Page 89 of How I Met Your Murderer

I also knew why he wasn’t saying it. Because he’d rather know I was safe than feeding the elemental that might still hurt him or a lot of other innocent people.

“I’ll live on in you,” I told him gently, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “As long as you remember me, I’ll never really leave you. But I know, I—I don’t want to face what’s next without you, either, when I only just found out how good it can be to have someone who holds your hand in the dark.”

“You’ve shown me what it is to want a future again, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to let—” He stopped short, his eyes widening. He blinked away tears as he lifted his head and scented the air like a bloodhound.

“Eric, do you smell that? It’s like . . . someone left the stove on downstairs or something,” he said slowly, staring at the cold, empty fireplace opposite our bed for the night. “You don’t think . . .?”

“Síofra would run through the wall screaming if there was an actual fire,” I said, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

But now that he mentioned it, I did smell something. Not exactly how he had described it, but the air felt thicker, crackling with intent. There was a certain metallic scent wafting through the room, like someone had struck a match too close to my face, the kind of sting that curled into my nose and made my eyes water.

It smelled like a warning.

One that made the back of my neck prickle with awareness as Raff and I both scanned the walls to see if any eyes would appear in the wood, pushing through the plaster.

“You can’t have him,” Raff said coldly to the smoky air, and even once the scent had completely evaporated, the rigid line of his shoulders refused to relax.

At 9:32pm, we shed our clothes and climbed into the fancy bed together, and I gave him a massage with the coconut oil he’d never returned to the kitchen, trying to get rid of some of that unwanted tension.

It was hard work for a ghost with one foot out of this world. But I managed, with care, to dig my fingers in deep enough to erase some of his stress and worry and touch on something else that had him lifting his head to kiss my leg, which was the closest part of me he could reach.

But the kissing didn’t stop there. He gently displaced me onto the mattress, kissing up my thighs, my stomach, flicking his tongue over my nipples until I started squirming and grabbed a handful of his hair. Then, slowly, he kissed his way back to my lips.

“I was going to massage your knee first,” I protested between kisses as his larger hands roamed over every part of me.

The night was clear and cold, but I couldn’t feel the chill with Raff carefully straddling me, lowering himself onto me so that our growing erections were trapped together between our stomachs. The slightest movement was enough to make me gasp like this.

“You’re burnin’ up,” Raff accused as he sucked a hickey into my neck and rocked his hips against mine. “Love.”

“I . . . I want to feel you close,” I whined as one of our cocks leaked onto our stomachs. I wasn’t even sure whose, because we were both so worked up that the room smelled of sweat and anticipation, humid with our panting breaths as we swapped long, slow kisses and sucked the spit from each other’s lips.

Raff smiled against my mouth for the first time in hours, his eyes on mine, his only focus being the need pulsing between us. “I’m right here, mo chroi,” he said with feigned innocence, when he knew damn well what I meant. What I needed. “You have me. You always have.”

One look at the gleam in his eye, and I knew he was going to make me say it.

“I know, but I want you inside me.” I snuck a hand between us, running a finger along the length of him. “I don’t know how I’m going to take all this, but I’ll—I’ll rearrange my atoms to make sure you fit, that’s how much I want you. As close as can be.”

There had been two full water bottles on the nightstand when I started Raff’s massage, but by the time he had eaten me and stretched me into a writhing mess, they were both empty. I’d helped drain one.

This was thirsty work.

I didn’t feel exposed or vulnerable or worried when Raff hovered over me and lined himself up. Didn’t need to worry about protection or any of that, because hey, dead guy here. I was mostly worried about his knee, but he wasn’t giving any of the usual small signs that it was bothering him.

Probably because I took up all his attention, teasing his cock glistening with coconut oil until it was in dire need of the same thing I was. He held me and kissed me as he slowly worked his way into me at last, whispering a litany of praise in Irish that I couldn’t begin to untangle.

I didn’t need to.

It was I love you in a hundred different ways. His voice was a melody that made sense to me, and his body fit me like home as I adjusted to the sensation of being filled for the first time, no rearranging of my particles required after all. It was as easy as loving him, taking in everything he had to offer me as we built up a rhythm together.

“Mine,” Raff growled as he fucked into me deeper, hovering on the edge.

He kissed me hard enough to take my breath away—or maybe that was just him, dragging his cockhead against my prostate with a bit of skill I was very glad he had—but when he slowed a little, trying to make this last even longer for us both, I agreed, “Yours. Always.”

Because whether I was here or not didn’t make it any less true.

I was his, well before he ever had me coming all over his hand and my stomach, his face buried in the crook of my neck as he spilled himself into me.

Belonging was forever. It defied worlds.