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I tilt my head, find her lips. We kiss. I drag my tongue in a lazy line across her mouth, find an opening, press inside.
The ghosts in the temple want us to survive.
They are invested in this biological imperative.
I am more than happy to comply.
I pull her into my lap, testing her limbs for points of soreness, making sure she isn’t hurt. She never breaks, never wavers; she wants this as I do, as the ghosts do. When she straddles my thighs, I find my cock pressing against her core, insistent, ready.
“When we return to him,” I breathe against her lips, “you will suck his cocks while I fuck you…won’t you?”
She inhales sharply, her hands on my shoulders. “Fuck, I would love to.”
My hands find the waist of her pants, slide underneath them. They’re loose; she’s gone too long without eating. I want to feed her, to care for her, even though I’m sure that would drive her crazy.
“We have much to explore,” I murmur. “Fate would not have brought us together only to leave so many things undone.”
I find that human place—her clit—swollen and ready for me. I slide my fingers against her and she grinds her hips, her lips opening, her back arching. My tunic rides up and my bare skin touches the wall, and the voice invades me.
The biological imperative is to…
Frankie stands over me and steps out of her pants, tossing them to the side. In moments, she’s astride me again, guiding my cock to her opening. I find her slick and throbbing, her heat overwhelming, her beauty leaving me deaf and dumb. My ears ring as she envelops me, taking me fully.
I don’t know when I took off my clothes.
I don’t know where I end and she begins.
I drive into her, desperate to feel something warm and familiar, my hands clawing at her back. Frankie sighs into my ear, her tongue on my fringe, dragging up where turquoise flares. And Taraven is here, his breath on the back of my neck, his claws at my waist, his cock insistent behind me.
The temple orders me to survive and to thrive.
To procreate.
I obey.
I take Frankie by the shoulders and drag her down on top of me, thrusting until our hips slap together. She groans and braces herself on the wall, and the temple sings. She speaks in so many languages that my translator can’t keep up—English, Spanish, Lyran, Skoro…
She is a genius.
I do not know what I did to deserve her.
To deservethem.
In our desperation and our will to survive, we make something beautiful. She comes in a flash of brilliance, and it’s like the vines climbing over the walls flash with her. A green glow ignites the cell for an instant; we have finally achieved what the temple wills.
We breathe into each other’s mouths as we kiss deeply, recovering ourselves.
In the moments after, she stays in my lap, half-naked and beautiful. I needed this to feel prepared for what’s to come—as did she, I think. I stroke her tangled hair, leaning back against the wall as she lays her head on my chest.
“It wanted us here,” I whisper. “The thing in the walls. You can feel it, can’t you?”
“Yes,” she says. “But…I still don’t know what it wants. And I don’t think we’re going to get out of here until we can figure that out.”
I press a kiss to her forehead, smoothing her wild curls.
“I miss Taraven,” she says.
“Me too,” I say.
