The melting butter sensation had made its way to my back and is creeping north and south simultaneously. In another minute I’m going to be a warm puddle. “An Irish Dullahan is a being that comes at night, he’s headless, and forewarns of death.”
“Ah, maybe that is what I used to be, but definitely not anymore.”
His velvet rich voice caresses me from the inside out. I can feel his strength pulsing through his fingertips as he strokes my palm. His clean scent lingers in the air and I let myself drift away with the symphony of sensation.
“Sweet vixen, are you all right?”
“Are you falling asleep?”
“Your eyes are closed, love.”
“It’s fine. Please don’t stop, Nathaniel.” There it is again, a part of my brain notes, speaking without my permission.
At some point I must have pulled him on top of me because I’m suddenly aware of the smell and feel of crushed grass beneath me. My ear is being nibbled and I can hardly breathe, not because of the weight of him, but because of the sheer excitement and the rush of blood pounding through me. It’s taken my breath away. Turning my face to find his mouth, he’s all too agreeable to meet me. My self-control has become as distant as yesterday’s breeze.
“You have the most kissable mouth I’ve ever seen,” he whispers and then proceeds to prove his statement.
Nathaniel is strong and gentle and urgent and tender. I send out a silent prayer to Father Time to let this perfect moment last forever. How did I not know kissing could be like this?
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