Page 74 of Dark Rover's Luck

"That's right." She ran her fingers lightly over his chest, enjoying the warmth of his skin while mapping the contours of muscle and sinew. "We can go as many times as the males, or more. Although until meeting you, I had no desire for marathon sessions. Most men aren't worthy of a second round."

"What about me?" He tried for an amused tone, but she heard the vulnerability he was hiding.

"You are definitely worth a second and a third and maybe even a fourth round."

It was amazing how liberating this experience had been for her. It was like her ordeal had been painted over by the psychedelic trip she'd been on. She'd heard of a kind of mushroom that had a similar effect, curing people of traumas and addictions, and she wondered whether the venom and that mushroom shared the same chemical compounds, therefore providing similar healing.

"Thank the merciful Fates." His hand traveled down her back to cup her bottom. "You held me in suspense there for a moment."

She followed the path of her fingers with her lips, dropping gentle kisses across his skin. "You smell so good," she murmured, breathing him in. The scent was intoxicating—clean and masculine, with an underlying note that seemed to call to something primal within her. "And you taste good as well."

Din's breathing quickened as she moved lower, his hands coming to rest gently in her hair. The contact was light, undemanding—he wasn't directing her movements, merely connecting with her, and she appreciated the distinction.

"What are you up to?" His voice sounded strained.

"You'll find out." Fenella looked up and smiled.

She wanted to explore him, to discover what brought him pleasure, to deepen this connection that had sparked between them in such a short time.

His shaft was impressively erect as if he hadn't recently climaxed, and as she rubbed her cheek against the velvety skin, his fingers threaded in her hair. She brushed her lips over the tip, and it twitched in welcome. When she took it into her mouth, his fingers tightened on her scalp. He tried to keep still, but his hips were churning despite his efforts at restraint. It encouraged her to get bolder. With one hand holding his shaft and the other clasping his buttocks, she took him deeper and circled her tongue around the hard length.

He pressed into her mouth, only slightly, but his ragged breathing spurred her to take him even deeper. She wanted him to give control over to her so she could take him as deep as he could go, but he refused, stubbornly never giving her more than what he thought she could handle.

"Come here." He pulled her up his chest and rolled on top of her. "That was amazing, but I'd rather not finish inside your mouth."

"Why not?"

"Because—" He thrust into her, and her eyes rolled back. "We both enjoy this more." He retreated and surged back in.

"Yes." She locked her ankles in the small of his back.

This time their lovemaking was less frenzied, and as he dipped his head and kissed her, the kiss was slow and lazy, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth to the rhythm of his erection doing the same between her legs.

As Din moved above her, his eyes never leaving hers, the walls she'd erected around her heart were crumbling. Each touch, each kiss, each whispered endearment was a stone removed from her carefully constructed fortress. The sensation was terrifying and liberating in equal measures.

As the rhythm of their joining gradually intensified, Fenella raced toward another peak, but this time, instead of the physical sensations alone, it was the emotional connection that overwhelmed her, the safety she felt in Din's arms, the acceptance in his eyes, the way he seemed to see beyond her defenses to her wounded core.

When the moment came, it wasn't just pleasure that washed over her but a profound sense of belonging. For a brief, crystalline moment, Fenella felt herself not just physically joined with Din but emotionally entangled in ways that encompassed everything. Their hearts seemed to beat in unison, their breath mingled, and something ancient and mystical passed between them—a recognition, a claiming, a promise.

As they collapsed together afterward, bodies intertwined and breath gradually slowing, Fenella felt at peace. The restlessness that had driven her for decades, the constant urge to keep moving, to stay one step ahead of shadows real and imagined—all of it had quieted, at least for now.

It was terrifying and wonderful and strange—and despite all her instincts screaming that happiness was fleeting, that safety was an illusion, that attachment would only lead to pain—Fenella hoped that morning would be slow to arrive, giving them a few more hours together.

As sleep began to reclaim her, one last coherent thought drifted through her mind—perhaps this was what people meant when they spoke of coming home. Not a physical place but a feeling of rightness, of belonging, of being truly seen and accepted.

32

FENELLA

When Fenella woke up again, she immediately became aware of the solid warmth pressed against her back, the heavy arm draped over her waist, and the steady rhythm of breath against her neck.

Din.

She relaxed into the embrace, the events of the previous night flooding back, bringing with them a complex mix of emotions she was still too sleepy to untangle.

She shifted, and the arm around her waist tightened reflexively.

"Good morning," Din murmured, his voice rough with sleep. His lips brushed the nape of her neck, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

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