Kiss of the Rose: The Tudor Vampire Chronicles by Pearce Kate

Author:Pearce Kate [Kate, Pearce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-08-02T22:00:00+00:00

Rosalind held her breath as Christopher paused at the edge of the inner stone circle and looked behind him. She was panting as if there was no air left within the center of the ancient sacred circle. When he entered, the stones vibrated and began to hum as if reacting to his male presence. Waves of heat pulsated through Rosalind as she stared at his long, lean form.

He walked toward her, his face ablaze with determination and lust. Strands of black hair curled around his face. His long legs ate up the ground between them, but he seemed to move so slowly that she could see every tiny motion. As he approached, he stripped off his long shirt and hose, leaving him as naked as she was. His muscles bunched and relaxed and his chest expanded as he breathed as harshly as she did. She couldn’t help staring at his erect cock.

In the last remaining corner of her mind that wasn’t affected by the smoke, she had expected it to be Rhys. But Belenos, the Shining One, the God of Beltaine, demanded his due, and she was unworthy to question the rightness of Christopher’s presence or the God’s will.

No sound from the raucous celebrations around the fire penetrated the inner stillness of the stone circle. It was as if they were alone, newborn, created by the gods to obey their dictates and explore and celebrate the very essence of life. Rosalind backed away from Christopher until she came up against the solid stone block in the dead center of the circle.

He kept coming toward her, his expression intent, his gaze fixed on her body. When he reached out a hand to cup her breast, time seemed to dissolve and become meaningless. She moaned as his thumb grazed her nipple, watched as his mouth descended to suckle her breast, as his fingers slid between her thighs to find her already wet and open for him.

She wasn’t Rosalind and he wasn’t Christopher. They were beyond that now, merely creatures of the gods, with no other purpose than to please each other and offer up their joining to the heavens. He leaned over her, urging her back against the warm stone, his cock a wet, hard, thrusting presence against her soft belly. She reached down between them to stroke him, gloried at the heat and stiffness, at his harsh groan when she moved her fingers over the already wet and swollen head.

His hands settled around her waist and lifted her to sit on the edge of the stone block. He pushed himself between her thighs. Her feet found the footholds carved into the side of the stone and settled there, as if this had happened before. His hips moved against hers in an urgent rhythm that echoed the earlier drums and the sound of her frantic breathing.

His fingers touched her quim, stroking and separating her swollen folds. He flicked the taut bud that made her convulse and lift herself into each deliberate caress.

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