Obsidian Flame

She moved to him so fast it was a blur of speed. And since she dropped to her knees, he jerked backward, stunned.



But she took his hands and held them tight. She stared into his clear blue eyes. “You are worthy, Leto, a thousand times over, a thousand times more than you believe.”



His breath was ragged. “Do you know what you smell like to me? The most fragrant earth, clean and pure with just the faintest hint of sweet wildflowers.” His hand found the back of her neck. She liked it there, almost possessive, very intimate.



“You’re the forest to me, Leto, heavy and wild, dark, foreboding, exciting.”



He groaned softly. “Let me kiss you.”



She felt the pressure on her nape and she allowed him to pull her toward him until his lips found hers. A tingling traveled over her lips, so enticing. Her lips parted and his tongue dipped just a little, rimming her mouth, gliding over the edge of her teeth.



She had forgotten, truly, she had forgotten how wonderful it was to have the physical connection, the touch. She had loved kissing her husband and it had been a very long time.



He moaned softly as he pushed his tongue deep into her mouth. The little shivers returned to skate up and down the insides of her thighs, little guiding lights aimed at the well of life, the place where such swelling took place, such rising of pleasure to the point of ecstasy.



He dragged her up until she lay against the breadth of his warrior chest. This was the moment that brought home to her all the physical truths of what giving him up would mean. He kissed her hard now, his tongue working her mouth the way his cock would work the deep, dark part of her body. He held her in his powerful heavy arms so that she was pressed against his muscled chest and through the thin layer of his shirt and her gown, she could feel the dips and swell of him.



Her mind began to grow very lax, very loose, as though the scent that now engulfed her was like the heavy blanket of dry summer forest air. She couldn’t quite think.



But as he kissed her, another image intruded, of a handsome face, dark eyes, and long curly hair.



Casimir.



A trembling began at the soles of her feet, pulling at her. She couldn’t help that she drew slowly away from Leto until she stood upright and flat-footed on the woven antique carpet of Warrior Medichi’s living room.



She closed her eyes and held her arms wide, her palms flat and facing upward toward the ceiling. The strange energy began to ripple up her legs, through her hips, and up through her torso.



Then Leto’s hands were suddenly on her face.



She opened her eyes and for a moment, the energy diminished. But she shook her head. “Something is wrong, Leto. I can’t explain it.”



A strange collection of words suddenly flowed through her head, accompanied by an almost singing quality, almost like music: To not love them both, is to lose them both.



“I can’t do this with you, not yet. I want to, but…”



“It’s Casimir, isn’t it?”



She nodded. “He’s my breh in the same way you are.”



Leto sank back down on the couch. He looked as though she’d kicked him.



To not love them both, is to lose them both.



“Leto, you must listen to me. Our fates are intertwined with Casimir’s. I can’t explain it but you must accept that. At all costs, he must live. And now, I have no explanation except that it’s a message that has come through my obsidian flame power. Tell me you understand.”



Leto closed his eyes and leaned back against the sofa. “I have understood nothing for a hundred years. I’ve lived a life I’ve deplored, one that went against every belief, every tenet of my soul. Now the breh-hedden comes when I’m ready to pass from ascension, brings you to me, but I’m not allowed to possess you. So no, I don’t understand.”



Grace waited. The one thing she had learned in the Convent was the power of waiting, of patience. How her sister would have laughed at the irony that Grace had to go into a convent to learn to be her sister’s namesake.



She waited now. She settled her spirit down, that part of her that wanted to crawl into Leto’s arms, to touch him low, to give to him every erotic experience she had imagined through the decades. She drew a single deep breath and willed him, if not to understand, then to accept.



Finally, he opened his left arm. His smile might have been crooked and his clear blue eyes may have still been full of sadness, but she saw his acceptance.



She slid next to him and put her head on his shoulder as he surrounded her with his arm. How safe she felt like this, with his powerful muscles holding her close to his heart.



But she could feel the truth: that hell was about to break wide open, if not tonight, then in the early hours of the morning.



But she knew what to do.



She would rise early.



And she would pray.



* * *



“Do you know what I’ve loved?” Thorne asked. He lay flat on his back, in his Sedona bed, and Marguerite rode him, one of his favorite positions because he could see her. All of her.



“What have you loved?” she asked, tilting her pelvis just a little.



He groaned. It was getting difficult to hold back. When he’d been outside with Marcus and the rest of the brothers, he’d gotten so worked up. It was different now, because of the breh-hedden. A kind of communal response had resulted so that Marcus’s suffering had become his, and shit how he’d needed this with Marguerite.



She dipped forward and kissed him. The forward movement of her body stroked him so hard that he could have come just like that, but he wanted the moment to last.



“What do you love?” she asked again, keeping her rhythm strong.



“This. Getting to make love to you anytime I want to. Sometimes when I had to wait until dawn I thought I’d crawl right out of my skin.”



“I know exactly what you mean.” Her back arched slightly, and the strength of her internal muscles tugged so that he hissed. Her deep rose scent flowed over him in a sudden heavy wave that plowed into his sinuses and brought his own back arching.



Marguerite eased back, slowing down. He took deep breaths. Good, he sent. He had his eyes closed. I want this to last.



Me, too. You’re so beautiful, Thorne. Have I told you that? Have I told you how much I love just looking at you?



He opened his eyes. Her lips were dark, swollen, and parted. He wanted to rim her with his tongue but he feared moving. He was on the knife-edge of orgasm and it felt fantastic.



Marguerite smiled suddenly.



“What?”



“I just realized that if all your warrior gatherings end that way, you know, with all you men worked up, I’m in.”



He laughed and his body bounced, but it eased him back just a little, which was good. “I want something from you?”



Her body shivered as she rose up and down on his column. Anything, she sent. She leaned closer and moved faster. “I think I know what you want. There’s this ball of light—”



He closed his eyes and hissed. “Yes.” He barely pinched the words out of his throat.



She started moving faster, and he put his hands on her hips. “You know the moment I touch your obsiddy power, you’ll come.”



He nodded. “Just come with me.”



“That’s what I’ve got in mind.”



He’d been her lover a long time. He knew her body and she sure as hell knew what she was doing.



As she increased her speed and as he used his arms to help her pump, faster and faster, as she closed her eyes and began to moan, he lowered his mental shields so she could slip inside. He didn’t have to wait long.



Suddenly she was just there. She focused on what even he could admit was so absurdly male, that big round ball deep in the center of his mind, he felt her power moving through him, flowing toward it. She was almost there.



The last time she’d pierced him, breaking open his power, it had hurt like hell, but he knew it would different from now on.



She reached the side of the ball.



Oh, God.



His neck arched and his back tightened in anticipation. Holy shit, this was going to be a ride.



Ready? she sent.



Are you?



A squeak of a moan left her throat. Now she was panting.



Oh, God, do it, Marguerite.



When she slipped inside his obsidian flame power, it sent fire through his entire body, from his mind, down and down, over his torso, his hips, his legs, then rushed back up through his balls and cock.



By this time, she was tight around him, riding him fast and screaming her orgasm.



Pleasure began like a gripping flame that burned in the best way possible, at the base of his cock. As though time slowed, the pleasure expanded and intensified when he began to ejaculate. He had never felt so engaged with his entire body, as though ecstasy rode the veins of his legs, arms, and neck, as though he could feel the pleasure of his cock all the way down to his toes.



He heard a loud grunting, almost thrashing sound as he released deep into Marguerite. He recognized his voice and felt his throat open wide as he shouted, the pleasure streaking through his cock, again and again.



He opened his eyes. Marguerite was writhing on top of him. Look at me.



She popped her eyes wide then her back arched again and he could feel her pulsing against his cock once more.



He was breathing hard, but the thing was, he was still hard and he knew what he wanted to do. He pushed against her mind and she gave a loud cry and lowered her shields.



He dove straight into her obsidian flame channel, and when he reached the center he hit her hard. She cried out, her brows rising, her mouth wide. Shit, I see stars, she sent. Oh, Thorne.



Because she came again, she thrust him out, and that was the ride that brought him again. He shouted once more, pleasure streaking and straining and rocking him hard into her body, over and over, until at last he could feel her ease down and at last his own orgasm subsided.



She was panting and he dragged air hard as though he’d just run a marathon.



“Oh, my God,” he whispered, sliding his arms around her and drawing her close.



“Ditto.”



With his arms still around her, she slid to his side, her legs on his thigh. He smiled at how wet it was. He loved it.