The race to the shattering ecstasy was on.
No. He stopped. No!
Her nails dug into the back of his shoulders. “Move!”
“Not . . . yet.” His gaze was steady now. “Slow. Love being in you. Here. Best. Slow, slow, slow,” he chanted softly, propping himself on his elbows and withdrawing incrementally.
She grit her teeth, closed her eyes, experiencing all the incredible sensations of her man moving inside her.
He pulled nearly out, and she whimpered at the loss, her desire ratcheted up.
Then he thrust hard, going deep, she cried out.
He halted and she panted. So delicious, this filling! This connection. She wrapped arms and legs around him, tried to pull his torso closer for a kiss, no go. Tried to arch so he would move. Nothing.
“Open your eyes. Look at me. I don’t want you thinking about anyone but me. About Andic.”
She followed his demand, lifted her eyelashes. Jace was blurry. “Andic who?” she slurred.
He laughed and sensations rippled through her. They groaned together. He took a couple of short breaths, the cords of his neck showed strain. “Too good. Dammit. Too damn good.” Lowering himself, he kissed her, her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
“Jace!” she cried when his mouth left her own. “I need you.”
“Glyssa,” he groaned and then he was moving in her like she wanted. Her mind vanished and she clawed at him, moaned, whimpered, demanded. Only craving existed. Only the shattering was necessary.
Her lover would give her that, and she would empty him.
Her HeartMate.
And then she reached the cliff of rapture and held him close and jumped off it and soared and glittering fireworks exploded around her, through her.
His body tensed against her. She felt the rumble of his release, his moan leaving his chest on a long breath, and his weight settled against her.
She recovered quickly, too quickly, as was usual in this dreamtime. In reality, her body would be languorous for long minutes. She said nothing, wanting to prolong the time together, wanting him to stay.
Wanting him to walk—run!—from his tent to hers so they could make love in more than dreams. Eyelids cracked, she looked at his face. Satisfied. Soon he would leave like usual, just vanish, sliding deeper into sleep or waking in his tent.
Her breath sighed from her as she closed her eyes again, looking internally for their bond. Huge and pulsing red, changing to orange as passion subsided, soon to return to the standard yellow. She searched her mind for the golden HeartBond, the connection that would forever tie them together. Nowhere.
Like always, it didn’t appear in dreams. Now she quietly bit her lip in heartache, and held her arms loose around his back and shoulders, not trying to trap him here, with her, in sex or in a relationship.
He grunted, said hoarsely, “By the Lord and Lady, that was good.”
“Yes.” She held her breath. He didn’t leave. He was
“Always good with you, Glyssa.” He kissed her, a soft touch of lips, then he was gone.
Jace’s eyes popped open, adjusted fast to the filtered twinmoonslight and brilliant starlight sifting through the vents in his tent. He smelled of sex. Naturally. Glancing over to Zem, he saw the hawkcel hunched away from him on his perch, and enveloped in a blue white Flair aura. The sight interested, embarrassed, and reassured him all at once. His Fam had the energy to use his Flair and encase himself in—Jace studied the field—a soundproof bubble.
He cringed, rose from the bedsponge, took off the sheets and dumped them in the cleanser along with his loincloth. They’d be pristine by morning.
He waved a hand to freshen the sponge, and suffered through a thorough scrubbing himself. Not so quick as a whirlwind cleansing and dressing spell. The thought made him smile. Andic might have seen Glyssa nude, but Jace knew how she looked in the throes of passion.
And what passion! He shook out his limbs, still energized from the dream sex. The cleaning spells were easy now, taking minimal Flair, he did them so often and knew them so well. He wrapped on another loincloth.
But he felt good, and surely the everyday should be celebrated . . . or just get the food in your belly when you could, before the no-time got taken away or the food disappeared for any other reason.
Click-click-click-click of claws, Zem slowly turned around on his perch. His eyes gleamed in the night. He sniffed.
Jace frowned, stamped his foot on the floor tarp and said a Flair spell that took a little more energy out of him, but sent the fragrance of herbs—thyme, sage, manly type stuff—through the area. He didn’t mind the smell of sex, but now he had a picky roommate.
Zem lifted his head, opened and closed his beak.
Jace nodded.
“Maybe,” Jace said.
Jace took the pace to the no-time and opened it, examined Zem’s menu. “You have skirl, mouse, and portions of rat and mocyn.”
Zem snapped his beak and replied with greed,
“Yeah.” That depressed Jace’s appetite a bit.
“Okay.”
“Great.”
Zem glided down to the top of the no-time, beyond his plate, tilted his head with gleaming anticipatory eye.
“Right.” It would be cowardly to put on a glove to handle the thing. Jace drew in an unobtrusive breath, opened Zem’s drawer, and pulled out the bloody skirl. He set it on the plate and pretended not to notice the ripping and gurgling sounds as he looked at his own menu. He decided to go with a spinach, cheese, and egg pastry pocket, yanked it from the no-time still steaming and tossed it around to cool it.
Zem’s slurping stopped.
“Yeah, yeah.”
A few minutes later, they’d eaten and he put the now-cool remains of the skirl back into Zem’s drawer.
The pastry had been excellent. He’d had three. He subsided onto the newly made bedsponge, didn’t get under the top sheet. Too hot and humid for that. Stacking his hands behind his head, he breathed deeply of the air that no longer held just day heat and night coolness, but the slightest hint of autumn scent.
Zem flew out of the tent to do his business, then back in and to his stand. Jace thought he looked healthier, chipper, even.
“Yes.”
Jace’s whole body twitched. He’d been trying not to think of that and keep from getting hard. Too late now.
