“We are guarding the door while you bed the goddess,” Eirik said with much dignity.
“Aye, we’re guarding.” Finnvid belched as he held up a mammoth stein of ale. “You go right ahead and rut, Dark One.”
“Guys—” I started to say, but didn’t have a chance to finish when Ben slammed the door shut in their faces, quickly turning the lock and racing back to me, shedding his pants and shoes in the process.
“Ben! I can’t do this with them outside listening to every squeak of the bed!” I protested.
Ben ripped my shirt off. He just ripped it right off my body, exposing my by now heated flesh to cooler air. As his head dipped into the curve between my breasts, his mouth a flame on my skin, I groaned and clutched his head. “Ignore me. I can do it just fine with them there. Please, Ben, do it. I feel like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces if you don’t.”
He didn’t need any further urging. There was a brief sting, followed by a warm rush of pleasure as my blood flowed into Ben, satisfying a bone-deep craving in both of us. He let me feel just how profoundly he was shaken by the experience, and I knew to the very depths of my soul that I had made the right decision. We were meant to be together.
His tongue lapped at my breast as his hands busily removed the remainder of my clothes.
“That’s it?” I asked, my body vibrating like a plucked string. I ran my hands up his arms, the velvety soft skin over hard muscles making me squirm almost as much as his hot breath on my now bared breasts. “You’re full?”
“Oh, no,” he said, his voice deep with wicked intent. “I’ve only begun.”
“Good, because I don’t want to have to invoke a comparison between you and my toys again.”
His smile was both tender and incredibly arousing. “I can see I’m going to have to banish the ghost of your sex toys once and for all. But first . . .” An elongated canine tooth flashed in his mouth as he nipped his thumb. I stared at the welling drop of crimson on it. “Are you sure, Francesca? There will be no going back after this point.”
I held his gaze for three seconds, then took his hand and sucked the tip of his thumb into my mouth.
He moaned and closed his eyes as I let my tongue swirl over his finger.
“Spicy,” I said, releasing his thumb. His blood didn’t taste at all like mine, which was coppery and unpleasant—his reminded me of a heavily mulled Christmas wine, filled with the rich notes of cinnamon and cloves. “Does this mean we’re Joined? Do you have your soul back?”
“Yes, and not yet,” he said, dipping his head down to claim my mouth. “My soul will be returned soon.”
He made love to me slowly despite both our heightened sensitivity. I wanted him deep within me, but he resisted, using his hands and mouth and the incredible sensations he was feeling to push me to the edge three times before he finally let himself find pleasure. As his motions became more frantic, more wild, I arched up against him and demanded, Do it again!
He knew what I wanted. His teeth pierced the flesh of my shoulder as his hips pistoned into me, my body moving with him in a celebration of everything that we were together. I poured every ounce of love I had into him, wanting him to know that he meant the moon and stars to me. I knew he didn’t love me, but at that moment, it didn’t matter.
When did I ever say I didn’t love you?
My body exploded into a supernova of rapture so intense it made little sparkles dance before my eyes. He groaned into my neck, his breath hot and hard and fast as he pumped wildly now, his hands fisted on the sheets beneath me, and at last his back arched and he surged his own form of life into me.
It took me a couple of minutes before I realized what he’d said. He lay heavy on me, our breathing erratic, his body crushing me into the soft mattress. I slid my legs along his, my hands stroking his back. Our bodies fit together so perfectly, I cherished the feeling of him lying on me, boneless and limp with satisfaction.
Am I too heavy?
No. I like it. It makes me feel like we’re a whole.
We are a whole. He lifted his head from my neck. Why do you think I don’t love you?
I touched his face, sliding my fingers through the slight stubble that was starting to darken his jaw. “Last year, I asked you if you loved me. You didn’t answer. You can’t lie to me, Ben, so I knew that meant you didn’t want to answer in case it hurt my feelings. Have you . . . have your emotions changed?”
“No,” he said, and my heart dropped into my gut.
His lips nibbled on mine, urging them to part. They did.
I’ve loved you for five years, Beloved. My feelings haven’t changed, but they have grown deeper since you returned to me. You were beautiful and intelligent and strong before, but now there is a depth to you, a welcoming warmth and softness that draws me to you, binding me in ways I never imagined. You’re everything to me, Francesca. You’re my light and life and reason for being here. You bring me joy where there was only existence; hope when there was only despair. I loved you that first day when you wanted to kiss me, but were too nervous to try, and have continued to love you every day since.