Maybe, if he took it slow, worked Havily up a little …

He took deep breaths. Yeah, maybe that would work.

He slid his robe on. He even took a minute to brush his teeth.

But when he returned to the bedroom, she was facedown on the bed, her red hair fanned over her back, her skin still damp in places from her shower. A full moon lit her naked body in a glow. Worse, she was lying on his side of the bed. So … shit.

“Hey,” she whispered.

Hope burgeoned. “I thought you were asleep.”

“No. I have your fennel scent in my nose and I need you.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. She slid her hand on his thigh and he hissed. It would take so little … but … “Your eyes aren’t even open,” he said.

“Don’t need ’em open.” Her words were slurred since her mouth was pressed against the pillow. Then she opened her eyes and a wave of honeysuckle wafted over him, not strong, but his cock didn’t seem to care. Dammit.

“You sure about this? You sure you don’t just need to go to sleep?”

“Take me, Warrior. I can always wake up for you.”

She rolled oh-so-slowly onto her back, and since she was naked he couldn’t help himself. He crawled over one leg and planted himself between her knees. He leaned over her and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth.

“Mmm. Minty.” She giggled, but her eyes were once again closed. He had the worst feeling this was not going to end well … for him.

He dipped lower and kissed her breasts. Her body undulated at the light touch. A warble sounded in her throat. He figured he was headed in the right direction.

He kissed down her abdomen and swirled his tongue around her belly button.

“You are the smartest man ever,” she whispered, her voice still a little slurred.

He moved lower and was thankful Medichi had had the foresight to put oversized beds in this room. He could maneuver.

When he had his arms slung under her knees, he settled in and got to work. Yeah, his woman was tired, so he’d get her where she needed to be.

* * *

Havily was in that delicious place of fatigue and pleasure that kept her body so loose that she swore she could feel every practiced flick of Marcus’s tongue without any distraction. The man had a tongue that knew a woman’s body, and though she might have felt jealous that he’d had a lot of practice, she couldn’t really repine not when … oh. She groaned as his tongue went low and took her in a long swipe then penetrated her. Ohhhhhh.

Her head lolled first to one side then the other. With his hands, he pinned her hips down so he could keep thrusting into her in deep hard jabs until she was crying out. She knew he was aroused as well, since her nostrils were flooded with his scent, which in turn built tension all down her tender nether-lips as he plunged his tongue into her.

She closed her mouth and dragged more of his scent into her nostrils. She dragged and dragged, which enhanced the sensations building and building. He groaned now, lost in the magic of sex, of giving. She got lost in the repeated waves of fennel.

She cried out into the dark of the bedroom they shared, her body undulating and writhing.

He worked her hard, his chin banging against her low and increasing the dazzling sensations that … oh … my … God now streaked liked lightning along her sensitive flesh and drove inside her until she was crying out. The orgasm caught her hard, tickling her feet, drawing her stomach into a blissful knot, and making her heart ache. Her core pulsed and pulled and the whole time he tongued her.

When her body started to settle, his movements slowed. Only her harsh breaths punctuated the air of the room as her lungs caught up with how much oxygen she needed.

“Amazing,” she murmured. She thought she pulled him on top of her, but her mind had turned to mush and instead, in a strange moment of awareness that disappeared as swiftly as it came, she realized she’d pulled her knees up to her chest and turned on her side. She called his name, but she thought maybe that was just a wishful dream.

She was so tired.

Damn Endelle anyway.

* * *

Marcus rose up, still on his knees. His woman had drawn into the fetal position and dragged a pillow against her stomach and was … God help him … already asleep.

The sigh that came out of him was part groan. Goddamn breh-hedden. If this had been any other woman in any other situation, he would have gone straight to the shower and taken care of himself. But he knew, he knew, that Havily was what he needed right now, her honeysuckle scent in his nose and her body taking him deep inside until he released his seed. Dammit.

With great care, he eased himself down beside her, not too close. His cock was at a perfect right angle to his body and, built the way he was, any closer and he’d be touching her. He’d never had this particular experience before. He knew that for whatever reason, the ritual called the breh-hedden had hooked him hard and was taking him for one painful ride.

He trembled now and his balls ached. Eventually, he was sure he would calm down, but with her honeysuckle mixed with the rich heady smell of sex, he was rigid as hell.

He kept breathing, but that smell was intoxicating. Honeysuckle whirled in his brain and for some reason his chest started to hurt. He wanted to touch her, to put his hand in her hair, on her shoulder, over her arm. He needed the connection.

She was a treasure, his treasure, made for him, meant for him.

The trembling worsened and the bed shook. He tried to calm down but couldn’t.

Shit. He thought about leaving the bed, but he couldn’t make his body move. He was where he wanted to be, needed to be.

* * *

Havily was in that strange ethereal space between waking and dreaming. She didn’t understand why the bed was jiggling—or was that a dream? Dreams could be really strange.

Yet something nagged at her, really bugged her, made her uncomfortable. She had left something important undone, but what? What?

She rose into her consciousness another step. She’d been working with Endelle to improve her darkening skills. Endelle had been horrible but Marcus had been there.

Oh … Marcus. Her body relaxed and she dropped down a layer of consciousness. He had been with her and so kind … the nagging sensation returned and the jiggling on the bed got worse.

“I’m sorry.” The voice came from so far away, that wonderful deep, masculine voice. Marcus had made love to her. “Go to sleep,” the same magical voice repeated.

She wanted to sleep, but something was troubling her. But what?

Her eyes popped open. She stared at the lace curtains of the window, the outdoor lights of the garden. Where was Marcus? Why was the bed shaking?

She gasped and awoke completely. She turned over and stared at him.

“You’re awake?” He looked panicked.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re shaking.”

“Yeah.”

“I must have fallen right asleep after you…” She couldn’t say the words, licked me, tongued me, brought me to a shattering orgasm. She smoothed her hand down his arm. He was what was wrong with the bed.

She pushed back the sheet, saw that he was stiff, erect, and probably in pain, then her body relaxed. Of course. This was the important thing left undone. She dropped her hand low and in a long sweep she stroked him.

A groan gushed out of him.

“Oh, you idiot man. Come. Take me. Now. I’m still wet as hell.” She rolled onto her back and pulled him over her.

She lifted her knees and he plunged into her, forcing her entire body up toward the headboard. It was about the best sensation in the world and she cried out. The pleasure of his presence in her body was incredibly intense, probably because she’d already orgasmed. He was too far gone to be gentle and that was so awesome. His movements were just right, very quick, and he was hard as granite. Her body responded by shedding a new wave of fluids.

He grunted, groaned, and moved over her like a beast.

She loved it.

Her body adored it.

“Honeysuckle,” he cried out.

One last long intake of breath right behind his ear so that fennel rushed into her brain and her body splintered into a thousand particles of pleasure. She could hear herself screaming at a distance but her mind was all for the exquisite lightning streaks of pleasure that gripped the core of her body.

Marcus groaned as he released his seed, his body writhing as his ejaculation continued on and on, his groans harsher, his throat releasing a series of anguished cries until finally he was spent.

When he collapsed on her, she was only partially prepared. Her breath got squished from her lungs but she didn’t care.

He immediately apologized and rose up, but she held on to him, her arms crowding his neck and holding him fast. He fell back on top of her. So … gooood.

“I’ve never felt like this,” he murmured into her hair.

“I know.” She breathed hard. Her chest filled up with such need and longing, painful yearning, the real hallmark of ascended life. “And you were being such a gentleman.” She kissed him on the lips.

“I knew you needed to sleep.”

She released her stranglehold on his neck and fell back against the pillow. “You know, you could have gone into the bathroom, and you know—” She didn’t like to talk about self-pleasure but she wanted him to know that she understood. “I wouldn’t have minded. I understand that men have needs.” She felt the need to share, “Women, too.”

His expression surprised her, the smile on his lips, the warmth in his eyes. Then he kissed her hard on the mouth. He looked at her again, his light brown eyes glittering in the dim light. “Normally I would have,” he whispered. “You needed to sleep, but I … couldn’t. I … Havily … you were what I needed, to be inside you. I can’t explain it.”

She felt as though he had shoved his hand up her rib cage, grabbed her heart, and squeezed. She gasped at the sensation. “Marcus, what’s happening to us? I mean, I never wanted this again, not just with you, but with any man. I didn’t want to love again. I can’t love again.”