Midnight 01 - Luisa's Desire

do."
     
    Luisa tossed her hair in exasperation. "How could someone like me help you progress? No. I am not going to let you risk everything just to keep me from drinking blood!"
     
    He covered his face and shook his head, the gesture at odds with his usual self-control. When he dropped his hands, his eyes swam with emotion, part rueful laughter, part something deeper than she could read. "You underestimate the strength of your character—and overestimate mine. I am afraid more lies behind my offer than concern for you and your future meals."
     
    "More?" she said warily.
     
    "Much more," he admitted, his seriousness belied by a spark of humor in his eye. "There is my shamefully eager body, which remembers too well the pleasure of your touch. There is my teacher, who seems to think I should taste what I'm giving up. And let us not forget my curiosity. To know the full fruits of passion is an enticement no holy man should discount."
     
    Luisa fiddled with the edge of her heavy cloak. Though she had no right to ask, she could not hold her next question inside. "Are those all the reasons you want to help?"
     
    "No," he said, a laugh in it, but his amusement soon fell away. He looked sad then, as if his years truly were as great as hers. "No. There is one more reason. I am not sure you will want to hear it but, in truth, it is the only one that counts." He took her hand from the button it had been twisting and pressed it to his steadily thudding heart. Her own was fluttering with dread, with hope, with so many feelings she could not sort them out. "Luisa." He laughed again, an ironic puff of air. "How many times you must have heard this! I wonder if you will even understand what it means. I love you, Luisa. I love you and wish to give you the one gift no one but I can offer. I wish to free you. I wish to give you your heart's desire."
     
    "You love me?" She knew she must sound astounded. She was astounded. Her heart felt as if it had been taken out and put in backward. "I—I—" She swallowed and willed her throat to work. "I love you, too."
     
    He blinked, twice, and then his smile spread like honey across his face, slow and broad and, at the last, completely blinding. "Well," he said, "of all the answers I prepared for, I did not think of this."
     
    "I have not—That is, I do not believe I have ever—"
     
    "You are stammering," he said, and this also seemed to charm him. His arms found their way around her waist.
     
    "I am trying to say I have never felt this way before. Not in a hundred sixty years."
     
    He laughed. "I have not felt this way in a hundred sixty lifetimes."
     
    "Martin." She struck his shoulder in gentle scold. "You cannot possibly remember so far back."
     
    "Perhaps not," he conceded, his gaze falling heatedly to her mouth, "but it feels true."
     
    She waited for him to kiss her, poised between expectation and impatience. He caught his lip in his teeth, and licked it, and finally lowered his mouth to hers. Their softness melded together like two parts of a whole. This time he needed no instruction. Deeper and wetter his kisses sank while he cradled her head and cupped her bottom in his hand. Yes, she thought, meeting the sweet intrusion of his tongue. Oh, yes, this was what she needed. His arousal pressed her hip, thickly eager and sun warm. If her bones hadn't been melting, she would have climbed him. Happily, one of his thighs found a home between her own. She rolled herself up it and clutched his muscled shoulders, moaning as his teeth lightly scored her neck.
     
    "Luisa," he murmured, the sound a soft caress, "let us share what lovers know."
     
    Her answer was a groan he had no trouble understanding. With endearingly awkward ardor, he divested her of her clothes. Her cloak fell with a thump, then her robe. He nearly tripped over both trying to wrestle his arms out of his sleeves.
     
    The stumble was forgotten in an instant. His naked body was spectacular: long, lean, as graceful as any artist's masterwork. More graceful, really, because it was alive. His erection jerked and throbbed, its blood-dark thickness luring her to her knees.
     
    "No," he gasped as her mouth engulfed the silky crest, as his hips cocked forward in spite of his denial. He tasted of salt and lust, his pulse so quick she could not count it. "Luisa, stop." He was laughing but he meant it. With one final purse-lipped pull she set him free.
     
    "Up," he urged, and pulled her to her feet.
     
    Her hands went