panties off her, the flimsy material easily giving way to his strength. She wriggled out of her bra, while his fingers sought her secrets.
She broke free of his kiss. He saw passion war with uncertainty. A rosy hue dusted her cheeks and she bit down on her lips when he inserted one finger inside her.
“You are so tight,” he groaned, holding himself in check when he wanted so badly to thrust inside her until she wrung him dry. He had gone centuries without a woman. How had he forgotten the beauty of a woman’s touch, the sounds she made, the feel of her skin against his own?
“Tomás, please,” Carolina murmured, but the protest seemed halfhearted as he worked her with his fingers, stretching her, readying her. He watched her as her head started shifting from side to side, her eyes glazing over as a soft sheen of sweat covered her body.
With his free hand he reached up to roll her nipple between his fingers, enjoying the way it made her move even more restlessly.
“Tomás,” she moaned. Her hips arched up, begging for more of his attention. Her nectar flowed over his fingers. Her passion and arousal moved him as nothing had in centuries.
He rose up and once again touched her tattoo with the tip of his tongue. “My spirit mate, give yourself over to me.”
As he bathed the small mark, he felt power surge between them. His skin pulsated with tidal waves of warmth. Her skin glowed wild with the colors of the Sonoran desert. Ruthlessly, he nipped and licked the tiny area, aware of the buildup in energy with each touch of his tongue. Carolina screamed, her back arching off the bed, the orgasm ripping through her. Tomás could wait no longer. He pushed into her, barely hesitating when he came to the thin barrier of resistance. He pushed past it, waiting for her to adjust to his size, but power thrummed in them, around them, and Carolina urged him on, rising up to meet him. He started slowly, then, unable to stop himself, pounded into her. He made her come again before he allowed himself to spill his seed inside. Gold lights burst around them, and for one brief moment, he felt as if he touched her soul, as if enough of his humanity remained to be claimed by her.
For that alone, he could love her.
Chapter Seven
Carolina jolted awake. The early rays of dawn blazed red-orange through the white curtains gracing her window. Something felt off. Her hand brushed against solid muscle and she turned to stare at the man in her bed.
She’d never shared her bed with anyone. She’d never had sex before. Her body heated at the memory of the carnal dance they had done last night. She wondered if Tomás was the reason for her hummingbird burning.
Her eyes lingered over his broad shoulders, the dark hair that spilled around them and the sharp, hard angles of his face. He was a shadow warrior, a man on a mission, with the scars and nicks marking his body to prove it. Her core heated, but it was a different warmth, one that made her want to crawl back under the covers with him and indulge her wildest fantasies.
Her tattoo itched and she touched the marking that Tomás had reverently inspected last night along with every other inch of her skin. He called the hummingbird a gift from Huitzilopochtli , the mark of a warrior.
Carolina had wanted to tell him the truth—that she was guardian to the sun god’s wife, Chalchiuhtlicue .Was this what Chica had feared? That Carolina would weaken and betray her goddess in the heat of passion? The temptation to confide in Tomás burned inside her. Last night, for the first time since her parents’ death, she hadn’t felt the immense burden of protecting the ranch alone. In his arms, she let the rest of the world slide away and allowed herself to believe that she could be loved. He had called her his spirit mate, and a connection of spirits was how it felt.
Still, she knew so little about Tomás, other than his being a shadow warrior. Was it the tzitzimime that had brought Tomás to her
She broke free of his kiss. He saw passion war with uncertainty. A rosy hue dusted her cheeks and she bit down on her lips when he inserted one finger inside her.
“You are so tight,” he groaned, holding himself in check when he wanted so badly to thrust inside her until she wrung him dry. He had gone centuries without a woman. How had he forgotten the beauty of a woman’s touch, the sounds she made, the feel of her skin against his own?
“Tomás, please,” Carolina murmured, but the protest seemed halfhearted as he worked her with his fingers, stretching her, readying her. He watched her as her head started shifting from side to side, her eyes glazing over as a soft sheen of sweat covered her body.
With his free hand he reached up to roll her nipple between his fingers, enjoying the way it made her move even more restlessly.
“Tomás,” she moaned. Her hips arched up, begging for more of his attention. Her nectar flowed over his fingers. Her passion and arousal moved him as nothing had in centuries.
He rose up and once again touched her tattoo with the tip of his tongue. “My spirit mate, give yourself over to me.”
As he bathed the small mark, he felt power surge between them. His skin pulsated with tidal waves of warmth. Her skin glowed wild with the colors of the Sonoran desert. Ruthlessly, he nipped and licked the tiny area, aware of the buildup in energy with each touch of his tongue. Carolina screamed, her back arching off the bed, the orgasm ripping through her. Tomás could wait no longer. He pushed into her, barely hesitating when he came to the thin barrier of resistance. He pushed past it, waiting for her to adjust to his size, but power thrummed in them, around them, and Carolina urged him on, rising up to meet him. He started slowly, then, unable to stop himself, pounded into her. He made her come again before he allowed himself to spill his seed inside. Gold lights burst around them, and for one brief moment, he felt as if he touched her soul, as if enough of his humanity remained to be claimed by her.
For that alone, he could love her.
Chapter Seven
Carolina jolted awake. The early rays of dawn blazed red-orange through the white curtains gracing her window. Something felt off. Her hand brushed against solid muscle and she turned to stare at the man in her bed.
She’d never shared her bed with anyone. She’d never had sex before. Her body heated at the memory of the carnal dance they had done last night. She wondered if Tomás was the reason for her hummingbird burning.
Her eyes lingered over his broad shoulders, the dark hair that spilled around them and the sharp, hard angles of his face. He was a shadow warrior, a man on a mission, with the scars and nicks marking his body to prove it. Her core heated, but it was a different warmth, one that made her want to crawl back under the covers with him and indulge her wildest fantasies.
Her tattoo itched and she touched the marking that Tomás had reverently inspected last night along with every other inch of her skin. He called the hummingbird a gift from Huitzilopochtli , the mark of a warrior.
Carolina had wanted to tell him the truth—that she was guardian to the sun god’s wife, Chalchiuhtlicue .Was this what Chica had feared? That Carolina would weaken and betray her goddess in the heat of passion? The temptation to confide in Tomás burned inside her. Last night, for the first time since her parents’ death, she hadn’t felt the immense burden of protecting the ranch alone. In his arms, she let the rest of the world slide away and allowed herself to believe that she could be loved. He had called her his spirit mate, and a connection of spirits was how it felt.
Still, she knew so little about Tomás, other than his being a shadow warrior. Was it the tzitzimime that had brought Tomás to her
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