Page 92 of Touch

Their bodies grind together, her fingernails digging into his backside, his hands driving into her hair. His back hunches, and her knees rise, the ache building with every sinuous pass of his cock. It’s sharp but shallow, languid but tireless.

“Touch me,” she begs against his mouth. “Fuck me. Make love to me.”

Andrew nods. “Anything you want. Everything you want.”

Yes. Everything. Mating. Fucking. Lovemaking. And more, for she has run out of words to describe this.

Perspiration glazes his flesh, his breathing is labored, and his gaze consumes every fiber of her being. He works into her so good, moves so well. His pace is measured, and her cunt wets him to the seat, their hips writhing.

Love cannot take it.

“Oh!” she cries to the heavens. “More!”

“Gorgeous,” Andrew husks. “And so selfish when you’re about to come.”

Delirious, she nods. Yes, she’s selfish for taking what doesn’t belong to her. But curse destiny, she will never regret him.

Because this is what freedom feels like.

Andrew quickens his pace, his cock pitching in and out until she erupts into noise. Clasping his taut ass, Love bows off the mattress, her nipples pitting into his chest. With a disjointed cry, she comes long and brokenly.

Her mortal bends down, catching the sobs with his lips. He devours them, keeping her secret safe. Over and over, Love climaxes hard, awash in mind-bending pleasure.

As she rides out the orgasm, his cock slams into her harsher, faster, deeper. Moments later, he joins Love. His roar hits her mouth, the noise rapturous.

And as the hours pass, it happens again and again. All night, she fucks a human, tangling herself up with him, their limbs raging.

And through the following day, they hide from the universe and exhaust themselves. Andrew orders Love onto all fours. Palming her backside, he spreads the swells and pounds his cock into her from behind, the echoes of her moans muffled by the pillows.

They progress to the rug fronting the fire, where she rides Andrew’s cock until he’s howling. Then the wall, her body jolting up and down to the tempo of his hips. Next, the tub, water splashing over the rim. After that, the furniture.

With Andrew tied up, Love plants kisses until she’s marked every inch of his flesh. With Love laid out across a dining table, his head dips between her thighs.

They feed each other, bathe each other. It’s madness and paradise. At one point, she feels his heartbeat sprinting, jolting against hers. She’s about to suggest they slow down, but then hegrins and exercises this sweet fucking twist of his hip, and she gets dizzy.

She learns the meaning ofdeeper, the significance offaster. Her back arches, and she conquers the world as Andrew unleashes a primal growl, coming with a roar that breaches the glass walls.

After losing count of how many times she has convulsed around his cock, her body crashes atop his. She winds her fingers through the damp hair at the base of his neck, while he pants into her neck, “Fuck.”

“I know,” she agrees.

They share a depleted, breathy kiss and press their palms together, the way they had at the bridge. Only this time, their skin makes contact.

Sitting upright, Andrew leans across the mattress, retrieves their special note, and rereads the contents aloud. Love clambers behind him, straps her limbs around his frame, and rests her chin on his shoulder as he traces the tear seam. If they stare at it long enough, the note might fade and reveal a sacred message beneath—words they can see only at the right hour, in the right light. The passage will predict their future, including things like the smell of soap in his hair, him reading aloud to her, random fights about nothing, private jokes and gestures, her naked body astride his, his waist pinning her to the nearest surface, the pulse of his cock making her shout, and his arms securing her every night.

Not just that. Love wants his voice on the phone, in the middle of laughing, caught up in a husky groan, on the verge of a hiss, raw from either screaming at her or coming for her, growling protectively for her. She wants a life with this mortal.

Andrew fastens Love to the bed once more. Her limbs fan out around his waist, and his cock pitches into her slick walls, her pussy gripping him to the brink.

Stars almighty, perfection has many flaws. Her kind hasn’t learned that, but she has. Hours like these are much better with Andrew’s feverish lips clamped to her neck, his hips lunging between her thighs, Love’s hair in disarray, the note she almost destroyed resting on the nightstand, and this invisible home that doesn’t truly exist.

32

“Holly’s the one you’re supposed to match with me,” Andrew murmurs, drawing out this realization in a low tone.

The blanket tents over their heads, the fabric illuminated by the flames’ orange cast. Love reels back from him, too startled to work up a good innocent act. Resting on her side, she watches his profile glowering up at the sheet, the line of his jaw clenching.

A harsh sound ejects from his chest. “I can’t believe it took me this fucking long to figure it out. Everything you’ve done. Every moment I’ve interacted with her. That was by your design.”

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