Jaci Burton - Taken by Sin

He led her into the bedroom and took his time removing her clothes. She was torn between wanting to hurry up and taking each moment in slow motion, wishing she could capture every second in her memories so she’d never forget. As he peeled away her shirt he pressed his lips to her neck, her shoulder, the touch of his lips so reverent it brought tears to her eyes. She sensed this moment was as special to him as it was to her, that he knew as well as she did that they would only have this time together, and then it would be gone.

He turned her around and drew her hair to the side, placing his lips against the nape of her neck. She shivered, goose bumps prickling her skin. He tilted her head up and pulled her against him so he could reach around her to touch her breasts, sliding his thumbs over the piercings, tugging them with gentle pulls that made her whimper. She felt the sensation between her legs. So incredible, so erotic, he knew her body like he owned it.

He did.

How would she ever live without him?

Don’t think. Don’t waste a moment of this. Just feel.

She did-everything. His touch, his hands on her nipples, the ecstasy of his familiarity with her, the way his body felt against hers after he pulled off his shirt. The smoothness of his chest against her back, the heat, the possessiveness as he drew her shorts down and pressed a soft kiss to her right hip, then turned her around and claimed her sex with his mouth. She widened her legs and let him take her, threading her fingers through his hair, watching him while absorbing every wild sensation and committing it to memory. He loved her slowly, sliding his tongue in tantalizing fashion over her until she lost the ability to think coherently. She gripped his hair and held him to her while she rode the crest and fell, rocking against him in unabashed frenzy.

He rose and took her mouth again in a tart kiss that told her she belonged to him and only him.

As if she could ever hope to experience this with anyone else again. She was his, always would be, no matter if they were separated.

When he lifted her and carried her to the bed, she wrapped her arms around his neck, staring at his face, sliding her fingertips along his jaw. There was so much she wanted to say, but she said nothing. Neither did he. She understood.

There was nothing they could say to each other now. They could only show, without words, the depth of their feelings.

He rolled her to her side to face him, lifted her leg over his hip and slid inside her. Slow and easy, he rocked in and out, letting her feel every inch of him. Her body gripped him in utter pleasure, and now it was her turn to claim him, to tell him that he was hers, and always would be.

She watched the tension on his face, the way he clamped his lips together and concentrated on their bodies gliding back and forth as one. She pulled up and kissed him, rimming his lips with her tongue. He opened for her and she found his tongue, sucked it, and he groaned, curling her toes at the extreme pleasure of his response. He tunneled his fingers in her hair and gripped tight, tilting her head back to kiss her hard as he quickened his movements with harder thrusts.

As he ground against her she lost control, bit his lip, tasting his blood in her mouth, but she didn’t care. It was just more of him that became a part of her. She wrapped her leg around him, digging her heel in his buttocks to drive him harder. And when her climax washed over her, she didn’t bother to hold back the tears that told him how much she’d miss him, how much she loved him. He buried his face in her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he groaned and shuddered against her.

He held her tight and stroked her back, her shoulders, her hip. And still, neither of them spoke.

They’d both just said all there was to say.

They loved each other.

But it was over.

For some reason Isabelle thought the ceremony would take place in the house, but that’s not how it was going to happen. She stood outside along with Dalton and the other hunters, as well as Georgie and several of her family and coworkers. The women wore long cotton dresses, the men knee-cropped pants and vests, no shirts. Even children came along. Georgie had told her that young children were groomed in the way of voodoo at an early age, many to take over as mambo or houngan -the female or male voodoo priestess or priest-when they came of age.

They’d all taken a walk deep into the woods, staying parallel to the bayou. The night was sultry, the moon full, the sounds of birds and God only knew what other kinds of creatures keeping them company as they trekked single-file along a narrow pathway carved into the dense woods. Alone with her thoughts, Isabelle had stayed in step, Derek in front of her, Dalton behind her, all of the hunters fully armed in case the Sons of Darkness decided to make an impromptu appearance while all of this went down tonight.

Great. Another thing to worry about, though Dalton assured her she’d done a fine job so far of keeping their location from the Sons of Darkness. But who knew what would happen during the ceremony? Maybe she’d weaken when her demon went to war with Dalton’s angel. She still couldn’t wrap her mind about how this was going to take place, and didn’t even want to try.

She was tired-bone weary and exhausted. Whether it was from fighting off the Sons of Darkness’ constant attempts to reach her, the lack of sleep, or the utter emptiness she felt inside knowing she was going to lose Dalton tonight, she didn’t know. She’d rather be asleep curled up in Dalton’s arms than go through this. But she’d agreed, it was going to happen, and moaning about it wasn’t going to do any good.

The group finally arrived at what appeared to be a man-made clearing carved out of the dense foliage, a huge circle surrounded by low-hanging cypress trees that seemed to bow down to them in reverence. Water moved behind them on one side, and there was nothing but woods the rest of the way.

Off to one side stood an altar made of wood, with several shelves. On the shelves were varied items-strange stuff. Candles were already lit, their flames wavering in the slight balmy breeze. There were also framed pictures of what looked to be Georgie’s ancestors, beaded necklaces, amulets, cloth voodoo dolls, trinkets of every sort, bottles of rum, some full, some half full. There was even money scattered along the shelves. A crazy assortment, like what you’d find at a flea market, yet absolutely fascinating. In front of the altar was a circle of dirt, none of the lush green grass that surrounded the rest of the area. Behind the circle lay a wooden pole and a stone bench stained with some kind of dark, rusty-looking material. Isabelle crinkled her nose and hoped that wasn’t where some kind of bizarre blood sacrifices had occurred.

Georgie had dressed the part tonight, in a white flowing cotton dress, sleeveless but covering the rest of her body down to her ankles, one of which bore a braided anklet. She was barefoot and wore a multicolored turban on her head. She’d provided Isabelle with a similar type of dress, only Isabelle’s was all colorful. She’d told Isabelle not to wear shoes, either.

“Georgie, what is all this stuff?” Isabelle asked.

“It is the altar where we pay homage to the gods. We make our offerings here. The altar is the passageway between this world and the next. The place where the immortal spirits make their home.”

Dalton laid his sword on the stone bench and Isabelle swallowed, her throat scratchy and dry. She’d have given anything for a glass of water right now.

Georgie faced the crowd gathered around her. “We will make an offering to Loa, the spirits that gather here. Isabelle will chant with me, protected within the divine circle. She will shed the blood of sacrifice, and be inhabited by those who shelter her from harm.”