prone to faltering than he was to introspection. “Go on.”

“After Ben died, I was angry with him for leaving me. Leaving us.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Even though his

death wasn‟t his fault, even though I knew my feelings were part of the grieving process, it took me a long time to forgive. But

until I got past the anger, I couldn‟t get on with my life.”

Her words struck him like stones. Were they still talking about his sister and her dead husband? “I was angry with him for

leaving me . . . It took me a long time to forgive.”

“And did you?” Morgan asked, braced for her answer. “Forgive?”

She nodded so that her hair brushed his collarbone. “I remembered how much I loved him, and how he loved each of us. I

thought how much richer my life was because he was in it even for a little while.” Compassionate and direct, her gaze sought

his. “And I realized that I would rather have loved him and lost him than never to have had him in my life at all.”

He lay beneath her, mute and stiff.

“You say you live in the moment. Maybe,” she suggested softly, “you should let go of the past.”

Could he? His emotions churned. His revelation earlier today must have turned her world upside down. But she had turned

him inside out, leaving him uneasy, aching, raw.

“I never told her that I loved her,” he said abruptly. “My sister. I gave her all the reasons in the world to stay but that.”

Elizabeth cupped his jaw, her touch indescribably tender. “Maybe she knew without you telling her.”

He met her steady dark eyes. “I cannot promise you a future, Elizabeth.”

“Then I‟ll take now.”

He covered her hand with one of his own, holding it to his cheek. “Take me.”

“Yes,” she said.

He wanted her again. He would always want her.

He pushed the fear aside. He dug in the drawer for another of the damn sheaths and put it on before he rolled with her,

deliberately overwhelming her with his strength, shoving into her without foreplay or finesse. She was still silky, soft, wet.

With a moan of welcome, she opened to him, wrapping her legs around his hips, her arms around his ribs.

“That feels so . . . Oh.” Her tremor shook them both. Yet she craned her neck to look at the clock. “I don‟t think we have

time.”

No time , he thought.