With a wriggle and sharp scream, I come. My body jerks andmy thighs shake, but Heathcliff holds me, steadies me, soothes me with his mouth.
There’s a jolt of bright energy in my mind during the orgasm—the deity inside me sharing the effect of Heathcliff’s clever tongue. It’s almost like having sex in public while someone else jerks off to the sight of me and my partner. I’ve had sex in a bunch of places, and though I’ve never been caught, I’ve always liked knowing it could happen. This is next-level naughty and erotic, not to mention weird and terrifying, but I refuse to let myself think too hard about the god’s presence and what it’s stealing from me. Nothing exists except me and Heathcliff. Right here. Right now.
“Untie me,” I gasp, wrenching against the cord. “Untie me, I need to touch you, I need—”
He obeys immediately, setting my ass down and loosening the knot. I tackle him onto the platform, flinging myself on top of him and smothering his startled exclamation with my mouth.
“Kiss me like I’m dying,” I whisper.
“Fuck, Cathy, don’t say that.” His hands tighten on my body with possessive force, almost enough to bruise. But I want his bruises. I want his fingerprints on my bones, his breath in my throat, his blood under my nails.
“Tear me apart.” My voice is harsh, wretched. “Fuck me until I beg for mercy, please, please… I need this. I’m strong now, like you. I can take it.”
I finish the plea with a crush of my mouth against his, and I bite his lower lip until I taste blood.
He responds with a great surge of his muscles, heaving himself up and rolling us both over. He’s ruthless when he shoves inside me, not giving me a second’s warning or a moment to adjust.
Yes, yes—this is the brutality I crave. I want to be fucked out ofmyself, out of this nightmare.
His body hangs low and heavy over mine, a wall of muscle that could crush me if he let it. He braces one forearm right above my head. His profile hovers above my face, his rough breath gusting across my lips.
“Catherine.” His voice is sharp, commanding. “I’m not just your escape from the things you find uncomfortable. I’ll be that for you, but I ammore.”
“Not just more,” I grit out, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. “You are everything.”
His eyes flame at the echo of what he once told me. A darkly triumphant grin and then he’s kissing me, kissing my forehead, cheeks, and mouth while he thrusts inside me. I wrap my legs around him, locking my ankles above the curves of his muscular ass, and I give myself to the ecstasy, to the surge of his skin and the flow of his strength, to the hot brush of his lips and the scent of his sweat.
My fingers find the edges of his biceps, the beads of his nipples, the slanted muscles above his hips, the expanse of his back. All of his rough The silken heat of his skin is mine, and the soft curls of hair coating his chest, and his thick, strong fingers with their calluses—they are mine. The glossy black tangle of his hair is mine. His dark-lashed eyes are mine, and his tongue teasing the inside of my mouth is mine. All of him is mine, no matter what happens.
Death couldn’t keep us apart, and nothing else will either.
“I’m going to love you after I’m dead,” I pant in his ear, my voice shaken by his fierce thrusts. “Promise you’ll do the same.”
“Easiest thing I’ve ever promised.”
I nod, letting my eyes drift shut as bliss swells warm between my legs. “Harder. Faster.”
With a low growl of determination, he quickens his rhythm.“Cathy…god, Cathy, I—”
A heavy groan rolls from him, and I feel goose bumps break out all over his body as he comes, but I barely notice because he’s still going, still pumping, and I’m clutching him frantically, nails sunk into his back as the swelling pleasure crests suddenly—a cord snapped, a wave of bliss released.
I want to scream, but I fight it with all the force of my will. The last thing we need is a banshee scream echoing through the woods beyond the church and calling attention to our presence.
So I bite Heathcliff again—his neck, his shoulder—not hard enough to draw blood, but he’ll have marks for days. My marks.
The orgasm is slowing, and my eyes fly open, meeting his in startled amazement as I realize we’re pulsing in sync, our bodies joined in perfect rhythm. I’ve never experienced that with anyone before, and it’s euphoric on another level. Like we’re connecting soul to soul.
Of course we are. Because his soul and mine were cut from the same shimmering fabric, hewn from the same rock, dipped from the same pool. Wherever souls come from, we share the same source. I am Heathcliff, and he is me. Anger and arguments, terror and tragedy, chaos and pain—none of that will ever change what we are to each other.
Heathcliff is looking down at me with a torment of wonder and love in his brown eyes. I lift a trembling hand to touch his cheek.
And then a shout startles us both. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I turn my head, and so does Heathcliff.
Edgar Linton stands at the entrance to the sanctuary, carrying a stack of books. He reaches for the dimmer switch on the wall and turns up the lights, flooding our faces and bodies with the bright glow.
His books avalanche to the floor and he nearly falls over,catching himself on a pew just in time. “Cathy?” His voice wavers. “Is that you? But you’re…supposed to be—”
