Taylor tried to suck in a breath discreetly, since she’d realized she’d been holding hers.But she still sounded like a gasping fish out of water when she did.
He was massive.Not only his hard, pulsing cock—that drew her gaze completely for a short while, with its ridges and knobs that would hitallthe right places inside her—but his wholebody.Briefly, she thought of the statue of David.At one point, she thought thathewas the epitome of masculine strength and power and sensuality, but then she’d seen Vikan.
Every muscle was sculpted and carved to perfection.Every scar somehow enhanced his strength.Every shift of his body was sublime.And Taylor had never been an artist, but suddenly, she wanted to capture and immortalize him.
“You stare as if you have not seen me before, female,” he suddenly murmured.“Yet you have.Many times before.”
Taylor was thrust back into reality and her head swam with the implication of what he was saying.
She knew he could smell her lust and desire, because she was positivelydrenchedwith it.And even though she knew she was playing with fire, she murmured, “Turn around, Vikan.”
Her voice sounded like she was an operator on a sex line, but she had to be sure.
And this would be the confirmation that she needed, to know that even though she was going crazy, there was at least an explanation for it, albeit an unbelievable one.
But what else could she believe?Because shehadseen him before, just as he said.
When Vikan did as she asked, pivoting on his feet so she could see his long, sculpted backside, the confirmation to all her fears resided in a long, horizontal line that ran along the small of his back.
It was a scar she knew would be there, but she didn’t know how to feel about it.She’d touched it a thousand times in her dream.And if this moment had been a dream, she would’ve approached Vikan, reached out to run the pads of her fingers across it, and then let her fingers run around his hips until they found his aching, hard cock.
She would’ve stroked him until he spilled into her hand.
But this wasn’t a dream.This was real.
“Go in the water,” she told him finally, her voice soft, still eyeing the telling scar.“And don’t turn around until I tell you to.”
For a moment, Taylor thought Vikan might’ve denied her because he didn’t strike her as the kind of male who liked to take orders.Evidently, he didn’t mind hers because he did as she asked.
Slowly, with her heart beating in her throat, she pulled her shirt over her head, letting it drop beside his own clothes, until she stood naked on the banks of the inlet.
Slowly, she descended into the water.Vikan’s back stiffened slightly when he heard the soft, rippling sound, but didn’t turn around.
Not until she said, “Okay.”
When he turned, his eyes were like fire, intense and hot enough to scorch her.She was so nervous, so shaken that she almost didn’t realize how nice the water felt, how refreshing it was after a long morning of travel.
The small inlet wasn’t that deep, considering Vikan was able to stand and touch the bottom.However, Taylor had to tread water as she approached where he stood and she made figure-eights with her hands and legs, hoping that he wouldn’t be able to see her nakedness.
But then she realized it didn’t matter.If what she was beginning to suspect was true, then it truly didn’t matter.
“What were you looking for?” he asked, his voice deep and rich and lovely.The ends of his hair floated around him in the water, darkening it to a deep inky black.
She didn’t see any reason to lie to him.Not now.“Your scar,” she murmured, watching him closely.“The one across your lower back.”
“The one I received from my sire?” he questioned softly.
Taylor swallowed but it felt more like a gulp.“You never told me how you received it,” she said.In her dream, she thought she remembered asking once.But the dream had gotten fuzzy or she’d just been about to wake when he told her.“You got it from your…father?”
“Tev,” he said, much more at ease than Taylor was about her knowing about his scar.But if what he told her was true, that he’d had the gift of foresight his entire life, then it wouldn’t be anything abnormal to him.
“On purpose?” she asked, wondering how in the world a father could injure his son in that way.The scar looked like it had run deep.
“My sire was a war general,” he told her.
“What does that mean?”
“War generals are highly respected in our culture,” he said.“They train young warriors and mold them into the males that keep our race defended and strong.I was proud to have a war general for a sire.”
