Mists of Velvet

like a damned angel, but angels, he knew, didn’t live in Annwyn.
    “Aingeal?”
    She shook her head, confirming his suspicions. She was not an angel.
    “Mo bandia?”
    He frowned. That wasn’t what he meant. Mo was Gaelic for my. But Rhys saw her nod, even through the blurriness of his vision.
    “My goddess.”
    She was a goddess, he realized. His, if her nod meant what he thought it did. And she was naked. Oh, shit, she was naked and stunning, and everything he could have dreamed of.
    Mo bandia . . . The phrase ran through his mind. She had answered his question with a nod. He had dreamed of a woman. He had felt a deep connection to the one in his dream . . .
    As he bolted upright, his head swam, but he reached for her anyway, anchoring her with his hand through her hair as he watched the silvery white strands slide through his fingers. Oh shit, his dreams. This woman . . .
    Had she dreamed of him, too? Did they have a bond that linked them across their opposing worlds and his mortality? Had he been shown his fate when he began to dream of this woman?
    Stunned, he allowed her to ease him back down onto the pallet of furs. She was leaning over him, her silky waist-length hair sliding over her shoulders to conceal her breasts. There was no denying who this woman was— what she was. His dream lover . . . and a goddess of the Sacred Order of Annwyn.
    Memories of those dreams came rushing back, and he couldn’t stop the way his body responded to her. In his dreams, his body had been hard and aching, but in reality, it was infinitely more acute. He was aware of more than just her physical presence hovering over him. He felt her in his blood, in his soul.
    Most mortals would scoff, but Rhys knew differently. He had been raised in both mortal and Otherworld traditions, and he knew in his heart, and believed in his soul, that destinies were preordained, and when the time was right, those destinies revealed themselves.
    Like now, this very moment with his bandia sianaitheoir —goddess savior—breathing softly above him. This was his fate; this woman. He had been shown her in his dreams, and now he was here with her. Her path was to save him, but what was he to do for her? He was a mortal. She was immortal; a powerful goddess. He could have nothing she wanted or needed; yet he knew that despite his failings, he would not give her up.
    The fluttering of her fingertips against his unshaven jaw jolted him. Her touch went deep into his flesh, where he felt it stir inside him. Already, he felt a measure stronger. Fingertips skated from his jaw to his lips, where she touched him tentatively, then down to his throat where the tips of her fingers lingered on his Adam’s apple. He swallowed hard, and he heard her indrawn breath.
    Rhys knew he shouldn’t be turned on. Hell, he’d almost been a sacrificial lamb. But he needed to touch her; to feel her skin, just once. What if he died? He had to touch her before he did.
    Reaching out, he placed his hands on her bare shoulders and brushed back her long hair. Her eyes fluttered closed at that innocent touch, and his cock surged at the sight. It would be so easy to span her hips and move her to him so that she straddled him. From there, he could push up into her and watch her as he finally claimed her—just as he had in his dream.
    Rhys felt nothing now but desire—not pain; not the blood that had begun to dry on his chest. His vision was crystal clear, and he saw her, a beautiful, voluptuous goddess kneeling before him. Her breasts were heavy, swaying before him, begging to be cupped in his hands.
    Slowly, he ran his fingertips along her collarbone, then over to the notch at her throat, allowing her to become accustomed to his touch. Her breathing quickened, causing her breasts to rise and fall enticingly. Slowly, he slid his hand down her breastbone, then cupped one of her breasts, filling his palm. She gasped, her eyelids flying open at the contact. Slowly, he cupped the other one, lifting it so he could see it full in his hand.
    She had beautiful big breasts, just what he liked, and he pressed them together, kneading while watching the pleasure cross her face. Then, with his hand on her back, he drew her lower until her breasts hung above him, and he trailed his tongue over her nipple. Given a slow flick, the flesh hardened, and she swayed into him, her little nails biting into his shoulders, giving him a rush of power and primal aggression.
    He surged up against her,