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My mark was malfunctioning, going off first for Indigo and now for the sight of some trees. This couldn’t be good. What if the pressure grew to be so excruciatingly full it exploded entirely?
Okay, I was probably overreacting with that thought. But seriously, should I be worried about this? If the damn thing drove people to kill themselves, I suddenly didn’t want one connected to the side of my head!
My fingers trembled as I readied myself for bed, trying to ignore the prickling in my temple.
Everything was fine; I could handle this.
Except the buzz was growing intense again, becoming one constant throbbing pulse. More persistent. Louder. Definitely trying to get my attention.
Should I inform someone? I didn’t want to worry the others, but something had to be wrong.
This didn’t feel normal.
Once I was in my nightclothes, I unsteadily climbed onto my bed and lay flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling with my fingers pressed to my mark. Glancing down, I nodded in relief. If I didn’t make it to morning, at least I’d know I died in my favorite nightgown. Good. That was good.
The fluttering in my temple changed in frequency as if trying a new track to alert me to—
Well, I’m not sure what it was trying to tell me, but it was definitely screaming something.
I moaned out a small whimper and closed my eyes. This was it. I wasn’t going to make it through the night, was I? Brentley would have no more siblings left. I’d never get to meet my nephew, Cal. Vienne and Urban would have a dozen more children without me there to spoil them. Indy would have to research Replacements alone. And Farrow—
Farrow would never get to receive the full power of my love for him.
Sniffing, I wiped my face as a tear trailed down the corner of my eye. I was too young to die. I hadn’t even done anything worthy enough to properly mark my place in history yet. No scrolls would mention me. No books would bear my name whenever Indigo made them popular.
In fifty years, would anyone even know I had existed?
I—
Suddenly breaking into my worries, a wave of unadulterated pleasure pulsed through me.
Wha—?
I gasped and bit my lip. My hips arched off the mattress, while tingling speared unexpectedly up the insides of my thighs until they met together at the top and sparked with hot and swollen need. I grabbed the bed under me to steady myself and ground my legs together to stop the twinge. But that appeased nothing, so I slapped my hand over the insistent throb and pressed in hard.
Oh God. Now that felt good. A whimper tore through my throat. My nipples beaded, wanting my hand to apply the same pressure to them. Not sure what else to do, I squeezed one of my breasts, and my fingers instinctively began to knead the sensitive area through my nightgown.
Before I knew it, my other hand followed suit between my legs until I was massaging myself with an urgent rhythm that knew no mercy. The pressure in my temple eased as the pleasure narrowed down and concentrated into my erogenous zones.
As my entire body writhed in wanton gluttony, my mind seemed to step back and blink in horrified awe, wondering what in God’s name was going on here. Except I knew. I was going to come.
I also knew I should probably stop. This kind of sudden coupling with oneself had to be the beginnings of madness. Right? But it was all so massive and consuming. I felt as if I had no control over what I was doing. My hands and skin just did what I knew it had to do to bring me to—
This.
“Holy shit,” I cried as the climax hit.
I dug my heels into the mattress under me and held on to myself for dear life while my womb contracted and pulsed in great, heaving waves that echoed through my extremities. The pleasure sucked my soul from my body until I was swimming in nothing but bright, blinding euphoria.
And then…
It settled, plopping me heavily back into myself, where I immediately grew cold and dim as if nothing had afflicted me at all.
I panted up at the ceiling. Perspiration matted my brow, and my limbs shook from exhaustion. Because whoa. That had been—
That had been intense.
My mark tingled as if laughing at me for ever being so worried.
