Page 117 of Touch

“Not done,” he murmurs.

“Never done,” she agrees.

His office is next. In the dark, Andrew flings out one arm, swatting notes and paper weights and a dozen other inanimate objects off the surface. Items strike the floor while he unfurls Iris’s body across the writing desk.

Scissoring her legs wide, Andrew stalks between them and hitches Iris’s thighs over his waist. His finger presses the inflated flesh of her clit, and her body ignites once more. Her eyes fall shut and—one, then two, then Gods yes, three—his fingers circle the peak of flesh, drawing and teasing. He picks up on the signs, on her noises and the writhing motions of her buttocks.

Then he yanks her ass to the rim, pulls out a few inches, and slams back into her. Splitting Iris apart, Andrew slings his cock, his flesh soaked from her recent orgasm. Grunting, he follows the moans ripping from her lips, working her cunt into a glorious frenzy.

She grips his narrow waist and bows off the desk like a string pulled taut, her body sliding across the polish wood top. Rivulets of her dark hair pour across the furnishing like ink from his pen, an instrument he’d once used on her in a kinky manner. Neither of them remembers exactly what he’d done, but they know the erotic incident had involved her clit and occurred somewhere public.

Andrew’s white hair glints like snow. He gazes down at Iris, his features sharp and riveted, as if she is the only being in this universe. The only one he sees.

Iris extends her limbs vertically, resting her ankles on his shoulders. Andrew grins, kisses the arch of one foot, and rocks his ass. The force splays her thighs farther, his firm cock pushing her toward another crescendo, her cunt rippling.

Heat blasts through Iris, her pussy gushing and contracting around him. She tenses, then shouts yet again, her body shaking. Andrew hunches over her, gives one more powerful thrust of his cock, and roars, coming with his open mouth against hers. They detonate, vocal cords emptying into the room.

Andrew rams his palms onto the desk, keeping himself aloft, his head bowing to hers. “Love,” he groans. “I love you.”

Her breath hitches, as does his. The word had sounded like a name rather than an utterance. However, the notion abandons them a moment later.

Love is not a name. It’s an emotion—one they have discovered together.

They’ve made love, had sex, and fucked endless times. A dwelling in the woods, a tree stump, an indoor fire pit, an overflowing tub, and a frozen pond come to mind, among other settings. Though, most of the recollections flash by too quickly to process.

There’s more. Two longbows aimed at one another in the forest. An archery range, glass walls, and bookshelves. Words scripted across a page, a bleeding hand, and a snowstorm. Her bed, their bodies, and his growls. Somehow, Iris knows their bond had begun quickly, deeply, painfully, sensuously, and remarkably. Perhaps it had been fated.

Starlight beyond the window glosses their damp bodies. The luminescence kindles brighter—like crystal flames—as Andrew resumes where they left off, the craving between them eternal.

For a third time, he laps his cock into that dark, soaked place inside her. He maintains an exquisite pace, her legs quivering around his hips, drawing him deeper, riding the motions.

This is it. This is a loving touch.

It’s their chests sliding, their heartbeats racing, their bodies fucking. It’s her fingers combing through his hair and his feverish mouth seizing her lips. It’s the wild sounds they make, gaining momentum and then hardening into more shouts throughout the night. It’s her hand clasping Andrew’s, holding tight while they let go. It’s them lying together after they come, Iris’s leg slinging over his waist, his arms encasing her, their bodies sprawling across the office floor—the room where stories materialize into being—and both of them gazing through the window at midnight stars.

Andrew’s mouth tilts into a sexy grin, then speaks against the crown of her head. “You once said you wanted to sleep beneath them.”

“You listened,” Iris whispers.

He does. He listens. He sees her.

And that’s the loveliest part. Because now she knows what that feels like.

41

Anger

Shadows conceal the god from view. Standing isolated in the woods, he watches with a tight chest as the goddess turns from him.

As she leaves with someone else.

Fucking human. Somehow, the man has managed to deserve her, to steal her away. The mortal male tucks her into his frame. Possessive. Protective. At the sight, Anger chokes the longbow in his grip, his leather gloves straining. Another careless ounce of pressure, and the weapon will snap in half.

Acutely, he feels each step she takes like a dagger to his flesh. Anguish and jealousy are hardly strangers. He’s been suffering from these afflictions since the moment he first saw her, back in another realm, during another lifetime.

Only now does he experience the stirrings of regret. For two millennia, he’d taken for granted the chance to earn her affection. In all that time, she could have been his.

If things had been different, she would never have left Anger’s arms. He would have held, kissed, and fucked her into eternity. He would have dismantled The Dark Fates to keep her safe. Almighty Gods, he would have relocated The Stars if she’d requested it of him.

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