Page 11 of Chosen, Eternally
I stop breathing, because it’s too much. I cannot multitask—between inhaling and focusing on the Greek god in front of me, I choose the latter. After all, how much longer of this will I have? My time with James is more finite than oxygen.
So I take a step forward and tentatively lift a hand, holding it just over his skin. Still hot from his shower, I can feel the heat radiate off him. Soon enough, once he’s completed his transition, his body temperature will run low—a chilling fifty-ish degrees—but for now, the fire between us is scorching.
“You can touch me if you want,” he says, his voice gravelly. Rough. Hungry.
Finally, I inhale a sharp breath. “I’m almost too scared to,” I confess.
James takes my wrist and presses the palm of my hand right over his heart. It’s still beating, though slower than it should be for your average adult male. So I focus on the drum, memorizing the beat. Tattooing it on the side of my brain to carry with me in the quiet times to come.
With incredible tenderness, he takes my other hand and places it right next to the first.
“Touch me,” he almost groans.
With a sharp intake of breath, I follow orders. I’ve been such a good girl, too. I deserve this.
A rush of heat pools between my legs, my chest so tight there’s not an ounce of air that would fit in my lungs right now. As I begin to move my hands over him, to feel the hard muscles of his shoulders and biceps, I can’t help but admire the smoothness of his skin, the perfectly delicious way in which he looks down at me with a smirk that turns my legs to Jell-O and builds low in my stomach.
“Go lower,” he murmurs.
I swallow, but there’s a big lump in my throat making the task impossible. “I—Are you sure?” My voice is barely a squeak.
His smile is gentle when he nods, but the fire in his eyes is blazing.
With his permission, I venture down, running my fingers in between the lines of his abdomen, admiring every dip and hill,the light smattering of hair—his happy trail—leading all the way down to where I can feel he’s already hard. I bring both hands down the sides of his ribs and admire how they taper into his waist and hips. And that’s where I stop toreallylook. To gawk, really. To drag the tips of my fingers down that delicious V. Down those defined muscles that lead directly to his cock.
A cock that has me gasping in shock, burning at the cheeks, and aching in between my legs.
“James,” I moan, unable to take my eyes off him.It.
“Yeah?”
I nod.
“Can I…?”
“God, yes. Please,” he begs.
It’s only then that I notice his panting, the look of desperation in his eyes. And it makes me feel all-powerful and invincible—more than winning any fight with vampires ever has. Because this perfect, gorgeous, sweet, intelligent man wants me. Wantsme. How is that even possible?
My gaze lifts to meet his just before I wrap my hand around his cock—hard, thick, warm, and perfect. And the way his eyes roll to the back of his head is everything—the validation I need to know that I’m not the only one about to spontaneously combust from this encounter.
“Harder,” he says with a groan. “I like itrough.” His confession burns my cheeks, heats my skin.
He gasps. “Your hand. It just got hot.”
I pull it away, embarrassed beyond belief. “I’m so sorry. Sometimes, when I’m very emotional, my powers… They just?—”
“You lose control?”
I sigh. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Something in his expression shifts. Like he’s… proud of himself for it?
“Don’t apologize.” And with speed that rivals my own movements in battle, he pulls my face to his, wraps an arm around my waist, and kisses me as if we were an inch from death.
And aren’t we, though?
But I couldn’t care less. You couldn’t pay me to care about anything other than this moment right here, right now, in James’s arms as he paws at my clothes. Pulls at my pants and manages to push them down without ever even unbuttoning them. Lifts the hem of my henley and pulls it over my head.
