Page 60 of The Bloodfeather Promise
Chapter Seventeen
Cannot tame a dark gypsy soul,
Her kisses will steal back lies she told.
She’s wildfire when I needed ice,
Burning my mouth cause she’s all I taste.
~Seven Seconds
Greyson
Iknow Emerson has come to me before the handle of the door even twists. When the door swings open, a knot of apprehension, lust, and longing swells inside my gut. Sitting on the terrace on the far side of the room, the French doors are wide open, letting in the sounds of the waves and the night breezes. I’ve got my old guitar resting on my knee.
I’m playing the chords of the song I wrote just forher.
I don’t need to look at Emerson. I know she’s making her way through the bedroom, taking in the enormous space. She probably does a double take when she sees my bed. It’s an oversized king, with a down comforter of dark grey and sheets of black silk. The bed frame is bulky and masculine, with not even a hint of those curlicue, whimsical details women love so much. It’s solid oak, stained a dark, almost black espresso and the four columns, each twelve feet high, are so hefty in circumference, I almost can’t reach around them. It sits on a raised dais, with a soft glow of light around its base to differentiate the levels.
I can’t say how many times I’ve fantasized about Emerson laying in the middle of that bed. Too many times to recall.
The elegant black sconces on the cream-hued walls are turned down low, as are the recessed lights over the bed. A matching iron chandelier the size of a dining table hangs in the center of the room, the ceiling medallion from which it sways twinkles with fiber optic lights that mimic stars. Everything in here is decorated in my chosen colors, the one space I actually let my preferences be known. Black, cream, grey and dark blue.
Her feet land silently on the distressed grey wood floors, her perfume a subtle announcement as she draws near.
“I heard you playing.”
I turn in the chair, leaning back into it. My eyes devour her as I continue playing. Wearing only my t-shirt, barefoot, her hair braided into a long rope, she’s a beautiful sacrifice, presenting herself to a lonely, sullen god. I don’t know why she has sought me out. I don’t know why she braved entering the sanctuary of my room, but I’m glad.
She comes closer, stopping at the edge of the tiles, bottom lip tugged between her teeth. I close my eyes because that little gesture, combined with the long, tanned legs the shirt doesn’t cover, and her eyes sparkling like rare topaz make my chest feel impossibly tight. There is still about twenty feet between us, but I am so aware of her, she might as well be wrapped around me.
“Why are you here, Emerson?”
My eyes are still closed. Her response floats to me on the breeze.
“I couldn’t sleep. I had to make sure you were okay.”
I sigh and lean my head against the back of the oversized patio chair. Searching for the strength to resist her, I stare up at the sky.
“I couldn’t sleep either, but I’m all right. Go back to bed now.” I wait for her to turn and obey my softly spoken command, but she doesn’t go like I tell her to. My tone is sharper than I intend when I bark, “Did you hear me? You keep putting yourself in the path of danger, and I’m warning you because it’s the right thing to do. I cannot resist you. You stay, and I will be making love to you in the next thirty seconds.”
There is silence, then a whisper of a sound I cannot identify. Maybe it’s her leaving….
“Greyson.”
Lowering my head, what I see before me is so unbelievable I’m not even sure it’s real. It’s like spying a unicorn out in the wild. Or capturing a fairy princess in the palm of your hand. It’s magical.She’smagical.
Emerson stands completely nude before me. The t-shirt has been pulled over her head and tossed into a nearby chair. She is wearing nothing.Nothing.Not even the thong underwear that earlier made me question my sanity. Her braided hair lays across one shoulder, coiling around one breast like a silky, ebony rope. Every inch of her is bare to me, and I stare unashamedly. She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Somehow, with less than steady hands, I manage to lay my guitar in a chair across from me. The times I’m outside the studio, Cindi is usually placed inside her case when I’m done playing her. Right now, I couldn’t care less.
“I’m not leaving,” Emerson states calmly. She begins unbraiding her hair until it tumbles over her shoulders and down the middle of her back.
Within seconds, I’ve crossed the terrace and she’s in my arms, my mouth on hers. She fills my hands as if she was made for me, and I kiss her frantically because I’m starving for her. I might die without her taste in my mouth. Sweet, little whimpers flow from her, driving me insane for every piece of her. I can’t get enough and neither can she. She’s molded herself against me, so tight, so close, not even a sliver of moonlight could find its way between us.
In a smooth, effortless motion, I scoop her up, never breaking the kiss that whispers what is in my soul. Those slender legs of hers wrap around my waist, her knees locking in the small of my back. Her arms curl around my neck, her fingers diving in the depths of my hair to clutch me closer.
Somehow, I don’t know how, I find the bed and we fall upon it together. I worry I’m crushing her, but she will not release me. And I’m glad.
I tear my mouth away only because I must discover the flavor of her skin in other sweet places. The curve of her neck, the delicate line of her collarbone. Even the underside of her chin gets my attention. She trembles and shakes as I finally,finallytaste the sweetness of her nipples, filling my hands with the plump roundness of her breasts as I feast on her. It is better than any dream or any fantasy I’ve ever had. It leaves me ravenous for more.
