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tears that threatened to spill from the pleasure.
    As she fought herself, she didn’t notice when John let go of her hair. Barely a second later, the cold, pulsing ball of a wand vibrator landed on her swollen clit.
    â€œCome for me.” He shoved the tennis-ball-sized head against her hood.
    Guides were known for their relentless persistence. The vibrator toppled her resistance like an earthquake destroyed city walls.
    Valerie exploded. A gush of liquid shot from her vagina. She soaked John and the sheets of their bed.
    Her throat was sore. Pleased, she circled her hips on her stiff perch.
    Smooth as a tiger, John rocked them over to their sides. He slid down her body and took a nipple in his mouth. He shoved his thigh between hers as he sucked, nipped, and licked her already-tender flesh.
    Limp, she sighed over and over, rocking against his thigh as his mouth lifted her higher and higher again. Who knew her nipple was so sensitive? The long-lost image of a woman with milk-wet nipples threw Valerie back into orgasm.
    If a vampire could give milk, she would have at that time.
    He lifted himself and with a single smooth move, settled his face between her legs. “Your little button calls me so loudly. I must answer.”
    Sweet hellfire, the man didn’t stop. She flew into the blast furnace of another orgasm.
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    John left the shades open as the sun set. The peach and orange illumination gilded John’s white room with the warm colors of longing and domestic harmony. Valerie slept through the spectacular light show, her body limp as an exhausted kitten. Her hair flopped over her face until only her oft-broken nose emerged like a rock from a river.
    At ease and momentarily sated, John crooked his finger and pulled the black strands away from his lover’s face. He’d not lived with anyone before. It was as delightful as the view of the brown and green mountains rising over his town.
    He had been reasonably content as a single man. Guides and Fallen Angels kept themselves a secret from the mortal world. If he kept out of long-term relationships, he could hide his gifts of foresight, quick healing, spiritual insight, and superior taste. Being French probably had more to do with the superior taste, though.
    John tucked her legs under the fluffy cream comforter, watching Valerie’s face the whole time. Regular vampire sleep was still a little-understood phenomenon. Some needed home soil for rest, some didn’t. Some woke up at actual sunset, some slept in until astronomical twilight. Some vampires dreamed, some didn’t. Some could function in dim sunlight, some not.
    Even the oldest vampires had no answers for researchers. Bloodlines, age, diet—nothing correlated into needs and habits.
    His great-grandmother, Josephine O’Neill, had theorized that vampires were individuals, just like humans with different requirements. No one liked that answer, though, consistently ignoring her research. Stereotypes and racial profiling were so much easier to use.
    John caressed the thin skin of his woman’s inner wrist. If his nana could see how her former champion had softened, she would cheer for the victory of love over the evils of the past.
    In her sleep, Valerie yanked her arm away from his tickling fingers. Changed, yes. Docile or passive? Never. John smiled. Thank God.
    His five o’clock beard itched and forced him to face uncomfortable thoughts. One half of his vision had come true. Perhaps the summer would bring him the rest of his desires. The bitterness of winter was not easily shaken off, though. Would Lance ever reappear?
    John wrapped his fingers around hers and stared off into space. No matter how loudly he asked, eternity did not answer him. How does one survive the absence of part of your soul?

C HAPTER 8
    U nlike human depictions of Heaven, there were no fluffy clouds full of white-clad, winged bipeds playing on harps. Rather, eternity was everywhere at once. This