“Shh,” he whispered against my lips, easily perceiving my unease. “I swore to take care of you. Let me love you.”
The words brought tears to my eyes, reminding me of another time, another place, another person. I pulled away, and he watched me as his hands reached for the hem of my sweater. His fingers were cool against the sensitive skin along my abdomen, causing me to tremble as he brought the material up and I lifted my arms instinctively. Thankfully, the pendant slid off my neck along with the sweater, preventing him from seeing it. I wasn’t sure if he would even recognize it, or perceive the importance, but I was relived there was no need to explain what in the hell I was doing with it.
For a moment, I thought he’d reach for my jeans. Instead, he stunned me by placing his lips against my throat, nuzzling me in a manner that indicated he was drawn to the contact instead of the eroticism of the act.
“How long has it been for you?” I asked softly, twining my fingers in his hair.
“One hundred and one years, give or take.”
Pausing, I tugged gently on his hair, until he peered up at me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
After kissing my chin, he breathed a line of cool air along my jaw. “It’s always been you. From the moment I touched you, tasted your blood, I knew. The only person I could ever truly touch was the only person I could never have.” Lifting his head once more, he met my confused stare. “Until now.”
“Gabriel.” My voice broke as I said that name that existed as a chasm between us.
“Is gone.” Paine’s own agony at the admission was evident. “He wanted this for us. The two people he loved most. He wouldn’t want you to be alone, and he was always aware of how I felt. That was why he wanted me to establish the first mark, to ensure that this would transpire in the event he passed. He always knew, Rhiannon. He was always aware.”
“He never told me.”
My willing compliance and increasing desire felt like a betrayal, but at the same time, what Paine said was also true. The fact that days had passed, versus the years that I had missed, didn’t matter. My life, if you could call it that, was no longer occurring in any facet that resembled normalcy.
When he bent his head again, I forced aside the memories that threatened to put an end to what was occurring between us. His touch was gentle, his fingertips feathering over my skin. Lowering my head, I pressed my nose into his hair and inhaled, taking in his own unique scent. While different from what I knew, it was equally as tantalizing and oddly comforting. His skin rippled as I ran my fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck, and his hands pulled me closer when I hesitated.
“Don’t stop touching me…please.”
There was so much misery in the request that I felt myself tearing up again, but for an altogether different reason. I couldn’t imagine being apart from those around me for so long, able to look but never touch.
“Take off your shirt.”
Leaning back, he did as I asked. His skin was as flawless as I expected, as were the muscles that lined his shoulders and chest. He closed his eyes when I placed my palm over his heart, searching for and finding the slow, steady beating just beneath.
“I’ve dreamed about this,” he said as he took a deep, jagged breath. “So many times.”
A question came to mind, and it was impossible not to ask. “How many women have touched you?”
“None since you disappeared.” He moved away again, until we were face to face. “Even then, sex was only sex, and it was always one sided.” At my questioning look he clarified, “It doesn’t make me proud, but I used the women I had sex with. It was something done to scratch an itch, and only when I couldn’t bear being trapped in my own skin. They never touched me, and since I used protection and took precautions to cover my body, it made the experience bearable.”