InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Vivication ❯ Appropriation ( Chapter 58 )

“Are you sure that you wish to spend the rest of your life with someone who took his eyes off of you long enough for you to be kidnapped?”

Blinking, giggling at the teasing lilt in the lyrical voice, Saori shook her head.  “I think it was a set-up,” she remarked, scooting up on the desktop in Fai’s office where her would-be abductor had led her when he’d so neatly nabbed her from the midst of her own wedding party.

Tradition spoke of random kidnappings that should happen throughout the course of the merriment any time the groom happened to let his attention stray from his bride, which, naturally, meant that this was the fourth time since the ceremony that Saori had been dragged off by one person or another, and every time, it was a joint effort by one person who sidetracked Fai very neatly, while someone else took off with her.  She’d already been kidnapped by her father and Bas.  The last time, it was Kichiro and Bellaniece.  This time?  This time, she’d scored the attention of the South American tai-youkai . . .

Eduardo handed her one of the glasses of champagne that he’d nabbed on their way out of the formal dining room.  “May you enjoy a long and prosperous life with Fai,” he said, raising his glass to her.  “May your love be strong, may your trust run deep, and may your every night be filled with lust.”

She giggled at the silly toast but touched her glass to his before sipping.  “I wish you had brought your mate,” she said.  “I would have loved to meet her.”

He chuckled.  The very sound of it was like velvet, gliding over skin, and she shivered.  If he was that ridiculously seductive without trying, just how lethal could that man be if he did try . . .? “I apologize.  Chelressa is on holiday with her lover.”

Saori blinked.  “Her . . .?”

“Lover,” he stated once more, as though it were of no real consequence.  Catching her rather confused look, he chuckled again.  “She is my wife, yes, but we have never been true mates.  She has her distractions, and I have mine.  It works well for us.  At the moment, her distraction is a young marmoset-youkai from Rio . . .”

Shaking her head slowly, she frowned as she tried to make sense of it.  “But . . .”

“Back then, it was seen as a beneficial mating,” he told her.  “Both of our families thought that it would be a powerful merger of our combined strengths, so that is what we did,” he went on almost philosophically.  “We are content.”

Saori bit her lip, fussed with the simple skirt of the gown she’d chosen for her wedding dress.  “But what if you find your true mate?”

He laughed.  “I guess we would—how do you say?  Cross that bridge when we find it?”

Uttering a somewhat reluctant kind of laugh, Saori nodded.  “It just . . . seems a little sad, St. George-sama . . .”

He rolled his eyes at the perceived politeness in her address.  “My name is Eduardo, Saori.  Do feel free to use it.  I don’t stand upon formality, and even if I did, your mate is my equal, yes?  Which means that you are my equal, too.”

The office door smacked open, and a rather irritated looking Fai strode inside.  “That was low of you, Eduardo,” Fai remarked, arching an eyebrow as he stepped between the two, arms crossed over his chest.  “You sent Niven to distract me, just so you could take off with my wife?”  Fai snorted.  “Deplorable . . .”

Eduardo grinned, flashing those ridiculous dimples to his advantage.  “We are playing the game, Fai,” he replied, leaning around the groom to kiss Saori’s hand.  “Congratulations again, Saori.”  He paused long enough to wink at her before letting go of her and sauntering out of the office.

Saori giggled, which earned her a raising of Fai’s eyebrows.  “You didn’t fall for him, did you?” he asked suspiciously.

“Of course not!” she scoffed, cheeks pinking when he took her hands and gently tugged her to her feet.  “I just liked it when you called me your wife; that’s all.”

He seemed to relax just a little as he slipped his arms around her.  “Do you?  Enough to let me sneak you upstairs?  There’s a lock on our door, you know . . .”

“We can’t—Well, but then, there’s plenty of food, and Kostya is doing a good job of keeping everyone entertained, isn’t he . . .?”

Fai chuckled, leaning down to kiss her.  What was meant to be a quick kiss, however, very quickly spun away into something far deeper as he pulled her closer, as he sighed softly against her lips.  The gentle touch rushed through her, the absolute feeling that she was exactly where she wanted to be, was a welcome and beautiful feeling—the steady swell of contentment so humbling and exhilarating that it left her breathless, clinging to him in a bemused kind of way . . .

“Okay, that’ll be enough of that,” Yerik remarked as he marched into the office and pulled Saori away from Fai.  “You get your time later,” he reminded his brother with a bright grin.  “Besides, her father was looking for her, so I offered to come find you.  I figured it’d be less damaging if I found you than him . . .”

Fai snorted, but let Yerik tug Saori toward the door.  She shot him a last, longing glance, and he smiled just a little.

“You know we’re married now.  That means I can kiss Fai any time I want to,” she pointed out almost sullenly.

Yerik chuckled.  “Yes, but it’s your party, you know.”

She heaved a sigh to let him know just how sorely put-upon she was.  It only made him laugh more.  It figured.  “You’re being mean for no good reason . . . You said that I make your brother happy, didn’t you?”

He shook his head.  “I don’t think I like where you’re going with this,” he pointed out.

She giggled.

“I’ll take it from here, Yerik,” Fai said, falling into step beside him as he slipped an arm around her, effectively pulling her away from his brother.  “Go away.”

Yerik rolled his eyes but allowed Fai to lead Saori back toward the dining room.

Saori sat on the railing, her feet dangling over the side as she sat beside her brother on the balcony of her bedroom.  He’d kidnapped her about five minutes ago, much to her amusement, since he’d enlisted the help of the African tai-youkai’s heir and his twin brother to distract Fai long enough to get Saori out of the grand room—usually the living room that Fai actually rarely used.  The twins—Raah and Amon—had just arrived an hour or so ago, and Rinji had wasted no time in recruiting them to his cause.

“You know, as much as I hate to say it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy, Saori-chan,” Rinji remarked.  Sometime during the afternoon, he’d lost his jacket and tie and had rolled up his sleeves, loosening the top two buttons on his shirt in the process.

“I am happy,” she admitted softly.  Then she bit her lip.  “Nii-chan?”

Amber eyes, trained on the horizon, at the sun that was quickly starting to sink behind the line of trees, he looked entirely peaceful, even if he seemed a little preoccupied.  “Hmm?”

“It’s . . . I-I-I mean . . .”

Blinking as he turned his head, his silver hair, blowing out around him in the gentle, if not slightly balmy, breeze, he frowned.  “What’s the matter?”

She grimaced, unable to staunch the rise of blood that filtered into her cheeks.  “You . . . You’ve been with . . . with women before, right?”

She could tell from the expression on his face, the stubborn set of his jaw, the almost turbulent darkening of his gaze, that he was about to tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, and she quickly shook her head.  “I just . . . We haven’t . . . I-I-I mean, we’ve done . . . a few things, but nothing like that yet, and—”

“Spare me the details, Saori-chan,” he muttered, cheeks pinking as he shook his head.

She sighed.  “It’s only . . . Is there something I can . . . can do to . . . you know, make it better?”

He sighed, too.  “To be honest, I doubt there’s a thing that he’d expect you to do, so no,” he said.  He didn’t sound entirely comfortable with the subject at hand, but at least he was listening . . . “Besides, every woman is different, so what might please one might not please another, and what one woman might be comfortable with doesn’t mean that another one would be, either.  Fai-sama . . . He’s smart enough to know this.  Just . . . Just try to relax.  I’m sure that the two of you will figure it out.”

Despite her discomfort, she had to smile at the almost surly tone of her brother’s voice.  “Just relax,” she repeated, slowly nodding.  “I . . . I can do that . . . I think . . .”

“Good,” he said, leaning toward her to give her a little nudge.  “And tomorrow?  I’d appreciate if you don’t give me a recap.”

She did giggle at that.  As confident as Rinji tended to be, she still found it endearing that certain subjects could still fluster him.  “You know, one of the advocates from the home was asking me about you . . .” she ventured.

Rinji grunted.  “You’re not going to try to play matchmaker, are you?”

She shrugged.  “Oh, come on!  Anja-san is a sweet girl!  She’s pretty, too, and I couldn’t help but to notice that she has really large bre—”

“I am not discussing her . . . assets with you,” he interrupted sternly.

Saori laughed.  “She’s single, nii-chan.”

He heaved a sigh, shook his head.  “I’m supposed to be enjoying my stolen time with you,” he told her.  “I’m not, though.  Care to guess why?”

“Hello . . .”

Saori was still laughing when she turned her body to see her mother and grandmother, lingering in the doorway.

“Rinji, can you excuse us?  We’d like a few minutes alone with Saori before Fai manages to elude your father and grandfather,” Aiko said.

Rinji chuckled and swung his legs back over the railing, lighting on the balcony.  Then he grabbed Saori and pulled her over safely, sparing a moment to give her a quick squeeze, a kiss on the forehead, before bowing to the other women and slipping past them, back into the bedroom once more.

“I asked the maid to draw a nice, relaxing bath for you, sweetie,” Aiko said as Rinji slipped out of the bedroom.  “You may not have a long time to soak, but you should have enough time to get the jitters out of your system.”

She let her grandmother wrap her arm around her shoulders and steer her through the bedroom and into the bathroom where a very fragrant tub of water waited for her, tendrils of steam still rising off of the surface in inviting wisps.

Both women helped her to take off the dress, to carefully shake it out so that it could be hung up to be taken to the dry cleaner later and then likely wrapped for storage.  It wasn’t that fancy—just a very simple white dress that held very little in the way of embellishment other than the antique lace that edged the hem and just touched the floor all the way around.

Aiko and Kagura slipped out of the room to ready the bed chamber—they said.  Saori wasn’t entirely sure what they were doing, but she closed her eyes as she sank down in the fragrant water, willing herself to relax.

The wedding itself had been beautiful—at least, to her, it was.  It wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t overdone, but it was full of the people and the love that she could feel.  That all the children were there as well as her old co-workers and the potential adopters, added a deeper level of happiness to the occasion.  She hoped that those children could see that the best moments of their young lives were still ahead of them, and watching them as they played and danced and spent time with the families was so very priceless to her . . . Those children with families would be leaving in the coming week, ready to embark on new chapters in all of their lives.  The ones that were going to be transferred to Tokyo Academy would leave in a couple weeks to get settled in, and the ones that were staying behind because they were almost ready to age out of the system?  She’d be spending time with each one in the coming days to see what each of them wanted to do, where they wanted to go in their lives, to see if they might be able to do things to help each one along their ways . . .

She’d even seen Gunnar, dancing with Galinia—quite possibly one of the cutest moments, in her opinion.  The girl had looked positively awestruck, and Gunnar, for once, hadn’t tried to hide behind an aloof and foreboding kind of demeanor.

All of it, in large part, was due to Konstantin, who had taken his duties seriously as Fai’s svideteli, and everyone was having a fine time, thanks to his efforts.  Food and drink were abundant, thanks to Fai’s cook, Olga, as well as Ryomaru, who had felt the compulsion to ensure that there were regional dishes from all over the world.  Fai, of course, hadn’t been able to set foot in the kitchen since he was a little too busy to do so, but he hadn’t complained about the food, as far as she knew . . . All in all, the guests were being well-entertained.  Well, everyone but Fai, possibly . . .

She giggled as her mother and grandmother stepped into the bathroom once more.  “Okay, Saori.  It’s time.  Sesshoumaru texted me and said that Fai’s about to lose his temper, so we’d better get a move on it.”

She stepped out of the tub, only to be wrapped securely in a warm and fuzzy towel.  Aiko reached up, started pulling pins out of her hair that held it up in the intricate twist of braids and curls and tiny flowers that had been so carefully arranged earlier.  “Demyanova Saori,” Aiko murmured, a slight hitch in her voice as she cleared her throat.  “That’s going to take some getting used to . . .”

Kagura chuckled as she gently but briskly toweled off Saori’s arms, shoulders.  “We didn’t buy you a negligee,” she said.  “You don’t need one, anyway.”

“Obaa-chan!” Saori gasped, cheeks pinking in a violent explosion of blood under her skin.

Kagura blinked, staring at Saori for a long moment before breaking into her gentle smile once more.  “We weren’t thinking of sending you to meet your mate naked, Saori,” she pointed out.

Aiko giggled, tenderly drawing the brush through Saori’s freed locks.  “It just occurred to me that your father . . . appreciated it when I met him at the door with a glass of his favorite drink and wrapped up in my Mokomoko-sama . . .”

Kagura laughed.  “We brought up a glass of vodka—that’s his drink of choice, isn’t it?”

Saori giggled and nodded, still blushing, but mostly because of the reference to her Mokomoko-sama.

Aiko cleared her throat.  “It’s laying on your bed, Saori . . . and, considering what it smells like, it seems as though Fai-sama might be more like your father than you might have thought . . .”

She gasped, the blush that had just started to recede, darkening painfully.  Aiko laughed and gave her a quick squeeze.  “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying your mate,” she told her.  “Fai-sama is a very good-looking man, so it’d be a shame if you didn’t . . .”

Kagura shook her head, but she was still smiling.  “All right, Aiko, leave your daughter alone.”  Reaching over, stroking Saori’s cheek with a tender hand, her smile trembled slightly, but did not falter.  “You made a fine choice, Saori . . .  and your ojii-chan wanted you to have this.”

Blinking in confusion as Kagura pressed a small, tissue wrapped package into her hand, she followed the women out of the bathroom as they headed for the door.  Aiko had turned down the blankets on the bed, lit soft, unscented candles on the table, on the nightstands, lending the room such a warmth, a softness, as the glowing light cast a subtle warmth over everything . . . Both of the women waved to her, blew her kisses as they slipped out of the room, and Saori sighed, biting her lip as she frowned thoughtfully at the small box she held.

The tissue fell away with a flick of her claw, and she stared at the black velvet jeweler’s box.  Pressing the button, the lid flipped open, and she smiled as a wash of tears filled her eyes.  There, nestled in the fine black silk, was a thin silver chain—one of Sesshoumaru’s hairs—and suspended from it was a tiny crescent moon.  There was no magic to it—no secret incantation or anything, but it reminded her of her childhood, her insular fascination with her grandfather’s moon crest on his forehead.  As a child, she’d loved to sit on his lap, to trace that crescent moon over and over.  Looking back now, she realized that it had to have driven him crazy at the time, but he’d never stopped her, even when he was trying to look over his paperwork . . . That he’d remembered such a small thing?

Blinking back her tears, she quickly pulled the pendant free, fastened the fine chain around her neck before sniffling to herself as she uttered a shaky laugh, as she dropped the towel and reached for her Mokomoko-sama.  Somewhere in the distance, she could sense Fai’s youki coming closer.  She’d just wrapped the long rectangle around her body, had just retrieved the glass of vodka from the nightstand, when the door opened, and her new husband stepped inside . . .

His eyes flared wide, then narrowed as he pushed the door closed, as he stepped toward her.  “Saori?  What—?”

She sniffled again, choked out a rough laugh as she helplessly shook her head.  “It’s nothing,” she hurried to say, blinking fast as she tried to dispel the tears that still clouded her vision.  “Ojii-chan gave me this,” she explained, touching the necklace with her trembling fingers.  “That’s all . . .”

He relaxed slightly, apparently satisfied that she wasn’t upset over something else.  Tugging off his jacket, he tossed it over the back of a chair as he yanked his tie loose, too.  “It’s pretty,” he told her, working the buttons of his cuffs.  “Is that for me?”

She blinked, realized a moment too late that she was holding his glass.  “Oh!  Yes, it is,” she blurted, extending it to him.

He chuckled as he took the glass, as he slowly sipped the vodka as he stared at her, his gaze bright, even though she couldn’t rightfully tell, just what he was thinking.  He said nothing, setting the glass on the table and leaning against it long enough to kick off his shoes, to bend over and tug off the socks, as well.  Then he stood up straight, dug his hands into his pockets, his smile fading, a thoughtful kind of lilt entering his expression as he continued to stare at her.

“Fai?” she said, her voice wavering slightly.  Was he sorry that they’d gotten married so fast?  What was it that he had on his mind . . .?

He sighed.  “I’m sorry,” he said, turning away, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

“Sorry?” she echoed, unconsciously pulling her Mokomoko-sama more tightly around her shoulders.  “W . . . Why . . .?”

Pulling the shirt out of his waistband, he sighed again, but he still refused to look at her.  “I . . . I want you to promise me something.”

“Okay . . .”

“If someone gives you a bad feeling, you have to tell me.  You should have told me about Evgeni,” he said, his tone fierce—fierce and a little sad—his youki felt sadder—sadder and almost . . . almost disgusted . . .? “No one in my life is as important to me as you are,” he told her, his voice dropping low, and he sighed again.  “He . . . He knew about the tai-youkai account—knew and kept it from me deliberately.  He . . . He was never Father’s friend.  He . . . was never my friend . . .”

“But—”

He shook his head.  “If you had told me sooner . . .”

“Why?  Why would he do that?”

He shook his head again.  “I don’t know, but even if I don’t find out why, I’m pretty sure that he’s the one behind the rumors, too.”  His voice turned sardonic, almost angry, not that she could blame him.  “What better way to incite unrest than to let it slip that the tai-youkai’s coffers were nearly empty?  To spread innuendo that I was planning on usurping all of the regents?  And when I think about how much he knew—how much I let him know . . .? How could I have been so stupid, and then you . . .?” Whipping around so quickly that Saori gasped, Fai glared at her—a fierce look.  “So, even if you think I won’t like it—even if you think it might . . . might upset me . . . If you have a bad feeling about someone, you need to tell me.  Promise me, Saori.”  He grimaced.  “You . . . Yerik . . . You’re the two I know I can trust . . .”

She stepped over to him, let go of the Mokomoko-sama in favor of grasping his face in her hands.  “I promise,” she whispered.  “Fai . . . I . . .”

He stared at her for another long moment.  Suddenly, he choked out a harsh laugh, but he didn’t sound amused at all.  He sounded like he wanted to cry.  She grimaced, hating the sadness that seemed to radiate off of him in waves, wishing in vain that she could take that from him, knowing in her heart that she couldn’t.  He didn’t see it, and maybe that was for the best . . . Letting his forehead fall against hers, eyes closed, he cleared his throat, turning his head far enough to kiss the palm of her hand.  “Saori . . .”

She did the only thing she could think to do, gently turning his face, pressing her lips against his.  The unquestionable spark that shot straight through her, even from the sweetness of the kiss, was enough to make her body feel as though it had instantly liquified as she leaned against him, into him, as his lips moved so gently against hers . . .

Slipping her arms around his neck, burying her fingers, deep in his hair, she sighed softly as he pulled her close—as close as she could possibly be—as the precarious wave of liquid heat ignited in her veins.  There was a curious sense of languor, even as the nerves in her body seemed to come alive, one by one in such a stunning and rapid succession that she whimpered softly, her body seeming to melt against his even more.  He caught her, steadied her, offered her a sense of strength, of stability, even as hers faltered.

The feel of his fangs, grazing against her lips, sent a wave of shivers through her.  The flick of his tongue, both electrifying and soothing, all at the same time.  Her mouth fell slack as he alternated between nibbling her lips and sucking gently.  The stroke of his tongue against hers wrung a moan from her, but he was in no hurry, and it was maddening . . .

The gentle tickle of claws, running up and down her back, made her shiver.  The soft flick of his hair, falling over his face, touching her cheeks, her forehead in such a whisper of motion, like the wings of a butterfly . . .

There was no beginning, no ending, just a constant, steady blend of touches, caresses, of a slow discovery.  Each brush of his fingertips, every flutter of his lips, the steady hum of his body, the draw of his youki as it wrapped around hers, as it merged with hers, but it didn’t overwhelm hers, didn’t seek to overpower.  No, it was more of a blending, a sweet melding that buffered hers and yet lifted her higher, as though he sought to empower her, and, regardless of whether it was on accident or by design, the end result was stunning, staggering, and she blinked back a wash of tears, holding him a little closer, pushing herself against him in a wholly intuitive kind of way . . .

And she understood, didn’t she?  It was the true meaning of becoming mates, of merging her life with his on every single level.  Mates bolstered one another, filled in the gaps that strengthened their whole.  Everything that he was, everything that he could be, would become the parts of her that she didn’t possess on her own, just as she would do for him.  It was insanely simple, and yet wholly complex—a brilliant surge, a moment of completion, and she knew in her heart that it was something she’d remember for always.

He leaned away, smiled at her in such a serious, almost reverent way, hazel eyes seeming to take on an insular glow—a tempered wash of passion that simmered just below the surface.  Without taking his gaze off of her, he shrugged off his shirt, let it drop to the floor, before bending down long enough to retrieve her Mokomoko-sama, wrapping is around her once more.  Then he scooped her up, kissing her again, kissing her softly, telling her without words, all those things that he’d struggled to say and just couldn’t.  Something about being wrapped as she was, the familiarity she’d always known, even as the strands of everything she knew was warped and spinning so very quickly, shifting into a new kind of reality—one where Fai was her center . . .

He let go of her feet, let them fall to the mattress, before he laid her down, without breaking the kiss, without leaving her.  He stretched out beside her, leaned over her, slipping his bent knee between her legs, his hands stroking her hair back out of her face, fingertips so light, dancing over her cheeks, her jawline with every teasing nibble, every breath . . .

She arched her back, pressed her body as close to him as she possibly could as that fire in her belly spread and intensified.  Grimacing as the fabric of his slacks chafed her, she uttered a quiet whimper, and his answer was the tenderest of kisses, the flutter of his lips on hers, the softest flick of his tongue over the swollen and rouged skin of her mouth.

Reacting on instinct, she fumbled with the fastenings of those pants.  Her fingers felt so clumsy, but she kept trying.  With a frustrated little growl, she pushed herself up, breaking the kiss as Fai blinked in a dazed sense of confusion.  From her new vantage point, however, she was better able to work those fastenings—the button, the zipper—thank kami he hadn’t bothered to wear a belt.

Suddenly, he chuckled, flopping over onto his back, folding his hands together under the back of his neck . . . He wasn’t helping her, no, but he wasn’t hindering her, either.  He did lift his hips, though, when she grasped the waistband of his slacks and tugged.  When she finally got them to around his knees, he kicked them off and started to reach for her, only to fall back again with a sharp hiss when her hands wrapped around the thickness of him.

He was fascinating.  Sure, she’d taken biology classes, and yes, she’d understood just how things like this worked.  There was something vastly different in knowing the theory and seeing it—feeling it—for herself.  His skin, so warm, so soft, stretched so tightly over the distended erection, and the solid feel of the muscle beneath . . . Even as she stared, it seemed to swell just a little more as it jerked and twitched in her hands . . .

His breath was rasping, reaching, and she bit her lip when she glanced up, onto to find him, body so rigid, so tightly wound, eyes squeezed closed as he grimaced, like he was fighting something deep inside.  A fine sheen of sweat broke over his brow, on his chest as his muscles strained and twitched, and she stared at his face, giving him a gentle squeeze that wrung a raw, almost savage, groan from him.  Sliding her hands up and down the length of him, the skin catching beneath her hands as the muscles beneath twitched more, she marveled in the feel of him—all of him . . .

“This . . . This is all mine, right . . .?” she mused, tilting her head to the side as she slowly let her gaze travel up and down Fai’s prone body.  “I mean, we’re mates, so that means . . . you’re mine, doesn’t it?”

Letting out a half-groan, half-sigh, he tried to lean up on his elbows, but when he opened his eyes, the fire that burned behind his gaze was enough to make the breath catch in her throat.  “Depends,” he growled, his tone, husky, concupiscent.  “You either need to . . . keep doing what you’re doing—which I would prefer . . . or you need to move your hands if you want to have this discussion now because I . . . I can’t think when you’re touching me . . . I can’t . . .”

She giggled since he sounded a lot calmer than he looked.  With a roughened growl, he leaned forward, grabbed her by the arms, dragged her against his chest as he fell back, as his voracious mouth sought out hers once more.  He lifted her up, pulled her forward, his lips closing around one stiffened peak of her nipple as she gasped, as she shuddered, as she reached forward, grasping the spindles of the headboard to brace herself.  His tongue flicked over her, creating waves of the sweetest ache that spun through her with a ferocity that left her mind reeling.  Moving her slightly, just enough that he could catch her other nipple, he growled low in his throat as she moaned again, as she ground her hips against his stomach.  It didn’t do a thing to appease that ache that he’d created within her . . .

Over and over, he drew her in as deeply as he could, his tongue creating a soothing kind of balm that only really served to send that smoldering heat, spiraling higher.  Gasping, groaning, whimpering, she uttered half-words that made no sense, even as she fought to make him understand.  It was maddening, frustrating, and oh, so welcome.  He tamed her with soft kisses, gentled her with throaty little sounds, savoring her body as though he were trying to commit every curve, every nuance, every last bit of her to memory.

She let her hands drop to his shoulders, pushed against him to break the suction of his mouth as she scooted down, as she kissed him hard, kissed him with all the need that she couldn’t quite contain.  He was so vibrant, so alive, and the underlying knowledge that he was hers forever was heady and entirely frightening, even as it thrilled and humbled her by turns.

The weight of his emotions crashed into her as she grasped his shoulders, as she clung to him.  He grasped her hips as her legs fell on either side of him, positioning her, and, with a sharp gasp, he slid into her.

She tore her mouth away from him, sat up straight, her head falling back, eyes slipping closed as the harsh gasp slipped from her.  He groaned, lifting up on her hips, only to pull her down again as the length of him rose up in her so deep, so welcome, that she pitched forward, crashing down on him as he shivered and moaned . . .

He rolled them over, undulating his hips against hers as he cradled her face, as he kissed her deep, tongue stroking hers in time with the movements of his body.  She arched against him, willed him to understand the turmoil of the sensations that were goading her farther, closer, nearer, and yet, it wasn’t nearly enough.

The completeness of him, nestled so deep within her . . . the feeling of being one with him, even as the beats of their hearts seemed to merge . . . Yet, there was still something she was missing—a feeling that whispered to her, even if she didn’t fully grasp where it led just yet . . .

Reaching back, he slipped his hand under her knee, hooked her leg and brought it up, opening her wider, allowing him deeper, and she gasped, whispered his name in a harsh sort of cry.  Rocking his hips against hers, the tremendous sense of heat and light, and he shuddered, his entire body quaking as she felt him thicken, quivering, so far inside her . . .

He leaned up, uttered a terse sort of growl.  “Open your eyes,” he told her.

For a moment, she couldn’t quite do it.  So lost in the tide of overwhelming need, she felt as though she were drowning.  But she did manage it, eyes opening just far enough to stare deep into his gaze, marveling at the fierce light, the naked passion as he drove into her again and again.

He closed his eyes just for a second, a roughened groan slipping from him, but he somehow forced his eyes open once more, his expression tightening, a fierce sense of raw male pleasure surfacing as his jaw tightened, as he rasped out her name, as his body tensed inside hers.  Another stroke, two, and she cried out as that strand of pressure burst, as an explosion of heat and light and need broke wide—as she felt the wash of his orgasm . . . as his cry joined hers in the quiet, their minds, their bodies, their souls joining together, the bond of mates, complete . . .