Page 172 of Daughter of No Worlds

I let out a little moan, dragged my fingernails over his back.

And something about that snapped some invisible thread of tension.

He withdrew, then plunged back into me. I met each stroke, my hips rolling against his. Our bodies asked and answered, ceded to each other, moved with unhindered intuition.

Together, we burned.

I rolled over him, pressed myself against his chest, and he clutched at me like he still couldn’t decide which part of me he wanted to touch most, taste more. He settled for all of it: my lips, my neck, my breasts, his hands running up and down my back, my legs, the growing heat where we were connected.

My thighs clenched around his hips, as if I could pull him deeper. I felt myself building, rushing to a wild edge, and for the first time in my life I relished that utter lack of control, threw myself into it. And I knew he was, too, because his movements were faster, thrusts wilder. He sat up so that he could pull me to him, and I lost all capacity for words, for thoughts, for anything but instinct.

Maybe I said his name — whispered it, or moaned it, or shouted it. I wouldn’t know, because the end obliterated me, a pleasure so intense that I shattered.

And he followed me over the edge of that cliff, his fingers in my hair, his lips uttering a groan against my neck. His hand grabbed mine and squeezed, fingers intertwining just as our bodies did. He clutched me like he would never let me go.

And he didn’t. Not even as the wave crashed over us, as the pleasure subsided into a numb, beautiful tranquility.

We fell back amongst blankets and lay against each other, our panting slowing to something deeper and smoother. Max lifted a lazy hand to lower the flickering of the lantern flames. I nestled my head against his chest and watched his knuckles around mine dim beneath the lowered light, our skin falling into the cool silence of shadow.

Still, he did not let me go. Not as his breath deepened. Not as my vision blurred. I never looked away from those hands.

My last thought, as sleep took me, was that I wouldn't mind at all if I was tethered to his harbor forever.

Chapter Sixty-Three

Max

Iwas caught in quite a predicament.

On one hand, I had a beautiful, nude woman draped over me, her face nestled against my neck and slow breaths tickling my skin, and I felt truly content for the first time in weeks — hell, years. It would be so easy to curl up with her and fall into an enticing rest, clinging to the wonderful notion that she would be there when I opened my eyes again.

On the other hand, I had a beautiful, nude woman draped over me, her fingers drifting sleepy circles over my chest, and neither of us had any idea what would happen to us come sunrise. Maybe one or both of us would not make it out alive. Or maybe we’d immediately be whisked back to the Orders to go fight the next war, once this one was over.

Maybe Reshaye would tighten its hold on Tisaanah and steal any promise of future moments alone together, which was a prospect that terrified me so deeply that I pushed it from my mind.

Either way, who knew how long it would be before we could be this way again? And maybe Ineededsleep, but did I really need it any more than I needed her? Than I needed to spend every possible second inside of her, or touching her, or watching her, or listening to her? I wanted to memorize every sound she made, every expression, every freckle or mole, like I was a cartographer tattooing a map of her onto my soul. Still so many paths to chart.

Sure, I was tired. But there wasworkto do.

Tisaanah’s circles drifted, turning to lazy S shapes over my stomach. I bit back a twitching laugh. Not well enough.

“What a beautiful giggle,” she teased.

“Letting you find out that I’m ticklish will be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

Her fingers drifted lower. Ticklishness was no longer my problem.

I craned my neck to look down at her. She blinked back at me with one green, half-open eye, her hair a flurry around her face, kiss-swollen lips twisted into a mischievous little smile. Ascended, that smile. Maybe I knew from the beginning that it would be my undoing.

I raised my eyebrows, as if to say,Really? Again?

“Too tired?” She lifted her head, letting tendrils of black and silver hair dangle over my face. “You would rather sleep?”

My hand ran down her side, following the warmth of her skin and the curve where her waist met her hip.

What a predicament, indeed.

I pulled her face to mine, resigned to my noble sacrifice. “If you can do it, I can do it.”

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