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“Great, then what are you waiting for?”

Tristan, vessel of Heartbreak, ancient and magical, the man who'd just given me the best foreplay of my life and a shockingly soul-shaking orgasm, looked like a teenage boy, uncertain and eager. So I took his cock in hand again and angled it to my entrance.

Still, he hesitated. “You can tell me what you want.”

“I thought I just did.” I wriggled my hips, using his shoulders as leverage, and got him seated.

With a groan, Tristan slid into me. I was so prepared for him he filled me with one thrust. He paused there, hips angled forward and hands around my thighs. His stare locked on mine, and my view on sex shifted. This was more than pleasure, more than an intimate activity. He was inside me, and his eyes conveyed how life altering this moment was. It was the cliché of being one, and with Tristan, it was real.

As soon as I felt it, as soon as he saw it in my eyes, he bent forward, lifting my ass and folding me. He set his hands to either side of me on the bed and proceeded to lose every ounce of control he had. We had paid tribute to the moment, to joining our bodies for the first time, and now we could let our passion lose. This was what he'd promised me when he nearly lost control the last time, the wild ride I'd been anticipating.

So, I grabbed his shoulders with a wide grin and held on. Tristan's expression shifted, his eyes locking on me with an intensity that sent my desire even higher. I didn't need to touch my self as I had with other men. Tristan's patient attention had sensitized my flesh. Combined with my open position, every stroke was intense, the inner stimulation vibrating out. His body slammed against mine and added another layer of ecstasy.

My second orgasm broke over me, dragging a sound out of me as primal as Tristan looked. His hips pistoned faster, every thrust shaking me, pushing on my sex, and as I started to come down, he crested. His hips locked up, and he pushed himself as deep as he could go. When his back arched, I lowered my hands to his chest and massaged his nipples, sensing he'd enjoy it. Tristan's eyes went wide, and he cried out brokenly, his body jerking twice before he dropped back on his heels.

As he slipped out of me, I lowered my legs to the bed. Tristan sighed and laid over me, aligning our hips. I loved the feel of his shaft against my pussy. Even well-satisfied, it gave me a delicious thrill, as did the press of his chest on my breasts.

Tristan brushed back my hair and kissed me. “Do you remember when I said I'd understand if you left me after this is over?”

I frowned. “Yes?”

“I take it back. Don't ever leave. I will not understand. I'll probably beg pathetically. Because I think I'll die if I can't have that again.” He grinned to make it feel more like a joke, but the intensity of his gaze told me it was true.

Which thrilled me to no end.

I laughed as he shifted to the side and rolled off me. Once settled next to me, he turned on his side and pulled me against him, my back to his front. Sighing, I nestled in, and he slid a leg between mine. With his arm around my waist and his head on the pillow next to mine, I felt as if I were where I belonged. The lamp was still on but neither of us moved to turn it off. It felt too perfect, as if I'd been waiting all of my life to be held by him.

I thought about where this would go, but the anxiety didn't rise. I didn't care. Maybe I would later, but not right now. This moment was for us to revel in, and I had a feeling we'd need it to sustain us through whatever was coming. For now, there was only this room, the satisfaction we'd found together, and the sound of Tristan breathing slowly as he settled into sleep. I closed my eyes and followed him into oblivion.

A chill woke me later. The bed beside me was empty and the lamp was off. I rolled over, blinking against the gloom. Tristan stood across the room, silhouetted against the tall window, arms crossed over his chest. His posture was rigid, the line of his spine taut.

“Tristan?” I called.

He flinched and then turned. In the moonlight, his face looked haggard and spectral.

“Come back to bed.” I lifted the edge of the duvet.

Tristan didn't move for a long moment. Then, with heavy, reluctant steps, he crossed the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress, resting his forearms on his knees. He wouldn't look at me.

I sat up, pulling the sheet around my chest, and placed a hand on his bare shoulder. The muscle beneath my palm was like iron. “What's wrong?”

Tristan stared at his hands, his jaw working. “I was thinking I should leave you here.”

The words hit me like a bucket of cold water. “What?”

“The Conclave can protect you.” His voice was flat and strained. “If you stay inside these walls, they can't touch you. I can end this myself.”

“End this how?”

“By killing them.” He turned his head to look at me, his eyes dark. “Fabian may have found a way to extend his life, but it doesn't mean I can't kill him. Osric shouldn't pose a problem; he's no warrior.”

“Tristan, no.”

“I have lived seventeen hundred years, Destiny. I know how to kill when there is no other path. I will find them, kill them, and destroy their research.”

My anger flared. “And what if they overpower you? Don't you think they'll be expecting this? You could be playing right into their hands.”

“Fabian could have tried to capture me when we were in his home, but he didn't.'