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Kharon’s continued caressing me as I talk, his touch grounding me when I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. It’s as if telling it out loud makes it all real.
He bends over me, his forehead pressed gently to mine. “I am so sorry you had to experience these terrible things, my beloved. Thank you for entrusting me with your shadows.”
He kisses down my neck, between my breasts, across my belly, and finally to my sex.
“Now give everything over to me. Release.”
And, probing one finger inside me to tease my G-spot, he suckles my clit and catapults me immediately into the highest, hardest, most intense orgasm I’ve ever—
I screech as white explodes across my vision, all thoughts gone and completely free as waves of pleasure wash over me. One, and then another, and then another. Quaking higher as he continues to suckle and finger me, higher still, and still higher.
This shouldn’t be possible. How can it feel so good, so right, so—
I weep with shocking pleasure and feel reborn.
Chapter Twenty-Three
KHARON
I look down at the beautiful woman beneath me on the grass, her hair glistening wet from the river water, eyes glazed over with pleasure as her legs quake with aftershocks.
I lick my lip and groan with the flavor of her still lingering.
All I want to do is stay on this riverbank forever and bring her to pleasure over and over again. But I can’t ignore what she’s just told me. She has finally opened up to me, and she’s in pain. She has such confusion in her heart.
For once, it is something I could actually help with.
I gently caress one of my large hands down the sweet curve of her cheeks, just the brush of my fingertips. “There is a way to know for sure,” I tell her.
She blinks up at me. “What do you mean?”
I sit up and reach a pair of arms down to help support her back and pull her into my arms to cradle her. I gesture around. “Don’t you remember where we are? If your father has passed from the other world into the next, he will be here.”
She stiffens in my arms and, the next moment, springs to her feet. She is beautiful in her nakedness, her eyes huge. “We have to look!”
Immediately she swings around, stumbling back several steps as her head twists one way and then another. Her hands come to her forehead, half covering her eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that? We’ve been here this whole time, and I—”
She looks down at the grass where I’d just been inside her, and her hands slide over her eyes.
I shake my head, though she cannot see me. “You did not know,” I say. “And I did not know what you needed until it was right for you to tell me. Everything happens in its time.”
She nods, her hands falling as she looks towards me. “How do we find him? If. . . if he’s here.”
I understand her urgency. Once, when it was my loved one, I felt the same.
“It may not be easy,” I say, standing and moving to her side. “This is a large realm. Infinite, I sometimes think.”
She turns her face to me, features stricken.
“But,” I say, reaching to steady her back, “Souls do recognize their own. If he is here, you will feel him.”
“What does that mean? I don’t feel him.”
I nod as, again, she looks around, all but spinning in circles. She is overwhelmed, and I am explaining badly.
“We’ll walk around, and you may start to feel a pull of recognition. Then we will follow the pull.”
“A pull?” she cries, almost sounding angry. She is upset, and I understand. Oh, I understand all too well.
“Let’s get clothed, and then we’ll begin. You’ll see.”
She takes off toward where we left her clothing by the bank of the river, only briefly pausing to ask, “How are these already dry?” before yanking her shirt back over her head and shoving her legs one after another into her underthings and pants.
“Time does not work the way you understand in this realm.”
“Hurry,” she says as I shake the river water out of my hair, even though she is still jamming her feet into her boots, not even bothering to tie them before she is standing again.
“What if I don’t feel the tug or whatever?” she asks. “Does that mean he’s not here? That he’s still alive?”
“It is possible,” I say.
She nods rapidly, and I see the hope in her eyes. Then they cloud as she swallows. “And if. . . if he’s here. . . Will I be able to talk to him?”
My stomach clenches with worry for her. Perhaps I have raised false hope. “If he is here, he will not be as you remember him. He will be only essence. All ego will have been stripped away. Only souls in the sun-drenched fields are capable of speech. But even then, they do not speak much. They seem to just. . .” I cast about for the right word, “. . .commune with nature without many words. Even their songs do not usually have words. You’ll see as we get closer.”
