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I pinch your nipple, hard, as I bite the other gently and slip my finger deep inside you. "Oh..." And then I stroke your smooth, slick body, feeling your belly and your hips and your sides, all of you, as you writhe a bit and whimper. I kiss your pretty feet. I need to. I stroke and oil your legs, those perfect legs that haunt my dreams, and you spread them wide. I look down at you - my Rosie, my sweet dream lover, my secret, naughty child. Naked, shaved and gleaming, barefoot, so sweet and trusting, so open and ready for my hands and heart and eager, hungry cock. I am fully hard now. You are a miracle, my Rosie, and you have made another. I watch in wonder as your pretty hand finds my swollen dick all by itself - your eyes are closed - and when you feel its thick hardness, its springy stiffness, you open your eyes and smile at me, a lovely naked imp."Told you," you whisper. "Fuck me, Charles. Fuck me now."I smile back. I've never been so hard, not when I was a boy of twelve looking. The duality of her position had almost cost her life and standing here in the present and looking back into the past, it had cost her something more, her heart. Michael was a Son, through and through a warrior strong and tough as steel. The Sons were the primary protectors of all human life against the threat of vampires and other nasty creatures of the unknown. Until she had seen one for herself, she hadn’t believed in werewolves. Who knew what other forms of paranormal life were out there waiting to be discovered. She and Michael were as different as night and day, as were the Sons and her Guardians. The Sons believed a goddess ruled their collective and individual destines. They were what they were by choice. They welcomed their sacred charge and were wholly committed to the death to it. Not so for her Guardians. Most of her legion were forced into this life and believed in little if nothing, save what they saw with their own eyes. Her little band was grouped together out of.
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