Shadow's End

EIGHTEEN

They left one chaotic scene behind, only to plunge into another.

For the first in many long years of travel, Bel experienced a rough landing from a Djinn transport. Soren all but flung the women at a narrow strip of rocky, icy beach. Melly grabbed for Bel, and both women staggered and fell. Landing with both hands splayed, Bel sliced one of her palms on jagged ice.

Too many details—too many sensations—pummeled her. Gasping, she pushed her hair off her face and struggled to make sense of what she saw. Beside her, Melly did the same.

Brutal cold and wind bit at her exposed skin. Peacekeeper troops poured over a hill, onto the beach. Something that looked like a giant, bizarre monster but felt like Malphas’s Power, whirled and struck at nearby troops that flung spells at it.

She sought Graydon but didn’t see him.

The monster’s physical form dissipated into pure, incorporeal Power. Malphas had dematerialized, which meant Julian had fallen. Instead of arcing away with the normal speed of a Djinn, like a shooting star, Malphas lifted into the air with a ragged lurch.

Soren had solidified enough to drop Melly and Bel onto the ground. As Malphas began to retreat, Soren melted into pure Power and launched after him.

The two Djinn collided overhead. A concussion of Power burst out like a bomb blast, exploding nearby trees and knocking everybody to the ground. With a huge, yawning noise, a nearby chimney stack collapsed, throwing billows of snow and dust into the air.

A screaming whirlwind rose as the two Djinn fought. Hurricane force winds lifted a column of water out of the Long Island Sound.

Carling and other Peacekeepers struggled to haul a lax body out of the heaving, foaming water. Once again, Bel’s stomach bottomed out. She caught sight of Rune trying to lift his head. He was alive.

Melly grabbed Bel’s arm so hard, she left bruises. Her expression agonized, the younger woman shouted something, but Bel couldn’t hear the words over the shriek of the noise.

Melly raced away, slipping and sliding over the treacherous ground. Bel followed the trajectory of her sprint. As her perspective shifted, she realized there was a figure prone on the ground. The figure wore Elven armor, which made it blend into its surroundings. Shaking convulsively, it held up blackened hands. Julian.

But where was Graydon? Bel stood on tiptoe, straining to find him.

A Peacekeeper raced past, yelling at her, “Get down! Get down!”

Ignoring him, she stumbled forward, driven by the need to find Graydon. Debris whistled through the air, shards of bricks and trees turning into deadly missiles as the Djinn’s battle raged overhead.

Inside, hope had twisted into a despairing cry. If she didn’t find Graydon alive, she would lie down right then and there, and die.

Then, as the swirl of running figures parted, she saw two men, sprawled together, covered in blood.

So much blood.

Two tawny heads, so different, and yet so alike. Pain exploded in her chest. Blind to everything else, indifferent to the gargantuan fight tearing apart the night sky, she lunged toward the men.

As she drew close, details struck at her.

Constantine lay on his back. His body was soaked with blood from neck to groin. Graydon crouched over him, cradling the other sentinel’s head in his arms and shielding him from the deadly debris.

Bel fell to her knees beside them. In one horrified glance, she took in Constantine’s handsome, still face, the rictus of agony that twisted Graydon’s. Suddenly there weren’t enough tears in the world.

“Oh, my darling,” she said brokenly.

She gathered Graydon into her arms. He was too big. She couldn’t hold all of him, but, with all the love in the world, she tried.

As soon as she put her hands on him, she sensed his struggle to breathe. It snapped her into knifelike focus. Running a sharp gaze over his hunched figure, she realized that not all of the blood was Constantine’s.

She screamed, “WE NEED A MEDIC HERE!”

Overhead, another colossal concussion blew out with such force, it split the earth. Peacekeepers fell screaming into huge cracks.

She threw herself over Graydon and Constantine to shelter them both. As the concussion dissipated, she realized—one of the Djinn was gone. Staring skyward, she strained to find Malphas, but she couldn’t sense him anywhere.

The overwhelming noise from the howling wind died. She could hear people shouting to each other.

Low, over the water, the ragged presence of a single Djinn drifted, like a ship foundering at sea. It carried a dull, faint thread of Soren’s Power.

Across the beach, where medics were working on Rune, Carling stood. Her voice filled with such Power, the words rocketed down the beach. “Khalil, bring Grace! Your father needs you!”

Bel’s heart pounded. Once. Twice.

It couldn’t have been longer than a moment.

But so very much could be lived, and lost, in a single moment.

Even as the signature whirlwind of an approaching Djinn blew onto the beach, Soren’s thin, ragged presence dissipated into the night with a final sigh.

A thick layer, like cotton wool, surrounded Graydon, disconnecting him from everything else, except Bel.

Shock. Or lack of air.

The broken bones in his chest shifted as he tried to draw in a breath. He thought maybe one of his lungs had collapsed.

She cupped his face, her beautiful eyes fierce and determined. Her lips formed the words, “Hold on, love. You’re going to be okay.”

I am, he thought. I’m holding on.

He clenched one hand on her wrist, held onto Constantine with the other.

His vision narrowed as pain tried to turn the world black, but he fought it off. As he snapped back to consciousness, she was lowering him flat on the ground.

Peacekeepers ran up. Someone tried to pry Constantine from his grip. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl, resisting, until Bel bent over him, her face filling his vision.

She told him gently, “They’ll take good care of him. The very best care. Please, let them help.”

His arms loosened, and they lifted Constantine away. Someone pulled an oxygen mask over his face, while another person cast a spell that took away the grinding pain.

He began to drift again.

“My lady, you need to move away and let us work on him,” said one of the Peacekeepers.

That got his attention. Rousing, he growled. Talons sprang out on his hands, and his teeth lengthened. The medics’ eyes bulged and they pulled back.

“I’m not leaving him,” Bel said. “You’re going to have to work around me.” She bent over him again. “Graydon, do you understand? I’m not leaving you.”

He relaxed, marginally, and nodded. He said in her head, Never leave.

Never again, she told him, stroking the hair back from his face. I swear it. I’ll stay right here with you every step of the way. Trust me.

He did. He trusted her completely. His death grip on her wrist eased enough so that she could twist around and thread her fingers through his.

Blurry, disconnected images blew by, like snowflakes driven on a winter storm.

The dragon arrived, along with the other sentinels. They dropped raging out of the sky. After a quick shocked assessment, they threw themselves into helping, their faces stricken. A Djinn’s presence raged along the beach, causing Graydon’s fight instinct to rouse again until he realized it was Khalil, who also helped, his energy furious and chaotic.

Then somebody said, “One, two . . .”

Why were they counting?

The world shifted, as people lifted him onto a stretcher. He locked his fingers on Bel’s. They would have to cut his hand off to separate them. Huddling that thought close, he drifted again.

Then several people wheeled him down a corridor. Dammit, he was in the hospital. Bel strode beside the stretcher, still holding his hand. When he realized she was still with him, he let his eyes close again.

Drifting.

Consciousness returned. Dr. Shaw came into his field of vision. The Wyr falcon’s large, golden brown gaze met his steadily. “You’re going into surgery,” she told him. “Stay calm, Gray. You’re going to be all right. Do you understand?”

His gaze cut over to Bel. She was still with him, just as she had promised, the grip of her slender hand strong on his. She said reassuringly, “I’m going into surgery with you.”

He nodded, squeezed her hand, and fell into true darkness.

After a long, formless time, he went into what seemed to be a waking dream. His eyes were closed, or very nearly so. At some point they had put him in another hospital room. Gods, he hated hospitals.

Again, he checked to make sure that Bel was with him, and she was. Still holding his hand, she sat by his hospital bed.

Dragos and Pia were also in the room. Pia’s complexion was pale and blotchy, as if she’d been crying. Dragos’s hard expression looked jagged enough to cut steel.

“You could take a quick break,” Pia said gently. “Just to take a shower while he’s still out. The staff would let you borrow a set of hospital scrubs. You could even use the shower here in this room.”

“I’m not letting go.” Bel sounded calm and decisive. “I made him a promise.”

Comfort stole into the cold dark pit of his heart.

Dragos and Pia looked at each other. Pia said to him, “I know Kathryn said he would heal on his own, but I can’t bear not helping. What he’s been through was hard enough. And anyway, Bel already knows what I am.”

Dragos remained silent, his mouth hard and tight. After a moment, he gave her a slight nod.

Pia came on the other side of his bed. Carefully, she lifted away the sheet that covered his bare, bandaged chest. She removed the gauze covering an incision, and then she did something else, he couldn’t tell what, but she must have cut or pricked a finger somehow, because the tiny scent of new blood joined the stink of antiseptic.

Then a miracle filled his numb, exhausted body. It flowed, gentle and warm like sunshine, healing and soothing the torn and broken places in him. It felt loving and clean, new like a benediction, and transformative like forgiveness.

Because I never want you to feel a moment’s pain, Pia murmured in his head, as she tenderly tucked the edge of the sheet back across his chest.

Aw, cupcake.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, he took a deep, easy breath and sighed with relief.

After Pia had finished, she kissed his forehead.

“I know you didn’t do it for me,” Bel whispered. “You did it for him. But still, thank you so much.”

Pia nodded and wiped her face. She said, “You’re right, I didn’t do it for you, but both you and he are welcome. And if I can’t get you to take a break, at least you need to eat something. I’ll get you a hot meal from the cafeteria, okay?”

“Thank you,” Bel said softly.

“Do you have any preferences?”

“Soup, or really, anything will be fine.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Pia’s quick signature footsteps tapped away.

Silence filled the room, as Pia took away her comfortable ease of manner. Dragos and Bel confronted each other over Graydon’s prone figure.

Bel’s fingers trembled. He wanted to move, to sit up to break the tension leaping between the other two, but he was so damn tired. The thick barrier of cotton wool wouldn’t let him move.

The dragon growled, “You can’t have him.”

After a long moment, Bel said, “I already have him, and I’m not letting him go.” A quiet thread of steel ran through her words. “He’s mine now. But I will tell you this much, Beast. I love him too much to make him choose between the people he loves, and the commitments he feels the need to keep. You’re going to have to live with the fact that I hold that power . . . and I will not wield it, because what I love most about him is his big, wonderful heart, and I’ll do everything I can to protect it.”

Even though they sounded like they were fighting, a different kind of warmth and healing stole into him. Squeezing her fingers, he fell deeply asleep.

The spike burst out of Bel’s chest. Her dark gaze turned wry, before the light in them faded.

And there was red, dripping into the white snow. Blooming like roses.

With a muffled shout, he woke in a clench.

He was still in the hospital room. The remains of a dinner tray sat on a nearby table. Bel had climbed into the bed with him, curling against his side, with her head on his chest. She was sound asleep.

As he grabbed her, she woke with a start and rose up on one elbow. Her cheek was lined with creases. “What is it?”

“I dreamed you died,” he said from the back of his throat.

Quick compassion flashed across her face. She kissed his neck, the line of his jaw, his mouth. “I’m right here, just as I promised I would be.”

He said against her lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“No, never. I swear it.”

He drank in her breath that carried the words of that promise, kissing her deeply. She stroked his hair, kissing him back.

When he could bear to say it, he whispered, “Constantine.”

Her eyes filled with sadness. Wordlessly, she shook her head.

He had already known, but still, he had hoped against hope. He buried his face in her hair, feeling gut shot. She held him with her whole body.

After a moment, he asked, “Rune? Julian?”

“They’re both going to make it. Rune—he took a bad wound to the thigh. It nicked the femoral artery, but when he fell into the icy water, it slowed the bleeding enough. Carling and the medics got to him right away.” She ran her fingers along the line of his bare shoulder. “Julian’s hands were badly burned. I don’t know what his long-term prognosis is. But I know he’s alive.”

“What about Ferion?” He ran his hands down the long graceful curve of her back, pressing her closer to wipe away the ugly memory of the dream.

“He’s okay. He— For a few minutes, I was afraid he wasn’t going to make it. I don’t know much, yet, about what happened back at the Elven residence after I left except that I heard Ferion tracked down and killed a few of Malphas’s spies. Malphas had fixed the soul lien so that it would kill him if anybody tried to remove the spell, but Soren was able to break it before Ferion choked to death. Soren’s—” Through the palms of his hands, he felt her swallow hard. “He’s gone too. Malphas was trying to run when Soren stopped him.”

Two eternal souls, gone forever.

“I remember,” he said in a low voice. He thought of the crashing Power overhead, and the destruction on Hart Island. “Gods, what a high cost. Did anybody else die?”

“No,” she told him quickly, kissing him again. “Everybody else is okay.”

He nodded, turned his face away and covered his eyes with one hand. Pain tore at him, along with sickened grief.

Silence fell in the room. Bel nuzzled his chin and stroked his hair, offering comfort. After several minutes, he whispered, “I feel like this is all my fault.”

Her head had begun to drift down to his chest again. At those words, she straightened back up. “How can you say that? Why would you think this was all your fault?!”

After spending his whole life hiding his visions, it was remarkably hard to break the silence. He forced his way through it, saying through gritted teeth, “I’m—I guess you’d say I’m psychic. I see things before they’re about to happen. Sometimes I can change things just enough, so that something else happens instead.”

The alarmed concern in her eyes turned to fascination. “You have the second sight?”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Always have. I . . . saw what happened on the beach a long time ago.” Unable to look at her, he averted his face. “Not everything. I never see everything clearly.”

“I’ve had several conversations with previous Oracles over the years,” she murmured. “Every one of them said that visions can be terribly difficult to interpret.” She asked gently, “What did you see?”

“Blood, dripping from my chest wound. The white snow, the black rocks, the water—some kind of high building. Heart’s blood. Hart Island, only I didn’t know it was Hart Island until I got there. I’d never been to the place before, outside of my vision.”

She laid cool fingers against his cheek. “When did you first see it?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose hard, and whispered, “Two hundred years ago, when I saw you at the Vauxhall masque.”

“Two hundred years ago.” She sat up so that she could stare down at him, her expression filling with horror mingled with wonder.

He deserved her horror. It would serve him right if she walked out of the hospital room and never came back. He saw Constantine again in his mind, and another wave of pain washed over him.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “All that time ago, you saw what you thought was your own death, and you still offered to help me?”

His jaw tightened. He nodded. “I didn’t see anybody else, or any details. If I had only seen Constantine, I would never have agreed to let him come. He died because of me.”

She twisted around to face him fully, some kind of extreme reaction tightening her face and body. Whatever her initial reaction was, she held it back until she calmed and looked more balanced. He respected that so much about her, how she found her own ballast and considered her words carefully.

After a moment, she said in a slow, deliberate voice, “First things first. I think you must be the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

That was the last thing he had expected her to say. Frowning, he opened his mouth to reply, but she slipped her hand over his lips to stop him.

“Graydon, you saw what you thought was your own death, and you still stepped forward without hesitation to offer to help me. You never backed down. Not once. You confronted Malphas at Wembley, you waited all this time.” Her voice wobbled until she firmed her lips and continued. “You spearheaded the investigation, you set the trap for Malphas—you drove this whole thing forward, all the while thinking it would probably kill you.”

“I had to,” he whispered. “I don’t back down. I can’t live my life that way. And besides, I wanted you so badly.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I think I must be the luckiest woman in the world,” she breathed. “Second point. You need to put the blame for this exactly where it belongs, on Malphas.”

Breathing raggedly, he closed his eyes. She was only saying to him what he had said to other people before—don’t blame the victim. Or, in this case, victims. Yet he had such difficulty internalizing her words.

When she spoke again, her voice had turned very gentle. “Third point. Don’t take away from Constantine or Soren the power of their choices. Or Rune and Julian, either, for that matter. Maybe they didn’t have the second sight, or a vision from two hundred years ago, but they could still see pretty well. They knew how dangerous it was to fight a first generation Djinn, and they chose to do it anyway, just as you did.”

He said quickly, “I wouldn’t take anything away from them. That’s not what I meant.”

Her voice gentled even further. “Are you sure? Can you tell me that what they did was all that different from what you did?”

He ran her words over again in his mind, trying to find some fault with her logic, but he couldn’t find any.

“Graydon,” she said tenderly.

He looked up at her. There was so much love in her expression, so much compassion, a lump rose in his throat.

“I know how insidious survivor’s guilt can feel,” she told him. “Why did they die, and not me? There must have been something—anything—I could have done to stop it. Those kinds of thoughts will consume your soul, if you don’t stop them.”

While he listened, he forced himself to breathe evenly. In and out, the raw, simple effort of living. If anybody knew about survivor’s guilt, it must be Bel. What demons had she been forced to confront and exorcise over the last six months?

She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth in a soft caress. “I’m not trying to take away your feelings. Gods, how could I? You need to feel what you feel, and grieve in your own time, and in your own way. The only thing I’m trying to say is, please, don’t carry the weight of this on your shoulders. Not this, not when it doesn’t belong there.”

Unable to speak, he nodded, and he had to cover his eyes.

As soon as darkness pressed against his eyelids, he saw it again—the spike bursting out of Constantine’s chest. Pain burned through his muscles like acid.

He also remembered something else. Con had been shouting something at him. Grabbing him, yanking him around.

Hauling him out of the path of danger.

“I didn’t change the vision,” he rasped. “Con did.”

His words shook her visibly. Even though the battle was over, terror flashed across her face, and her slender dark brows drew together. She breathed, “What did he do?”

“He pulled me out of the way, and pushed between me and Malphas.” Grief, like stones grinding together, roughened his voice. Malphas had driven that spike so hard, it had not only torn through Con’s body, it had also impaled him—just not deeply enough to puncture his heart. “He took the strike meant for me.”

“He saved your life?”

His lips formed a soundless word. “Yes.”

Her fingers tightened on his flesh, digging into his arms. She whispered, “Then I’ll always be grateful to him.”

He thought of how much strength and hatred had gone into Malphas’s massive blow, how close he had come to losing his life. He thought of that wry look in Con’s eyes at the very end. Con had known, and he had done it anyway. A wordless sound came out of him, as if he had just been struck again.

As the wave of pain passed, he grew aware of other things. Bel had gone nose-to-nose with him. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she didn’t flinch away. Her gaze was so naked, so full of emotion. He did not make this journey alone. Where he went, she went with him, right down into the darkest place. Everything he felt, she felt too.

How could she have lost everything that she had lost, and still have the strength to remain so open and compassionate?

“If I didn’t have you to hold onto right now, I think I would be going more than a little crazy,” he whispered.

“If I didn’t have you, I know I would be more than a little crazy.” Reaching up, she kissed his forehead. “What can I do for you, my love?”

A wave of tenderness washed over him. “You’re doing everything.” As he took a deep breath, he remembered something else. “Did I . . . dream that you and Dragos argued?”

With a snort, she buried her face in the pillow by his head. “No, you didn’t dream it. He was here, and we—we sort of did.”

He slipped his fingers underneath her chin, urging her face up. His voice deepening, he whispered, “You said I’m yours.”

Color darkened her cheeks. “Yes, and I-I might have told him that I’m moving in with you. Pretty much. Essentially.” She bit her lip. “Unless you have a problem with that?”

“Gods, no.” He locked his arms around her. “I’m never going to let you out of my sight again.”

It was a ridiculous thing to say, but she didn’t contradict him. Instead, she clung to him, arms around his neck, drawing one slender leg over his hips. The reality of her presence pounded into him.

She was here, really here with him. For the first time in two hundred years, they were free from all constraint.

Free.

His hot burn of grief turned into raw need. His cock stiffened so hard, it felt agonizing.

Struggling with so many powerful emotions, he rasped, “I need you so much, and yet after what happened, it feels almost wrong.”

“Reaffirming love and life can never be wrong,” she told him softly. “That’s survivor guilt. This is a gift, Graydon. An incredible, precious gift. Everything you do—everything we do—from here on out is a gift. It would be so terrible to waste it.”

When everything inside him threatened to shut down, somehow she opened doors, and she made it okay for him to walk through them.

Yes, this was a gift. And if events had happened the other way around, he knew for damn sure Constantine wouldn’t waste it. In fact, Con would be the first to shove him forward, back into life.

She’s your chance, man, Con had said. You’ve got to take it.

His animal surged to the forefront. With a posssessive growl, he rolled her over so that she lay on her back on the hospital bed. So recently healed, his muscles shook with need and strain.

He gritted between his teeth, “Tell me not to do this, and I won’t.”

If she told him no, somehow, he would find a way to stop, if it killed him.

“I would never tell you such a thing,” she breathed. “I could never tell you no.”

Meeting her gaze, he tore off her clothing with the sharp talons that had grown to tip his fingers. Her gaze filled with fierce light. She looked like the Elven warrior who had once walked out of the shadows toward him.

She took his soul out of his body. He couldn’t bear not to give it to her.

Then her clothes were gone, thrown in a ruined pile of fabric to the floor. The sight of her beauty slammed him. Dark, luxuriant hair spread everywhere, and the slender, tensile strength in her body was unutterably lovely.

In an agonized clench, the monster whispered, “I may not be able to be gentle.”

“I don’t need your gentleness,” she said, as she reached up to touch his face. “I need your truth.”

Her words rocked him. Truth.

This is truth:

You tear away everything but my essence.

I need the light you carry more than I need air, food or water. I need you more than life.

I treasure the breaths we take together, and I am stricken with envy for them, for they mingle closer and more completely than our bodies can join.

Your beauty makes me fall out of the sky and want to stay tethered to earth. Let me follow you everywhere, my love, through the lightest moments, and the darkest. I can only be happy if we share all our pain.

Don’t leave me, I beg of you, for my spirit will go with you, and then I will truly become clay.

He whispered things against her body, the monster. He did not even know what. They were raw and naked, words that came from wounds of the heart, blooming like roses.

She sobbed and twisted underneath the caress of his lips, his deadly hands. He could not make his talons retract, and so he found gentleness after all, for he would die before he could ever mar her delicate beauty.

She tasted exquisite, like every dream he’d ever had of bliss. He tongued her plump lips, plundered the private recesses of her mouth, licked at the slender stalk of her neck where her life beat, strong and sure, underneath the velvet-scented veil of her skin.

While he lost himself in doing to her everything he had ever imagined, squandering the yearning daydreams of centuries, the flow of her body coursed underneath his hands, twisting and turning to match the needs of his body.

Like an enchanted mirror, her gaze told him he was the most beautiful lover in all the land. He had always known he could only be beautiful through the gaze of someone who looked at him with true love.

Passion rose underneath her skin, so that she burned with the kind of luminescence that could only be seen with his soul. He followed the path it showed him, licking along the curves and hollows of her body, suckling at each of her nipples, until the graceful way she touched him grew broken and demanding.

The hunger in her voice as she cried out sounded like music to him, silvery and passionate, like watching the sun glint off a starling’s wing. The salt of her aroused scent was earthy, addicting. He rubbed his cheek down the flat, shaking line of her abdomen, drawn inevitably to the most secret part of her.

She parted her legs, granting him access to her most sensitive, fragile flesh. He fell into licking and caressing her with his tongue, tracing the silken, delicate folds with the kind of reverence such treasure deserved. The musk of her arousal slicked his lips.

His own body felt molten hot, his erection so thick and tight, it jutted straight out from his body. As he sprawled on his stomach, pushing down lower on the bed to feast on her, the slight friction of his cock rubbing on the coarse sheets caused him to ejaculate.

Gritting his teeth, he endured the unsatisfying pulse of pleasure/pain. He needed to be inside her oh gods so badly, yet he couldn’t leave the sensual wealth spread underneath him.

Carefully spreading her plump, ruby-tinted flesh, he found her clitoris. When he put his mouth over it, a breathless cry broke out of her lips. She lifted off the bed, head arched back, while the long, shapely muscles of her inner thighs clenched.

That was what he wanted. He needed to hear her scream. Contentment eased the fire of his own need. It wouldn’t last, but he would make it last long enough.

Suckling at her tiny, powerful peak of flesh, he stroked the petals that surrounded her entrance, caressing the dainty folds. More of her liquid arousal coated his fingers. She sank shaking fingers into his hair, sobbing, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

What don’t you know? the monster whispered in her head.

“It’s so intense, I don’t know if I can stand it.” The confession tumbled out of her trembling mouth.

Trust me, he murmured. You can take it.

She was stronger than she knew. She was stronger than almost anybody he knew.

Briefly, deliriously happy, he flicked her clitoris with tense care over the edge of his teeth. Finally he was able to make his talons retract, as he plunged two greedy fingers deep inside of her. With his invasion, he felt her convulse.

The climax rippled out from her core to the rest of her body, and it was so fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful, suddenly, he could barely wait for her to finish. Somehow, he did, massaging her internal passage to help her through it.

When her pleasure ebbed, he pounced. Crawling up her body, he brought the tip of his cock to her entrance. Her hand collided with his as she reached to help him in.

Savagery returned. As he thrust into her tight, hot sheath, he sank his fingers deep into the mattress, clawing at it from a pleasure so deep, it was like agony.

He needed her so badly, he started ejaculating again with the first thrust. His face twisted, his back arching. Eyes wide, she stared up at him in wonder. As she stroked both hands down his chest, he shot harder into her.

It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.

She’s your chance, man.

Take it. Take her.

“You’re mine,” he growled into her face.

She whispered through lips swollen from his kisses, “Yes.”

Almost apologetically, he confessed, “I can’t stop. I’ve got to do it again.”

At that, she wound her arms around his neck again. He could never get tired of how passionately she held him. She said against his mouth, “Take everything you need, my love. Everything I’ve got is yours.”

She’s your chance, man.

He took everything she had to give.

Such a precious gift.