Page 55 of Charmed

Rising, she collected their plates and set them on the dresser. Her back to him, she studied the two swords he had mounted on the wall. "All your other ones are displayed in the hallway. What makes these special?"

"They're the most rare. The top one's a thirteenth-century Galloglas from a Highland Gaelic-Norse clan, the bottom a Celtic Thorn with a Damascus blade. Both have Irish roots."

"May I?" She pointed.

"Sure, but..." He rubbed his neck, hesitant. "Be really, really careful. They're sharp."

She chose the Thorn and unhooked it from the mount. She faced him, eyes on the sword. "It's lighter than it looks. How sharp?" She bounced it as if testing the weight, then brought it closer, her gaze sweeping over the etchings and designs on the blade.

He nearly had a coronary. "Very sharp, babe." The total length of the thing was only thirty inches, but his heart continued to trip an uneven rhythm as visions of her accidentally hurting herself shoved to mind. "That particular sword can slice through a torso without a hiccup or making a sound."

"Really?" A wicked grin split her face. "Nifty."

His lungs refused to cooperate as he watched her walk to the foot of the bed. Once clear of the furniture, she brought the sword over her head and made a swift, clean swipe mid-air.

Ten seconds in, he realized she wasn't being reckless and had a decent grasp of how to manipulate the weapon. He reclined on the bed, propped on his elbows, and crossed his ankles.

Mercy, she was fascinating. Poignant and fierce. Hair whipping around her head, swinging a sword like a Celtic goddess, and the low yellow glow from the solitary lamp bathing her skin. His shaft swelled and his gut heated.

"I've had fantasies about this scenario, you know."

She paused. "About me playing with your sword?"

"Nice pun." He relished and feared that his insatiable longing for her bore no end. He couldn't even tell where it had begun or when. "And yes, I've thought about you in my room, wielding my sword. Although, in my fantasy, you were naked."

Up went her brows. Her trademark impish smirk followed. "Like this?" She pulled her shirt over her head and unceremoniously dropped it on the floor, leaving her in all her unabashed glory.

His motor systems simultaneously crashed at once. He couldn't look away if the mansion was burning down around them, nor would he care. As if he had all of eternity to do so, he absorbed every single flawless aspect of her, branded it to memory in case the gods were never this forgiving again. From her red polished toenails to the hourglass flare of her hips to her turquoise eyes, nothing went unnoticed.

"Just like that," he grated through the gravel in his throat. "Dreams do come true."

She crossed the room, replaced the sword, and climbed onto the mattress. On all fours, she crawled over and straddled him. Her hair created a curtain as she bent closer, blocking everything else but the two of them.

The urgency from earlier was gone, and he was left with an affectionate fondness in his chest he'd not experienced to date. He still wanted her with every inch of his being, but what was happening now superseded passion and took a nosedive toward exclusive intimacy. He found it in her eyes, too. Closeness. Familiarity. Recognition.

He skimmed his hands up her toned thighs, over her taut belly, and cupped her full breasts. Gaze riveted on the task, he lightly circled her rosy nipples until they were stiff peaks.

He adored her responsiveness. Whether it be her body's reaction to him or her sounds of pleasure, she let him know that she liked what he was doing. A moan here, a gasp there. Blushes and fluttering lashes and trembles.

Her gaze searched his. "How's the fantasy holding up?"

"Nothing compared to reality." He fingered a strand of her hair, silky and as soft as her skin. "Kiss me."

She traced a fingernail down his chest, past his abs, stopping at the waistband of his briefs. "Where?"

Ah, man. Never a dull moment. "Use your imagination."

"Dangerous answer." She dipped her head and ran her tongue along the tendon in his neck. "There?"

His nerves seared at the roots. "There's good."

She hummed, moving to his nipple. She nipped first, then sucked the tenderness away before shifting to the other one. "How about here?"

"Here's great." His lungs were collapsing, but whatever.

Her hands added to the mix, following the path of her mouth to his abs. Her hair feathered in the wake, and he made a strangled noise like a wounded animal. She laughed at his torment and tugged his briefs.

He lifted his hips to assist. Never let it be said he wasn't helpful. She worked them down his thighs to his ankles, where he kicked them aside. A kiss from her on each hip, and he fisted the sheets, this close to losing his ever-loving mind.

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