Page 158 of Mother of Death and Dawn

“Come here,” he said. “I miss you. Thank you for giving me such a lovely view. But too much talking. Not enough fucking.”

He pulled me down to him, gave me a long kiss that made me forget my own name—made me forget everything except delirious agreement with him—yes, too much talking, not enough fucking. Without my permission, my hips began to move, rolling over him again, again, again, in a slow, building rhythm. The pleasure built like the sound of an orchestra, round and full, overtaking all my senses. I kissed his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, his throat.

More. I wanted so much more.

My movements became more demanding, and he met them with equal fervor. My climax was rushing towards me, and I was eager to fall over the edge with him. But just as I was about to crest, he lifted me off of him and pushed me to the bed.

I let out a wordless whimper of frustration.

“Patience.” His smug smirk was warm in his voice.

I cussed at him in Thereni, and he laughed. “You actually taught me that one.”

I hurled another, even more offensive expletive at him—one that I definitely had not taught him—and he laughed again as he gently turned me so I was on my side and positioned himself behind me. We were both lying on the bed, one of his arms around my shoulders, the warmth of his body curled around mine. Then he slid his free hand down over my body—pausing at my breasts, which made me moan and move impatiently against him, then my stomach, and finally, ending at the ache in my core. His fingers moved agonizingly lightly there, barely touching me. Against my permission, my body pushed towards him, begging for more, but his grip on my shoulders kept me still.

“I want to be able to see youandfeel you when you come for me this time,” he murmured in my ear, closing his teeth around the shell of it in a gentle bite as he opened my thighs and slid back into me.

Stars erupted over my vision. The position and angle left me at his mercy, but even his willpower was only so strong. He pumped in and out of me as I spread wider for him, my body now nearly draped over his. His hand stroked the length of my body as if he wanted to feel all of me, trace every muscle and inch of flesh, the movements more frantic as our pace quickened.

“I missed you,” I moaned, almost a sob—gods, it could have been a sob, I could barely feel my own body anymore, could barely form words. “I missed you so much.”

I turned my face back towards him, blindly, not sure what I wanted but knowing I wanted something, anything, everything. He kissed my mouth. Kissed the tear rolling down my cheek. Then kissed my ear as he said, “I missed you, too. I missed you so fucking much, Tisaanah.”

He pushed into me in one powerful thrust, in the same moment that his fingers found my core, strumming me like my pleasure was an instrument completely at his mercy.

I shattered into a million pieces. I was nothing but this, but him, and the oblivion we shared. I didn’t even care if I was ever put back together.

* * *

The hours passedin a euphoric blur. We drew the curtains and let the outside world cease to exist. It took a few minutes to collect myself after that. We didn’t say another word to each other. He just got up, got me a glass of water, and then settled back behind me so I was nestled against him, sheltered in his embrace, and the two of us dozed off into the quiet twilight of sleep. I had no idea how many hours it had been when I rolled back over him, still half-asleep, and our bodies melted together again in sleepy, languid strokes.

Each time we woke, it was like we rediscovered each other and were overcome yet again with blissful relief.

Eventually, we dragged ourselves to the washroom and washed ourselves off—after, of course, crawling all over each other in the steaming water and washing ourselves off again. We climbed out of the tub, only to make it about three steps and fall together on the floor.

That time, Max pulled away from me long enough to look around with faux horror.

“I feel bad for whoever has this room after we do.”

“I don’t,” I said. “I’m sure we are not the first to—”

“Stop.” He put his finger over my lips. “Don’t say it. It will ruin everything if I have to think of any other human being doing the disgusting acts on this floor that I want to do to you right now.”

I made a show of pressing my lips closed. “I am silent.” Then I opened my arms. “Now debase me.”

He leaned down to kiss me over the still-pointedly-closed seam of my lips. “If you insist.”

* * *

All good things,of course, must end—and those two days, exhausted and euphoric and sex-drenched, were the best of good things.

Max and I were asleep when there was a pounding on the door. We lay in bed face-to-face. Our eyes both opened at the same time, and neither of us moved at all, just looking at each other. In that moment, we shared a grim, silent acknowledgement of what was about to happen—that we were about to open that door and return to the real world of terrible, complicated things, and people who needed us.

Whoever was at the door banged on it again, louder.

Max’s thumb brushed my cheek. “I had a lovely time with you.”

I kissed his palm. “Me too.”

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