He flinched and she pressed the tips of her fingers into the scars. “This is part of you,” she whispered. She pushed his long hair away from his back. He had tensed up, maybe uncertain, maybe ashamed. She leaned over his back and began to kiss and lick the stripes he bore.

He shuddered and leaned forward.

She slid her hand off his forearm then moved to stand behind him. She split his long black hair into two parts and pushed each part over the closest shoulder. She looked at his back in the soft candlelight. His wing-locks were visible as well as his scars. She drew close then took a deep breath.

Your skin smells of sage and something very male, she sent. It makes me … hungry.

He groaned and aloud, said, “Tangerine.”

She drew back. “Do you have any?”

“Any what?”

“Tangerines.”

At that, he shifted toward her, turning so that he could meet her gaze. His lips were swollen with need, his eyes dark. He nodded. He started to rise but she pushed him down with her hand. “Tell me where they are. I’ll get them.”

“I put the last batch in the fridge, the drawer on the bottom.”

She rounded the island, opened the refrigerator door, and found them. The cool air flowed over her skin, tightening her nipples. As she drew one of the tangerines out, she blushed at the very wicked idea that had taken hold of her.

She closed the door then turned toward Antony. He stared at her unblinking, his chin low. His palms were now flat on the soapstone. He looked ready to spring at her, land on her, take her to the floor.

She set the tangerines on the island. She pulled off her shirt but kept her bra on. With a knife she split one of the tangerines in half then pierced the fruit with the sharp tip again and again, grinding the blade into the wedges, tearing up all the connecting fibers, until the half tangerine was a wet, pulpy mess.

She set the tangerine on the counter, put her knife in the sink, and rinsed and dried her fingers. Very slowly, while watching Antony’s face darken, she lifted each of her breasts out of her bra so that she was supported by the underwires. She didn’t want to think of exactly how this looked—but she knew Antony. He was loving this.

She lifted the tangerine and held it low to the tip of her breast and slowly brought the juicy center to float over her peaked nipple. Tangerine juice dribbled down her abdomen.

She watched him, his gaze flooding with heat and something like pain. His arms fell wide. His chest rose and fell. Damn, he would hyperventilate if she didn’t do something.

“You stay right there,” she said.

He nodded, one deep low nod. She moved around the island, the tangerine still rotating, his gaze fixed to the sight. When he breathed, he now made a sound like a train engine.

As she drew around the second corner, he shifted on his stool. “I have to stand up. You understand.”

She glanced at his jeans. He was at a bad angle. She nodded.

His hips flexed.

“Lose the jeans,” she commanded.

His gaze flickered over her chest from one extended breast to the next. He folded off his pants.

Yes, he’d gone commando.

And he was a rigid line of pleasure waiting to happen. He wept from the tip. His breathing was still harsh, chugging along.

As she drew close, she lifted the tangerine from her breast and put it against his mouth. He groaned loud and long, leaning toward her but sucking hard at the fruit. The sight brought a strange rush of tears to her eyes. She reached low and touched his cock, stroking him very lightly just at the smooth round head.

Antony, she sent softly into his mind, did I tell you how much it meant to see you each night, to watch you pleasure yourself? To take tangerines into your mouth? It helped me to know you were real and you were there, that I wasn’t alone. You kept me sane.

He drew the tangerine from his lips. His breathing eased. His hips flexed and he pushed his cock farther through the grip of her hand. “This is better.”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

He caught a tear as it rolled down her cheek, then sucked the drop from his finger. He moved into her, his cock folding up to fit against her abdomen. He slid his arms around her back trapping her arms low, then he kissed her, a tangerine-flavored kiss that knocked her senses flat.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth and made her pulse throb with each thrust. Her arms drifted around his waist. She clung to his skin, pulling and kneading, even the ribbed scar tissue.

He left her mouth and kissed down her neck. When he licked over her vein pleasure shot through the well of her body, anticipating a hard strike of fangs. But he didn’t linger there. He moved lower, bending over and angling his head so that he could reach what she had offered by the refrigerator.

His tongue licked down her chest and moved to the tangerine nipple. He groaned all over again as he drew the tip into his mouth and began to suckle.

Her body tightened very low and began to pull inward with each suck of his mouth and lips. Her breathing transformed into soft pants, one after the other, until she was dizzy. She settled her hands on the top of his soft hair.

Her hips bucked at the sensation between her fingers, the pull of his mouth on her breast, and the responsive tugs between her legs.

“Antony,” she cried out. Frustration had her now. She needed more from him.

He drew back. His lips were red and swollen from suckling her, his eyes wild.

“Help me, Antony.” She slung an arm around his neck and kissed him.

He picked her up in his arms and cradled her against his chest. She pressed her face into his neck. She felt her fangs emerge and began to lick his throat. He moved her into the hallway that led in the direction of the pool and the guesthouse, but not very far. She thought maybe he meant to have her in the pool.

Instead he turned up the narrow spiraled staircase, holding her at a careful angle so that she didn’t scrape anything. He was almost too big for the space himself, but he managed it.

“The bed in the turret room is at a perfect height for what I want to do to you.”

She hissed and shivered. A low chuckle rippled from his throat. “I’m going to do you, Parisa. I’m going to do you over and over right against this bed. And you’ll be screaming.”

Her hips bucked against him. She needed to get her pants off. She needed him inside her.

In the turret he put his hand against her pants and folded them off. Cool air flowed over her skin.

He slid his fingers down the sides of her thong and she heard the lace ripping as he pulled it apart. But, oh, God, the sensation of him doing things to her made her ache deep inside her body.

He moved her backward step by step until the back of her legs hit the bed. He pushed her onto her back and followed. Her feet just touched the floor. He spread her legs wide and eased down onto her.

She hissed again and wriggled her hips.

“So anxious for me,” he whispered against her neck. He licked her throat, and her vein throbbed.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered. She wanted him to strike.

Instead he rose up a little and began to push inside. She closed her eyes and breathed, savoring every inch of him as he pushed, drew back, pushed a little more, fitting himself carefully inside her.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes … but faster.”

He chuckled again, very low. He kissed her eyelids. “I’d ask you to open your eyes and look at me, but I have something different in mind.”

Of course then she had to open her eyes. She looked at him. “What?”

“Open your voyeur’s window.”

“Why?”

He just smiled. A certain thought occurred to her, and a flush flowed up her face. Yes, she was embarrassed.

He leaned close. “You want to do it,” he whispered into her ear. Shivers chased over her neck and down her arms. “I know you do.”

“I do, but it’s so … naughty.”

“I want you to get as close as you can and watch me push into you. I want you to see. Believe me, if I could do it, I would. I’d love to watch this.”

Parisa couldn’t believe she was about to do this. Yes, she had voyeured Antony when he pleasured himself but somehow this felt different.

And yet …

She opened the window. The pain hit hard, but this time she pushed back at it until it seemed to fall out of her head. Then she raised her shields hard. She took a deep breath, but the pain didn’t return.

“You okay?” he asked. “I forgot about the headaches.”

She smiled. “I think it was a shield problem. I’m okay now.”

He nodded. “Good.” Then he pushed into her in a long silken glide. She was tight but very wet and she gasped before she could say, “You sure you want me to do this?”

“Only if you describe it to me.”

At that, she brought the window in close to Antony from behind. What a glorious sight, better than a mirror. Watching his buttocks flex over her at the same time she could feel what he was doing inside her doubled the sensation.

She clenched.

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted,” he whispered against her cheek. “What do you see?”

“You. Your backside rippling over me as you push inside.”

He groaned. “Get in closer. Really close.” He pulled out of her almost to her entrance, then hovered.

She panned the window around his buttocks to the side—and there it was. His cock, long, thick, and hard. “I can see the length of you. Antony, so beautiful.” Her mouth was dry. Oh, yeah, she was panting. He started to push inside and she gave a cry.

“Faster,” she whispered. “I’m so close and all I’ve done is look at you, but oh, God … so big, so beautiful.”

He groaned, pushing harder and faster. She kept the window positioned at his hips; he maintained just enough distance that she could watch his cock go in and come out, over and over.

“You’re like a piston, Antony.” She couldn’t really breathe very well. He was big and he was hitting her cervix and suddenly she was just full of pleasure and screaming. The window closed but a rush of ecstasy drove through her, tightening and releasing, drawing him out.