His Cemetery Doll (23 page)

Standing then, Con scooped her into his arms. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stole another taste of her lips to silence her. Wordlessly, he carried her to the stairs, then up into the darkness of his bedroom.

Laying her down, he paused only to remove his own dirty clothing. He lay beside her, running the backs of his knuckles down the center of her chest.

"My beautiful ballerina," he murmured. She arched subtly to his touch, and he bowed his head to kiss each of her pretty pink nipples. Leaning over her, he cupped her breasts in his hands, running his thumbs over the peaks. She had small breasts, but they were perfect to him; he could cover them with his palms and feel her heartbeat under his touch. Her glorious, wonderful heartbeat. Pressing her breasts together, he ran his tongue over each, capped them with a kiss again, and began to slide farther down her body.

"Conall..." she breathed.

Everywhere he found one of her scars, he kissed her. She no longer tasted like ice and snow; now each time he pressed his lips to her, he savored the hint of salt and heat of her lovely, rosy skin.

When his kisses found the subtle swell of her mons, Asya gasped.
God,
it sounded so beautiful, her true voice at last. Con stroked his fingers along her inner thighs, parting them so he could behold the sight of her pussy spread before him.

"You're beautiful," he repeated before planting a soft kiss on the pink bud of her clitoris. Asya let out a long, pleasured sigh.

"You taste so good," he whispered. "I dreamt of having you...like this..."

"They weren't dreams, my love," she replied. "From the moment I saw what you had done for me...for my baby..."

Her little red tongue peeked out and swept over her lips. The hunger in her gaze—
perfect.

"Oh, Conall," she moaned, undulating to his touch. "I wished so desperately to thank you...to tell you...how much you...
aaah...
"

Her words died out into a drawn-out sound of pleasure as Conall ran his tongue in a flourish over her tight, glistening clitoris.

"Conall," she gasped. "My lonely gravekeeper..."

Tears made her voice quaver, and she struggled to speak.

"My wonderful...brave man..."

"I want you," he said. "Lie on your side, Asya...I want to have you. Right now."

She obeyed, sliding her legs up and then raising the left into the air, extended in graceful pointe. He raised himself over her slowly, planting more soft, hungry kisses along her thigh. His hands caressed her lean, muscular leg, and he straightened to press himself firmly against her hot, sweet pussy.

"Yes," he groaned as he guided his cock up and down the slick wetness of her folds. She moved with him, welcoming his erection with lush arousal, anointing his shaft with her need. He stroked the tawny silk of hair upon her pussy, petting her with adoring affection, and slid his fingers down her folds.

"Wet," he whispered. Reaching down to touch her face, he stroked her lips with his thumb, and then parted them to let her suck on it. At the same time he felt her pussy tighten and she rolled her hips to him.

"Oh, Conall," she groaned. She dragged her tongue along his thumb as though she licked his cockhead, and she gave a long, desperate suck.

"Please...please, I need you. God, I
need
you inside of me..."

Taking hold of her upraised leg and resting it against his chest, Conall slid his rigid cock into her, taking her inch by inch, uttering a gratified moan as he claimed her. She let out a heavy breath and opened herself to accept him even deeper; her hands curled into fists in the sheets and she began to move, making soft sounds like joyful little whimpers as his cock slid in and out of her.

"Yes," she whispered desperately. "
Yes,
yes, please..."

He gritted his teeth as he worked her a little harder. He felt almost a part of her now, an integral measure to her fulfillment, his whole body a vessel to pump hot pleasure into the yearning depths of hers. His ballerina wasn't a slattern and a whore, but he could sense in the movement of her body she was wanton for him, supplicant and craving his seed, deep inside of her. The way her pussy tightened around him, she desired it dearly, begged him to pour every drop into her until it ran from her beautiful pink entrance down over her thighs. Asya wanted him, and she reveled in his need for her, and they were one in a passionate, primal union.

"Harder," she gasped, and he thrust deep, almost vengeful in a swell of ecstasy. Oh, yes...there it was: he couldn't hold back any longer, and he growled, riding her movements, sinking deep and hard with every swell.

She cried out softly. It came out a senseless sound, the cry of a female intoxicated with pleasure. Conall tightened his grip on her leg and thrust, pumping his cock in and out of her, her wet cum drenching both their thighs.

"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, yes, oh—oh, God, I—"

The last of her words died out as she came, body going tense and seizing with pleasure. She thrust her hips madly back at him and her pussy contracted around him. He obliged her. His own orgasm came in a hot rush, and he fell upon her, bracing himself with a hand on either side of her as his cock swelled and then let go in a flood. He pumped into her still-quaking pussy, filling her, giving her every last drop until it did run between them, staining the sheets below.

"Bloody, mother-loving fuck!" Conall bit out, going rigid as one last throb of orgasm shook him. As his head cleared, he became aware of a sound he'd never truly heard before: Asya was laughing.

"Hey, now," he muttered, panting hard. "And just what's so funny?"

She giggled, and he believed it might be his new favorite expression from her. Even more precious than the sound of her climax.

"I..." she said, and she actually blushed. "I like your...foul-mouthed enthusiasm."

"I'm a soldier," he snapped, playful, and he withdrew from her to settle beside her, taking her in his arms.

"I like soldiers," she said. "I like...brave men."

"Will you stay, Asya?" he asked. "Please. Let us make a whole family. You and me, and Shyla."

She sighed, a gentle, pleasant reply.

"We'll leave the Knoll," he continued. "Take you and Shy away from these terrible memories. I'd like to start over with you. Maybe...where I grew up. Back in Scotland. In Clydebank, if you'll have it."

"Conall," she said, smiling. "Tomorrow. With Shyla. We can discuss everything then."

"But you will stay?" he whispered. "Stay with me.
Be
with me."

She gazed at him, those mismatched eyes serene. She stroked his cheek and pressed her lips tenderly to his.

"Yes," she said. "I will, love. I will be with you."

She tucked herself in close, and Conall held her, relishing her warmth, listening to her breathe.

"We will all be...together."

He nodded in wordless agreement, and rested his head beside hers.

They lay quietly in the dark, and after some time her breathing turned soft and even. Conall smiled as he shut his eyes too, inhaling the scent of her.

His angel...his Cemetery Doll.

Finally come home.

––––––––

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