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Thisis way too much, way too fast, and I’m lost.
Zora steps into me, pulling open my robe with swift efficiency. Her hands come to my chest and fuck my weak self… I groan from the contact. She slides her hands up, over my shoulders, and links her fingers behind my neck. Pressing her body into mine, she pulls my head down and I’m powerless to deny her. Our lips meet, and my entire body comes alive, just as it always has when she touches me.
She moans into my mouth but it’s overshadowed by the hungry growl that erupts from my chest.
“Goddamn you,” I mutter against her mouth before deepening the kiss into a soul-sucking adventure.
My arms band around her, one hand going to her ass to pull her in tighter to me. Somehow—maybe with magic—she snakes a hand in between us and wraps those magical fingers around my cock.
Zora’s not fucking around and she’s not giving me a second of reprieve where I might rethink the stupidity of my actions. I tighten my arm around her back and lift her higher so my hand on her ass can drop lower.
And slide right in between her legs from behind where I find her drenched for me.
The knowledge gleaned from one singular hot kiss reminds me simply how combustible we are together. I whip around to my left, take two steps to the sturdy table, and lay her down upon my war maps of A’buston.
There’s a slight moment where I consider flipping her to her stomach to make sure she understands this is impersonal.
It’s only a fuck.
But I can’t do it. I want to look into her eyes to see what other truths might be hidden in those fractal depths.
I magic our clothes away, pull her legs apart, and drive in deep.
“Maddox,” she screams, and there’s no doubt people outside my tent heard that.
No matter. No one would dare come in to check out such an obvious noise.
I restrain myself as I acclimate to the pleasure that’s making me dizzy. I plant my hands on the desk as she wraps her legs behind my back, and we stare at each other.
My gaze roams over her face, focusing on the softness of her mouth. She stares at me boldly, as if trying to convey a message.
Her palm comes to my cheek and that’s way too much intimacy for me. I take her by the wrist and force her hand between our bodies. I make her touch herself as I plant my other hand on the desk and thrust hard.
Zora’s eyes glaze over, immediately lost to the pleasure. Her fingers remain lax against herself, perhaps a subtle act of disobedience, perhaps a challenge for me to get her off all on my own.
That’s never been a problem for me and I find myself eager to see her come apart. I lower my torso over her, grip the far side of the thick table with both hands for leverage, and I fuck the god of Life like I’m not sure I’ve ever fucked her before.
Zora’s arms wrap around my neck and she pulls herself up to get closer to me. Only her ass remains on the table, her arms and legs wrapped around me tight, and she presses her cheek to mine. It’s the same intimacy I shunned minutes ago but now I can’t push her away. I’m too lost in the throes of how goddamn good she feels and how much I’ve missed this with her.
We have nothing else between us, and yet this is better than anything I’ve ever had.
The magic of the moment is obliterated when Zora’s body tenses, a sign I recognize as one of impending orgasm. I slam hard into her and she splinters with a hoarse cry of pleasure.
You’d think that would be my own undoing but it’s not. It’s when she whispers in my ear, even as her body quakes with the remains of her orgasm, “Thank you.”
She’s not offering gratitude for making her feel good. She’s overwhelmed I gave her anything of myself at all.
My own orgasm shreds me so viciously, the wood table crushes and then splinters under the strength of my grip. “F-u-c-k,” I groan in relief as my hips grind against her.
Fuck you, Zora, for making it so damn good.
I huff out a breath—relief that it’s over as much as it is grief—and pull away from her.
She lets me go easily, our intimate joining at an end. I turn for my robe, which had landed on the floor, and by the time I have it on and turn around she’s fully dressed.
I don’t have it in me to tell her to leave, say goodbye, or even wish her well. I know in my heart that this is the end.
“There’s one thing I did want to tell you,” she says softly. A mixture of emotions hits me hard—a yearning for her to admit feelings for me and dread that what she’ll say will be even worse than what she’s said already. “I think I found a way to save Lucien.”
