He speared a hand through her hair and tipped her head up to his. Setting his lips to hers, he kissed her with a hunger that was all about her. No one and nothing but her.
“More,” she managed to say between pants as his lips trailed a hot path down her neck.
He’d never not give her what she wanted, not in this. Sliding a hand down, he wrapped it around her hip, holding her still. She whimpered at not being able to move with him, but it turned into a moan when he withdrew, teased her entrance with a series of short thrusts before sinking all the way in again.
A throaty, needy sound escaped her body, and she stiffened as he held her firm against the bed, thrusting into her. When her nails dug into his flesh and her back arched, nothing had ever felt so good. Liquid heat poured from her body, lighting him on fire. Her muscles fluttered, then gripped him as if they never wanted to let him go.
In a haze, he heard Helia call his name one more time as he rode them through her orgasm, before finding his own with a blinding roar.
Temple to temple, they caught their breath as their bodies hummed and slowed with the memories. Slowly, she lifted a hand, the tips of her fingers tracing a line up his spine, over his neck, and to his jaw. On a gentle nudge, he raised his head and met her sated eyes.
There were no jokes, no words even. Just a rare certainty, both soft and strong, stretching between them. Binding them to each other.
She smiled quietly, her hazel eyes tender and wise. He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers before withdrawing and shifting to her side. Gathering her in his arms, he drifted off to sleep with a peace he hadn’t felt in nearly two decades.
Sunlight touched the edges of their window when they woke again. Through two floors of ancient stone and wood, he heard movement on the ground floor. Dim but unmistakable. At least one person was up.
“How’d you sleep?” Muffled through the thick comforter, he could barely make out Helia’s words.
“Better than I have in a long time,” he answered honestly. The sex was a part of that, but not the whole reason. Or even the main one.
The blankets shifted and Helia’s face emerged, her hair scattered across her cheek and forehead. He chuckled, rolled to face her, then gently swept the strands aside. He tipped his head to kiss her, but she set her fingers to his lips and held him in place.
“I have morning breath.”
He raised a brow. “I don’t care,” he replied, his lips dancing over the pads of her fingers.
“I do,” she replied, then wrinkled her nose. “I know. Not romantic, is it? But I don’t want to kill you with my dragon breath.”
“Want me to get a glass of water? Mouthwash? I think I saw some in the bathroom,” he offered, making a mental note to leave a bottle of water beside their bed. He could make mint iced tea and leave it in a water bottle. That would do the job.
“I have a different idea,” she said, rolling him onto his back and straddling him. He had no idea what her idea was, but he was on board with it. She ran a fingertip across his jaw, down his neck, then traced the line of pecs. “Tell me about this tattoo?” she asked, running her fingers over a series of white lilies about the size of her palm.
“Saint Maria Goretti is always depicted with lilies,” he answered.
Her eyes lifted to his. “I didn’t know you’re religious.”
“I’m not. But she’s the patron saint of abused children—one of them, anyway. There’s Mater Matuta and Bastet on there, too. I’m good with anyone, or anything, that wants to protect children.”
“I know Bastet,” she said, bending her head as she found the Egyptian cat. “But who’s Mater Matuta?”
“Roman goddess. She had a focus on mothers, but children, too.”
“And this?” she asked, touching a swirling pattern of colors that covered a shoulder and ran down his arm.
“It’s a depiction of the Kurukshetra War from theMahabharata. It’s more nuanced, but it was a mythical battle where justice and righteousness prevailed over ego, greed, and envy.”
She tipped her head as she followed one of the images with her eyes. “I remember my dad telling me that story.”
“So do I.”
Her hand stilled, and her gaze snapped to his. “When did you get this?”
He didn’t even think about evading the question. “When I made it through basic training.” Weeks after he’d left. He’d carried a part of her family—of her—with him all these years.
“Screw morning breath,” she said, folding over him and slamming her mouth onto his. Fifteen seconds later, he’d rolled them over and pushed inside her. She came almost immediately, and he reveled in the feel of her even as he gripped her thigh, pulled it to his hip, and continued thrusting into her with a relentless pace. With a frenzied, almost frantic, need, they rocked the heavy bed. And when her breath caught in those tiny gasps of anticipation, he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cry as her body locked around his. When the sensations grew too powerful to ignore, he ripped his lips from hers and threw his head back. Heated pleasure exploded through his body, and they came together.
The world came back to him—to them—in bits and pieces. When their breaths slowed, he released his hold on her thigh and rolled gently to the side. This time, rather than curl into him, Helia remained on her back. As if unable to move. He sympathized.
