For a moment, she was worried that he would need pain to find his climax, as he had back in that bolt-hole they’d spent their first day in—and watching him hurt himself to get to a point of pleasure had been hard enough to witness before. Now? With everything she felt for him and all they had been through, it would kill her.
But he had no problem. With a shout of her name, he soared, clearly free of the burdens he had carried, and tears of joy came to her eyes. So natural. So right—for the both of them: He was down the back of her throat, in her gut, in her body, coming in great kicks into her sex. Duran . . . was everywhere and everything, all she knew, all she needed.
And it was beautiful.
So much so, she might well drain him dry if she took too much—and so she was careful to force herself to release his vein way before she was satiated, her love for him greater than her greed for his blood. Licking the puncture wounds closed, she slumped against the wall and propped her heels on the ledge, opening herself up as wide as she could.
Duran planted his palms on the tile wall, his great arms bowing out, and then he got to the grind, his abs rolling under his tight skin, his hips working, his lips finding hers until the rhythm got too intense. Looking down her body, beneath her breasts, she watched him go in and out of her, the sight so erotic, she came again.
And again.
And . . . again.
He was filling her up on the inside once more, marking her as males did when they had bonded, mating her in the rawest sense of the word. His face, as he strained and powered over her, was intense, his eyes glowing, his fangs bared as his lips curled off his canines in pleasure.
He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
And he was alive.
When he finally stilled, she was boneless and fully satisfied. And if, tomorrow night, she had to add stiffness between her legs to her legion of bumps and bruises?
Well worth it. Sooooooo worth it.
“You ready for bed?” he asked with a slow smile.
“Beyond ready.” She brushed his wet hair back from his forehead. “I can’t wait to sleep all day long.”
“If I happen to wake you,” he drawled as he bent to one of her breasts and sucked her nipple between his lips, “I want to apologize in advance.”
“Do not hesitate to disturb my sleep with the likes of this,” she groaned as he nuzzled against her.
Out of the shower, they dried off and went to fall into the big queen-size bed that was covered with quilts. Their room was in the back of the house on the first floor, and she had an idea, considering what had happened in the shower, of why Nexi had given them this particular locale.
Far from the basement.
So no one would hear . . . things.
There was no reason to wear nightclothes, not that they had much to change into—and funny how none of that mattered. After everything they had been through, things like changes of socks and clean underwear were way down the list of urgent priorities. Undoubtedly, this would recalibrate, however.
At least, she hoped it did.
“I look forward to normal,” she said as she nestled in against him. “To First Meal with you. Last Meal with you. Nightly habits are such a blessing.”
As he kissed her on the top of the head, she heard him mumble something. She yawned. Winced as she shifted and her shoulder protested. Knew that the feeding she’d just had would take her light-years ahead in her healing.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too,” Duran returned.
There was a strange tension in his voice, one that made her nervous on some deep level even as she told herself not to worry about it. And then her body’s need for rest overrode her mind’s warning system, sleep arriving and slamming the door on the external world.
Subsuming her in a glorious float.
Where, for once, there were no bad dreams.
37
DURAN DIDN’T SLEEP.
Even though he was beyond exhausted, he could not let go of consciousness, no matter how many times he closed his eyes and resolved to follow Ahmare’s excellent example.
Sometime around three in the afternoon, he told himself it was because his body was one giant contusion. He told himself the insomnia was also because he was in a strange house. And finally, he told himself it was excitement over the future, over his love with Ahmare . . . over the fact that against the odds, he’d finally escaped Chalen’s hold.
Freedom, after all, was heady stuff. And that was before you tacked on two decades of having been tortured.
By the time the sun dropped below the horizon, however, he knew none of that was the problem.
Inside his soul, something vital was screaming, the terrible energy emanating from the center of his chest and contaminating all of him. His love for Ahmare was great enough to make him want to stay with her in spite of the agitation.
But in the end, he got out of bed.