Elizabeth Finn - Immortal Protector

Angus returned the smirk, before addressing Langford. “She, huh? Well I think I’ll have a talk with the good detective.” And as Truman stood to leave, Angus spoke again. “What was her name?”

“Detective Sutton. Brit Sutton. Apparently she’s determined, fiery, temperamental, full of piss and vinegar, pain in the ass sort, and causing all sorts of problems for us at the moment.”

“Sounds like my kind of lady.” And as the table chuckled at Angus’ sarcasm, the men stood, and Truman made his escape.

She was waiting for him. She’d wait forever for him if she had to, but she didn’t have to. They had packed what few possessions they had at the council’s building, and all were shipped to their new home—or new to her. It was Truman’s home in Gloucester that would become theirs. He’d not taken her to see it in all their time there, and she was nervous. What if she hated it? She couldn’t imagine, but the what-if plagued her. Would she have the nerve to tell him? Of course not. And what was really the chance she could dislike anything of his? Little.

When Truman entered, she was lying on the chaise, staring at the ceiling. When he approached, she smirked, and he did too. When he sat, she reached for his body. Her hand trailed to his groin as he watched her face, but his hand stilled her the moment her palm met his already hard arousal straining against the pants. “Later, love—when I can get you into my own bed … or any one of the numerous other places in my home I’ve long imagined fucking you.” And leaning to her mouth, he planted a quick kiss. As he pulled her to her feet and walked her to the door, they paused and looked back at the spacious residence.

They wouldn’t be giving it up permanently. It would be kept for them when they needed to stay in the council’s building, but they’d decided together that a life of privacy was what they truly wanted. Truman’s family had been restored to their residences in his family’s building, but Truman’s private home was where they would build their life together.

When they entered the lobby, the valet was waiting. He was smiling at her, and Truman’s hand tightened on hers for half a second. It was nothing more than a protective move, unneeded with Jonathan, but present out of habit. When Jonathan reached for her hand, she pulled hers from Truman’s, and rather than shaking his hand, she pulled him to a hug. He stilled for moment before returning her gesture, and when she pulled from him, she winked. “Thank you, Jonathan … for everything.” She owed him a debt of gratitude, and she wouldn’t forget it soon. He was human, and while he may suspect he worked for some fairly peculiar folk, he still smiled at her warmly.

Truman’s car was waiting warm at the curb, and as Truman opened her door and helped her in, he leaned in after her, capturing her lips. She watched as his lithe and graceful body rounded the car to his side. He shook Jonathan’s hand. It was the only real emotion he showed the man, but it spoke volumes regardless.

They wound through the traffic of the night toward his home in Gloucester, and as they left Boston behind, he reached for her hand. This night would definitely go down in history as one of her absolute favorites. She felt freer than life had ever allowed her to feel. They were safe, and their enemies were all tucked safely into the ground six feet under where they belonged. They had an eternity with one another, and there was no longer a doubt in her mind that she belonged to him as much as he’d always belonged to her—even when she couldn’t recall it.

As they entered the large and secluded beachfront cottage just outside of Gloucester, she gasped. It was beautiful; stunning actually. It wasn’t at all what she’d pictured. Now that she could recall him fully, she knew he wasn’t one for contemporary style, but after living so fully in their über-contemporary residence in Boston and her limited memory of his more contemporary home in Portland, she’d assumed, incorrectly, that it would be cold, stark, and uninviting. But this place was anything but. It was expansive. The windows were all large and open to the view of the Atlantic Ocean. His shoreline was rocky in places and sandy and perfect for swimming in others. His yard was large and deep and had more centuries-old trees than she could count.

The interior was everything she could want. Pieces of his more simple-designed antiques were dispersed throughout, and the furniture made her body want to melt into it. Comfortable and inviting. The smell was delicious, and his scent was everywhere around her. She wandered as he trailed after her. The kitchen was as devoid of everything as his kitchen in Portland had been, but the rest of the home was filled perfectly with his style. An office sat to the side of the living room with an incredible view out to the back veranda and its large paving stones, and as she wandered in, she stopped still. There were two desks in the large room, sitting along the walls caddy-corner from one another, but it was what was above one desk in particular that stilled her steps.

Her diploma hung in a beautiful mahogany frame, and as she approached the desk with her fingers reaching out to the smooth, old surface she knew well from his Portland home and her research project, she smiled, and he moved in behind her.

“I wanted you to have your space in our home. You’ll be working soon enough. Do you like the desk? I picked it from my collection especially for you.” And as her fingers moved over the wood, his moved to her hips, pulling her bottom to his groin. Her fingers traced the raised wood on the drawer front. “You’ll note the cockbeading your fingers are so fond of…” His voice was purred into her ear from behind her body, and as her memories of her first time in his home in Portland ran through her mind, his hard length ground into her backside, and she shuddered.

When he reached around her body to the drawer, he pulled it smoothly open. It was empty of the antique books it once held, and in their place was one lonely black velvet cinch bag, and as his hand pulled it out, her body warmed and excited. She knew the bag, and she knew what it held, and as he loosened the top of the bag, holding it out to her, her fingers pulled out the glass phallic instrument. Her warmth turned to wetness, and her body melted.

“Ready to see our bedroom?” She nodded as he nuzzled her neck and wrapped his arms warmly around her.

She knew him so well, and now, thanks to the trauma of near death, she knew she knew him well. She loved him, and she now understood just how much and for how long she’d carried that love for him. It had never really left her, buried as it might have been. The memories and feelings had always been there, waiting to get out, and now that they were, she was in heaven. She was safe, and she belonged to the man she loved for the rest of eternity.

“What if you get tired of me after a century or two?” She spoke quietly as her fingers ran over the cool glass surface of the instrument. She didn’t even believe it was really possible for them to tire of one another. It was a logical question of course, but she trusted his love for her that much. “What if you leave me?”

“Not even I could do such a thing. Not ever.” And after kissing her neck where his mouth was already nudging and nibbling at her skin, he reached to her hand and turned her to face him. “Now, upstairs; more specifically, our bedroom, and if that’s still not specific enough, our bed.” Then purring in her favorite seductive voice that had her wetness pooling in an instant, he spoke once more. “You are my Ember. You smoldered in my heart for years, threatening to ignite a fire in my soul, and now that I have your fire, I’ll never let it go out.” And he kissed her sweetly on the tip of her nose before leading her upstairs to the bedroom. Their bedroom.