“God, Luke, I want you so badly,” I whisper hoarsely, finding myself grinding against him without even thinking.
“Then take me.” His voice is as hoarse as mine. He settles back against the mattress, eyes glued to mine as I reach between us and curl my fingers around his shaft. He’s throbbing hard, the tip of his cock weeping pre-cum that mingles with my own slick juices as I slide it along my slit.
“Fuck, yes,” I groan as I guide him into me, feeling the satisfying stretch as he slides in deep.
His hands settle on my hips, steadying but not directing, letting me set the pace. The weight of them grounds me, anchors me to this moment as I move above him. His palms are hot against my skin, his fingertips pressing just enough to dimple the flesh, possessive without controlling.
“Look at you,” he breathes, his expression a mixture of awe and hunger that makes my power flare beneath my skin. A faint orange glow just below the surface, following the rhythm of my heartbeat. His thumbs trace small circles against my hipbones, the touch electric, sending sparks of sensation radiating upward and downward simultaneously. “So lovely it hurts.”
I lean down to kiss him, my hair falling around us like a silver curtain, carrying the scent of my shampoo—something I found in my bathroom that smells like flowers. His lips open under mine, tongue seeking. I feel the flex of muscle under my palms as I brace against his chest, the controlled power there.His heartbeat thunders against my fingertips, strong and rapid, a primal drumbeat.
“God,” he groans when I shift my hips, taking him deeper. His eyes darken to near-black, pupils blown wide with desire.
The sensation of him filling me steals my breath, pressure and fullness and rightness that makes my toes curl against the sheets. A growl tears from his throat, low and visceral, sending a shiver racing down my spine. The sound of it—knowing I caused it—is intoxicating, a power more heady than fire.
I find a rhythm, watching his face, learning what undoes him. The slight hitch in his breathing when I roll my hips just so. The way his fingers tighten when I lean back, changing the angle, his gaze fixed on where our bodies join, the sight of his cock sliding into me.
“Luke,” I whisper, tasting his name. There’s a hint of raw vulnerability in his eyes as I say it, the syllable flavored with desire.
Heat builds between us, slower than before but more intense for it. The air grows heavy with the scent of our arousal, with sweat and musk and the faint scent of magic that accompanies my power. His hand slides between our bodies, thumb finding my clit, adding pressure that makes me gasp. The dual sensations—him inside me, his thumb circling—send lightning through my veins. Sparks dance behind my eyelids, my power and pleasure tangling together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
The edge approaches, both of us this time, together. I can taste it, metallic and sweet on my tongue. Can hear it in the way his breathing fractures, in the small sounds escaping my throat. Can feel it in the tightening of my inner muscles, in the way he swells within me.
“Oh… God!” I cry out when I come first, back arching, his name breaking from my lips. Wave after wave of sensationcrashes through me, my skin beaming with power unleashed, bathing us in silvery light. Through half-lidded eyes, I see Luke watching me, something like wonder on his face, his features sharp with need and soft with emotion simultaneously.
He follows seconds later, hands tight on my hips, pulling me down as he loses control. The raw sound he makes—my name mixed with a growl—triggers aftershocks that leave me trembling, clenching around him in pulses that draw out his release.
We collapse together, breathing hard, my face pressed into the curve of his neck. His skin is slick with sweat, salt tang mixing with his natural scent. His arms wrap around me, holding me close against his chest as our heartbeats gradually slow to match. I can feel every point where our bodies connect… chest to chest, hip to hip, his legs tangled with mine, his breath against my cheek.
Unlike the mountains, we don’t separate immediately. Instead, we stay locked together under the blankets, skin to skin, guards completely down. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, raising pleasant shivers wherever they touch. The texture of the sheets against my over-sensitized skin feels both abrasive and soothing.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits into the darkness, voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it. The words vibrate from his chest into mine. “Be this.”
I prop myself up on his chest, looking down at him. In the dim light, his face holds shadows I’ve never seen before; uncertainty softening the hard edges I’ve grown accustomed to. “Be what?”
He hesitates, vulnerability naked in his expression. “Someone’s… partner. Someone who matters.”
My chest tightens with unexpected emotion, a pressure behind my ribs that feels both painful and precious.
“You matter to me.” The words taste of truth and promise.
“Even knowing what I’ve done? The people I’ve failed?” The question carries weight, hinting at stories he hasn’t shared, losses I don’t yet understand. His voice is edged with something bitter; regret, perhaps, or old grief.
“Especially knowing,” I tell him, pressing my palm over his heart. The steady thump against my hand is grounding, real. “Because you’re still here. Still trying.”
He captures my hand, brings it to his lips, kisses my palm with surprising tenderness. The brush of his stubble against my sensitive skin sends new tremors of pleasure through me. “I’ve spent my entire life doing what needs to be done, not what I wanted. Duty over desire.” His eyes hold mine in the dim light. “Until you.”
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest. I curl against his side, head resting on his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. His skin is hot against mine, the scent of our lovemaking surrounding us in a cocoon of intimacy.
“I’ve never felt like this before,” I confess. “With anyone.” The words leave me feeling exposed, but in this moment, vulnerability feels like strength, not weakness.
Luke’s arms tighten around me, one hand stroking down my spine in a soothing rhythm.
“Neither have I. Not in three hundred years.”
The weight of that statement settles over me; all that time, all those decades of existing but not truly living.
“That’s a long time to be alone.”
