She dove back in, lips sealing around the head, hand working the shaft in perfect counterpoint. Each time she took me deeper, the muscle in her throat flexed and her eyes fluttered, as if she couldn’t decide between oxygen and the need to be full of me. Her other hand cupped my ass, nails digging in just enough to make me snarl, and the shock of sensation threatened to send me over the edge before I was ready.
I braced my hand at the back of her head, not guiding, just anchoring her there, and she worked me, hand and mouth, with a patience that was both worship and threat. I could feel the pleasure coiling up, dangerous and tight, and when I reached the brink, I didn’t want to drown her in it—not yet. I wrapped my fist in her hair and, without thinking, tugged her off with a snap.
“Stop,” I barked, voice guttural. “Annie—look at me.”
She blinked up, eyes wide, lips glossy and open. “Did I do it wrong?” she asked, the tease in her voice undercut by the need painted across her face.
I shook my head, breath coming ragged. “You did it too well. I want to be inside you, not on your tongue.” I hauled her up, both hands locked around her waist, and tumbled her backward onto the bed, pinning her wrists above her head. She squirmed, delighted, and spread her legs without hesitation, the invitation so clear it would shame the devil.
I lined myself up, dragging the slick head of my cock through her folds, circling her clit with slow, deliberate passes. The heat of her was unreal—hotter than the Nevada night, hotter than the core of a star. I watched her face, watched the way her eyes pinched shut and her jaw went slack when I teased her, the way she arched her back, hips canting toward me, greedy for friction.
"Ready for round two?" I asked, voice thick.
She didn't even open her eyes, just reached down and grabbed my ass, nails digging in. "If you don't fuck me right now, I will start screaming until the mayor comes to evict us."
I laughed, but she was dead serious. I pressed the head against her, not entering, just holding there until the anticipation made her whole body tremble.
"Please, Sam," she said, voice gone hoarse and hungry. "Please."
That did it. I pushed inside, slow at first, then with a steady, brutal pressure that made her gasp and claw at my arms. She was so slick and tight, my cock fit like it was made for her, every inch a victory over the emptiness I'd carried for centuries. I let her feel every pulse, every twitch, every stretch. Her legs locked around my waist, urging me deeper, her heels digging into my back; the pain was lightning, pure and sweet, and I fed on it.
I set a rhythm, hips pistoning so hard the bed frame slammed against the wall. Each thrust drove a grunt from my chest, a moan from hers, the sound of us rising like a tide and drowning out everything else. She met every drive, every withdrawal, her body greedy for the collision, arms wound around my neck like she was never going to let go.
Her hands found my horns, and when she gripped there, using them for leverage, something snapped inside me. I buried myself to the knot, pinning her to the bed by the weight of my hips, and watched her scream my name into the crook of her arm. I rode her, relentless, one hand braced on her throat—not squeezing, just holding the flutter of her pulse under my palm, a tactile reminder that she was real and alive and mine for the taking. The other hand clamped her hip hard enough to leave a print. Her whole body bowed up to meet me, a perfect tension, and when I rammed in again, the knot forced its way inside with a wet, obscene pop.
She convulsed around me, legs trembling, mouth open in a silent howl. I felt her come, the pulsing rhythm of her cunt milking my cock, desperate to wring out every drop. It knocked the breath from my lungs; I broke, slammed once, twice, and then exploded inside her, wave after wave until my vision starbursted and my whole body locked up. I pressed her to the bed, both of us shaking, and held there, unwilling to move, unwilling to let go even as the knot swelled and locked us together again.
She clawed at my shoulder, nails biting deep, and when I finally looked down, eyes focusing past the blur, she was watching me with a kind of triumph I’d never seen before. Her cheeks flushed, lips bruised, hair wild and tangled around my handprint on her throat. She looked ruined in the best possible way—like a temple after the right god had come through, all the walls knocked down and the air full of lightning.
"That," she managed, after forever. "That was worth it."
I tried to laugh, but all that came out was a ragged pant. I thought about every moment of loneliness I’d ever hoarded, and every empty comfort I'd ever settled for, and felt them all burn away in the heat of her body. If I could have poured myself into her, bones and memory and all, I would have.
We lay there for a long time, fused at the hips, skin creating new constellations of sweat. I rolled to one side, careful not to wrench the knot that tied us together, and Annie went with me, still breathing hard, her heartbeat pounding an insistent counterpoint against my chest.
She pressed her face to my throat, her breath feathering the skin, then licked a sweat-salty stripe up my jaw. “I think you broke the bed,” she observed, voice gummy with endorphins. “I definitely heard something snap.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, and the movement low in my diaphragm made the knot twitch inside her, drawing a whimperand a giggle up her spine. “Sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t, really. "I can fix it in the morning."
"I'll hold you to that," she said, curling tighter into my side. There was nothing defensive or self-protective in the way she tucked beneath my wing, nothing held back. We lay like that, the lake splayed out in starlight just past the balcony glass, her breaths feathering soft and slow against my skin.
Her hand found mine, fingers weaving through like she was braiding string. I closed my eyes and let myself memorize the smallness of her grip, the way her thumb circled my knuckle, over and over, as if trying to polish it smooth. What a gift, I thought, to simply be held, to have someone anchor me to the world.
For a long time, we didn't speak. Annie's pulse slowed and her breaths evened, but I could feel the ache in her hips where the muscles still fluttered in aftershocks. I watched the moon roll across the lake, listened to the scratch of her breathing as it tangled with my own, and let the world outside shrink to the radius of her embrace.
Somewhere in that hush, her hand fell slack. Her breaths evened out and turned weightless, an animal surrender, and I realized with a strange pride that she trusted me to hold her as she faded. I tucked her closer, one wing draped fully over both of us now, making a tent of velvet and shadow. It was the safest I’d ever felt. I wondered if Annie would say the same, or if she’d wake in the morning and realize it had all been a game.
I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to watch her through the night, guard the perimeter of this fragile new world we’d built.
Instead, I reached for my phone on the nightstand, careful not to disturb her, and texted Mara. “She's staying if I have any say in it. Prepare my house. Office space for her work. Women's pajamas. Whatever humans need." I caught the last of Annie's breath in my lungs and let go, finally, of the last discipline andvigilance that had kept me upright for four decades, my phone still warm in my palm.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Annie
The next morning, the sky was still half-dark when I surfaced from sleep. The lake was a sheet of mercury, the house silent except for Samiel’s slow, seismic breathing. His arm was a dead weight across my waist, the wing folded over our bodies like a very expensive, slightly leathery comforter. The air was cool, and my skin was clammy in the way that meant I’d sweated through the sheets at some point. The clock on the dresser glowed 5:44 a.m.—which, for my poor Florida-ruined circadian rhythm, might as well have been noon.
