Her Reaper's Arms, Charlotte Boyett-Compo [world best books to read .TXT] 📗

and that I will not

do if you are against it.”

She nibbled her bottom lip, eyes locked with his and filled with quiet desperation.

“But when you… Will what is in you…?” Her face burned scarlet and she ducked her

head, breaking eye contact. “You know.”

Bevyn’s brows drew together then understanding lit his golden gaze. “You think

that what is inside my cum will contaminate you?”

If possible her face turned redder still and she bobbed her head in silent agreement.

“Look at me,” he said, and reached out to tilt her face to him. He smiled softly.

“Sweeting, while it is true my seed is rife with Revenant spore, it will not infect you.

You can not become a Reaper in that way. Only extracting one of my hellions and

implanting it in you—”

“I don’t want that!” she said as her face leached of the blush that had been there

only moments before.

He caressed her cheek. “Then you have nothing to worry about for I will never

force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her

bottom lip. “Do you understand?”

A fleeting smile touched her lips. “Aye, milord. I understand.”

“There is no reason to fear what is inside me.”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“All right.”

“And no reason to ever fear me. If you don’t want to do this…”

“What if we m-make a baby from this?” she asked. “Will she—”

“He,” he corrected her. “Reapers can only give their mates male children.”

She asked why that was.

“My hellion, my Queen, is a jealous thing,” he said. “She would see to it that one of

the spores destroyed a female…” He flung out a hand, searching for the word. He did

not think she would understand what zygote meant. “A female…”

“Embryo?” she provided.

“Aye!” he said, pouncing on the word with relief. “She would destroy it in the

womb.” Such talk disturbed him and he stirred her away from it, having no intention of

ever getting her pregnant.

“But if you don’t want to lie with me, I will understand.”

“Would a child of ours be like you?” she asked, and Bevyn wanted to groan with

frustration. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, aye, he would, but only when he comes of age,” he replied uneasily. “After

he reaches puberty. Hell, I may not be able to give you a baby, sweeting. Did you think

of that?”

She considered his handsome face. A man as sensual and powerful as this one

could not be anything but virile and—she blushed—potent. “If he will be like you in all

else, I think I could live with that. I would love him despite the thing inside him.”

Bevyn’s heart twisted and he gave her a look that he was certain had made her

womb clench for she drew in a tremulous breath.

“That’s a long way off. Let’s not worry about it,” he said, wanting this conversation

finished. “But like I said, if you don’t want to make love with me…”

“I belong to you, Milord Bevyn,” she declared, chin raised defiantly. “Take what

you want.”

For a long moment he stared at her then took a deep breath, pushing all his own

worries aside.

“I will pay for it,” he said. “By the gods, they will make me pay for it, but I can no

more stop making you wholly mine than I can cease to breathe.”

He rose up in the bed and knelt there on his knees, sliding her chemise from her

shoulders and down her upper body, waiting patiently as she arched her hips up so he

could pull it free. She lay there beneath his scrutiny as he swept his gaze over her

nakedness, claiming it for his own.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, holding his hand out to her to help her sit.

She cocked her head to one side, wondering at his motive until he put his hands to

her hair and began to take the pins from the blonde curls, pulling the long locks over

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Her Reaper’s Arms

her shoulders, fingering them, lifting them to his nostrils to inhale the scent of lemons

that clung to the tendrils.

“So beautiful,” he said with a sigh, letting the lock he held fall to her shoulder.

“I am as you see me,” she said. She held no illusions of how she looked. To her, she

was nothing special—simply an ordinary woman with commonplace looks. She had no

way of knowing that to him she was the most beautiful woman to ever walk the face of

the earth.

He wanted—no he needed—to lose himself in her soft, wet folds. He knew it was

wrong, that he should not do it. He knew the consequences but he didn’t care. All of his

life he had been denied what he wanted, had his needs and hopes and longings laughed

at, subjugated, pushed aside, denied.

No more!

He wanted and he would take, penalties be damned.

Lowering his head to her breast, he drew her nipple between his lips, glorying in

the feel of her hands threading through his hair to hold his head. He plied his tongue

across the swollen tip—tasting her, suckling her, drawing strength and courage from

her sweet offering. He laved her, swirled his tongue around her engorged peak, planted

soft kisses along the firm globe he held in his hand.

Shifting until he was atop her, pushing her legs apart with his hips, he settled down

into the sweet valley between her thighs and clasped her other breast, holding it as

lovingly as he did its mate. Alternating his attention from one silken mound to the

other, he licked her nipples, gently nibbled them and raked them softly across his lips

and cheek and chin. All the while, his eyes were on hers—melded, fused, locked.

“You are an incredibly handsome man, milord,” she told him. Her fingers plowed

slowly, sensuously through his dark curls.

“I am as you see me,” he repeated her words back to her. He flicked his tongue over

her nipple then drew it into his mouth.

Lea stared into those beautiful amber eyes with their long, thick lashes and

shivered. His face was flawless without a nick or a cut to mar the flesh. Not one blemish

showed on those fine features except for the dark blue tattoo. She traced the sweep of

one stylized wing with her fingertip.

“What manner