Dreaming of a Blood Red Christmas by Nicola Claire Page B

for, "I will love you no matter your size."
    She pushes away from my hold and rises with surprising grace. Anger clearly making her more supple than her frame should allow. I lean back on my outstretched arms and take a slow, intimate perusal of her body. Yes, any way I can get her, I will take.
    "Stop looking at me like that."
    "Like what?" I notice my voice is a seductive purr.
    "Like you want to eat me all up."
    "What is wrong with that? I always want you."
    Her delicate fisted hands move to her hips, which reminds her she's perhaps a little wider in that region than before. The fingers unclench and she slowly removes them from their perch, a look of utter dejection gracing her face.
    I am not sure what to say to reassure her. This is not the Lucinda I am used to. When I look at her, I see the strong, independent, courageous woman I have always seen. The sexy, confident, alluring hunter she was the first day I watched her handle a stake. I see the mother of my children. The love of my life. The very air I breathe. The very blood that fuels my veins. She is everything to me. And not once when I look at her do I see anything other than perfection.
    A small amused smile curves the corner of those kissable lips, a soft pink blush rising over her cheeks.
    "Well, then," she husks, and I am instantly ready. "I suppose I'll just have to ignore the hormones then."
    I blink. Did I project those thoughts?
    "Loud and clear," she murmurs, turning towards the bathroom. Before I have a chance to feel anything other than relief she hadn't seen my earlier thoughts, she throws over her shoulder, making me forget everything else but her and yes! "I'm having a shower, wanna scrub my back?"
    I am on her in a split second, my lips trailing down her neck and across her shoulder. Mon Dieu , I love this woman. My hands slip around her torso to find her breasts, making sure my touch is gentle. She feels so much more right now, I have to ease her into this. A moan escapes her lips as we come to stop in front of the oversized shower. I am thankful again for the premier suite in the hotel we have commandeered. The shower stall large enough to house several pregnant Lucindas, should the world turn into my most fervent dream.
    "Now that's just whacked, Michel," she says, breaking into my thoughts of what more than one Lucinda could accomplish in the confines of a bathroom.
    I can't help it, the laughter erupts before I am able to stop it. I have to agree with her, sometimes my dreams are most disturbing in an entirely erotic way.
    "One of you is quite enough," I whisper into her ear, my teeth nipping at the lobe, making her body tremble.
    I reach past her and press the buttons, on the electronic display, to a setting I had programmed into the device earlier. Four separate rain shower heads begin to pour soft waterfalls of heated water strategically in the stall. Pressure nozzles rotate to exactly the right angle to massage Lucinda where I know she needs it most. I gently slip her night clothes over her head and encourage her under the sprays.
    A moan of impressed delight springs from her lips and she spins slowly to look at me with widened eyes.
    "This is perfect," she exclaims, obviously feeling the jets of water over her lower back, massaging the ache I know has taken up residence there.
    My eyes slide hungrily over her sun-kissed rounded form, watching the trickles of shower water roll over that smooth skin. I want to lick it all off. To trace the path the droplets take. Magenta bathes the stall momentarily. My vampyre wanting this as much as I.
    "Are you getting in?" she asks, lips twitching. "Or just here for the show?"
    Then the little minx sets my pulse racing as first one hand smooths over her right breast, and then the other dips languidly down her stomach towards the dark treasure of curls between her thighs. I act quickly, because I know in her current state reaching her goal will be slightly awkward. I do not wish for her to lose her train of