breadth of those massive shoulders more than encompassed hers, his weight pressing her deep into the mattress. He was sealed against her, wrapping her up, all unyielding muscle, breast to breast, belly to belly, hot and damp. Water dripped from his hair onto her face and neck. Her fingers slipped on his wet skin and she gripped hard.
“Gods, I want you,” he mumbled between drugging kisses. “Good . . . ah, fuck . . . it’s good.”
“Yes,” she panted, twining her tongue around his. “Yes!”
Erik grabbed one of Prue’s wrists and then the other, arranging her arms over her head, curling her fingers into the elaborate fretwork of the headboard. With a final lick and a soft swipe of the tongue, he freed his mouth. Panting, he stared down into her eyes, his own a brilliant, blinding blue. His expression was so focused, so compelling, she couldn’t have looked away to save her life.
When she opened her mouth, he said only, “Sshh.”
His hands slid from her buttocks to her thighs to her calves. Quickly, he lifted her legs over his shoulders and leaned right into her, tilting her backward, supporting his body on powerful arms. It put her in the most vulnerable position imaginable, spread out beneath him, crammed full of the hard bulk of his cock, completely at his mercy.
Helpless.
The instant the thought entered Prue’s head, every muscle in her lower body convulsed with lust, clamping down so hard she could swear she felt every vein and contour of that magnificent shaft. Erik groaned as if she’d reached out and torn the heart from his chest, still beating.
His hips flexed as he drew back. An instant’s pause, hanging on the edge, and then he was thundering into her, the bed shaking. Because of his size and the acute angle, it was an extraordinary sensation, on the borderline between pleasure and pain. Prue gripped the headboard with manic strength, thin whimpering noises escaping her with each gasping breath. Jabs of lightning hit her clitoris with every jolting stroke. Within seconds, the high, tight friction had built to a pleasure point so fiery it felt agonizing.
She tried to writhe, to reduce the awful, wonderful pressure, but he was everywhere. She couldn’t move. Her arousal lifted another excruciating notch. “It’s too much!” Her head thrashed on the pillow. “I can’t take it.”
“Yes, you can.” He drove into her powerfully, deep, then deeper still. “Not long.” A shuddering breath. “Stay with me, love.”
Amazingly, she found she could. Because there was nothing left to do but to trust, to follow where he led. Higher and higher he took her, until she was keening her pleasure aloud, flying, soaring on a burning wind to a high, airy place, where she rode the lightning in truth.
The spiraling intensity of it quivered on the very cusp of culmination, a summer storm heavy with the potential for utter destruction. Prue forced her eyes open. Erik hung above her, his face fierce with passion, his shoulders and chest sheened with sweat and water. “I have to—” she gasped. “Gods, please!”
“Yes. Ah, Prue, you’re . . . perfect.”
A final twist of the hips, a long, hard stroke, and she was gone, the swell of sensation shattering, a hot, rushing wind that flashed up and down her spine, digging deep into her pelvis, her ass. She shrieked.
“Fuck!” Abruptly, Erik grasped her calves and let her legs slip to his waist. He dropped to his elbows, gripping her head between his hands, and she heard his long groan as he jammed himself high and hard inside her, his buttocks clenching with the force of his orgasm. The deep, formless sound morphed into words, rumbling out of his chest, echoing around the chamber like thunder in the mountains, strong and imperative, a masculine command.
“Love me, Prue. Gods, love me!”
The Necromancer sat propped up in bed, a bank of pillows at his back, listening to the rain. Scowling, he reached forward to rub his knee, and his back twinged. He’d done his best to control his temper, but he had to admit he’d failed. He let out a breath, gusty with irritation. The Technomage Primus should have known better than to provoke him.
For a start, she’d panicked all over him, and he couldn’t abide that. Flapping and wailing—faugh! She hadn’t even had the courtesy to say thank you. He’d relayed the singer’s story about the seelies out of the goodness of his heart, because he thought she’d be interested. All the more information for