Her mouth crushed hungrily to his, hips arching and offering. He fought with the rest of his clothes, struggled to devour more of her as the heat pumped off them both.
When he plunged into her, the fire roared, and the candle flames shot up like arrows.
Passion and power whipped through them, spurring them on toward madness. Still she locked herself around him, stared at him even as tears glazed her eyes.
A wind stirred her hair, bright as fire against the bed. He felt her gather beneath him, tighten like a bow. When the light burst through him, he could only breathe her name.
She felt alight, as if whatever they had ignited between them burned still. She wondered she didn’t see beams of its gilded light shooting out of her fingertips.
In the hearth, the fire had settled down to a quiet simmer; another afterglow. But the heat that had bloomed from it, and from them, dewed her skin. Even now her heart moved at a gallop.
His head rested there, on her heart, and her hand on his head.
“Have you ever…”
His lips brushed her breast, lightly. “No.”
She combed her fingers through his hair. “Neither have I. Maybe it was because it was the first time, or because some of what we made earlier was still stored up.”
We’re stronger together. Her own words echoed in her mind.
“Where do we go from here?”
When he lifted his head, she shook hers. “An expression,” she explained. “And it doesn’t matter now. Your bruises are gone.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“I don’t know that I did it.”
“You did. You touched my face when we joined.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “There’s magic in your hands, and in your heart. And still your eyes are troubled.”
“Just tired.”
“Do you want me to leave you?”
“No, I don’t.” And wasn’t that the problem? “I want you to stay.”
“Here then.” He shifted, bringing her with him, tucking up sheet and blanket. “I have a question.”
“Mmm.”
“You have a brand, here.” He traced his fingers over the small of her back. “A pentagram. Are witches marked so in this time?”
“No. It’s a tattoo—my choice. I wanted to wear a symbol of what I am, even when I was skyclad.”
“Ah. I mean no disrespect to your purpose, or your symbol, but I found it…alluring.”
She smiled to herself. “Good. Then it performed its secondary purpose.”
“I feel whole again,” he said. “I feel myself again.”
“So do I.”
But tired, he thought. He could hear it in her voice. “We’ll sleep awhile.”
She tilted her head up so their eyes met. “You said when you took me to bed you wouldn’t give me any sleep.”
“This once.”