"You feel… like heaven," he grunted, his control starting to fray. His thrusts grew slightly harder and deeper, hitting a spot inside her that made her see stars.

The second orgasm built faster, a rising tide fed by the first.

She wrapped her legs high around his waist, locking her ankles, taking him even deeper. Her nails scored down his back.

"Jaenor! Yes… right there… don't stop…"

A guttural roar was torn from him.

His tender façade shattered, and the animal he kept chained broke free. His thrusts became powerful, primal, driving into her with a force that shook the bed frame. She met him thrust for thrust, her own cries meeting his grunts, their sweat-slicked bodies sliding together in a frantic, glorious rhythm.

She climaxed again, a sharper, more violent peak that clenched around him like a fist, milking him, pulling his own release from him.

With a final, deep, shuddering thrust, he buried himself inside her and shouted her name, his body convulsing as he poured his heat into her.

He collapsed upon her, spent, his weight a heavy, welcome anchor.

His breath was coming in hard, and hers too; they both could feel each other's chest heaving up and down.

Sweat-covered, tired from the intense sex they had. It was unlike anything Jaenor had done before. He felt different; somehow he felt new.

They lay like that for long moments, the only sound their ragged breathing slowly returning to normal.

The fire crackled in the hearth.

Slowly, he softened and slipped from her.

He rolled to the side, gathering her against him, her back to his chest, his arms wrapped possessively around her.

He nuzzled her hair, placing a soft, tender kiss on her shoulder.

Emmanuelle lay in a daze of pleasure and satiation, the ghost of her lover soothed by the very real, very virile young man who held her.

The scent of sex and sandalwood filled the air.

After a long silence, his voice, rough and low, whispered in her ear.

"You are temptation incarnate. And I could worship your ass all day long."

A soft, breathless laugh escaped her.

She twisted in his arms, the furs rustling beneath them, until she faced him.

Jaenor pushed his hands down on her as she faced him; his hand took her ass cheek, and he pressed and kneaded it, feeling the plushy flesh on his fingers.

The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the strong jaw and dark eyes that were so familiar, yet so uniquely his.

Her fingers came up, tracing the line of his cheekbone and his lips.

"No," she murmured, her voice husky with spent passion and wonder.

"It is you who are divine. What you gave me… what you made me feel…" She trailed off, searching for the words in the smoky, intimate air between them.

"It was not just pleasure, Jaenor. It was… an absolution. For a moment, I was not a lonely widow yearning for a ghost. I was simply a woman. Your woman."

The words hung there, raw and honest.

She saw the flare of something possessive, deeply primal, in his gaze. His arms tightened around her.

"You are…" he stated, the words not a question but a fact carved into the quiet of the room.

"You have been from the moment I saw the hunger in your eyes by the bath."

She swallowed, her thumb stroking his lower lip.

"That frightens me. And it thrills me beyond reason. To want my grandson so…"

"I am not him," Jaenor said, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur.

He caught her hand with his other hand, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her palm that sent a fresh shiver straight to her core.

"I am the man who worships the body he once cherished. I am the one who is here.

Now."

He moved his mouth to the delicate skin of her inner wrist, his tongue tracing a slow, wet circle. "Let me be the one to pleasure you. Whenever you have need. However you have need."

A slow, deep ache started to bloom within her again, a sweet, heavy throb between her legs that she thought had been sated.

God! He is an animal, she thought, even as her hips gave a tiny, involuntary rock against his thigh.

A beautiful, insatiable animal who has learned exactly how to play my body.

"Is that a promise, my wicked boy?" she breathed, her own voice taking on a teasing, seductive tone she hadn't used in years.

His answer was a low growl against her skin as he shifted, rolling her gently onto her back once more.

He loomed over her, his damp hair brushing her forehead, his body a delicious, muscular weight settling between her thighs. He didn't enter her yet, just rested there, the thick, hard length of him pressed against her slick, sensitive folds, making her gasp.

"It is one," he whispered, his dark eyes holding hers captive.

"Sworn on the memory of the man who you love and what a woman like you deserves. And on the fire he left burning in my blood."

The profundity of it, the sheer, raw truth of his words, struck her deeper than any physical touch. This was not merely lust.

It was a passing of a torch.

A sacred, forbidden inheritance.

"The priests would call this a sin," she mused, her hands roaming over the hard planes of his back, feeling the powerful muscles shift beneath her palms.

"The priests are not here," he countered, lowering his head to capture one of her lemon-sized nipples with his mouth.

He suckled deeply, his tongue swirling around the pebbled areola until she cried out, her back arching off the bed. He released it with a soft pop, the cool air a shock against the wetness he left behind.

"There is only the body. Its primitive needs. And the deepest feeling of all… the feeling of being known. Of being close."

He emphasized his point by sliding into her in one smooth, devastating stroke.

Arrrhhh!!

They both groaned, a shared sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

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