stomach. Her breath pitched, the sharp, sudden action an indicator of her pleasure. He knew. He was learning. She had been right. It didn’t matter how much you knew about sex. You had to know about your partner. Had to care about them.
His hands followed the same journey his tongue had, sliding down her waist, gripping hold of her hips and around behind her, cupping her buttocks, lifting her gently from the bed as he buried his face between her thighs and tasted her in a way he’d become obsessed with in fantasy over the past week.
She cried out as he dragged his tongue over her slick flesh, focusing his attention on the bundle of nerves that was the source of her pleasure. He would happily die like this. With her flavor on his tongue, her soft sounds of pleasure filling the air.
She placed her fingers through his hair, tugging hard, and he took it as a sign to go harder, to go deeper. He had no refined skill; he had only desire. Intensity. A need for her that burned in his gut, that was physical pain.
He would never get enough of her. He could lose himself in her, in this. Could return back to this desert place as long as he had her with him. And it was no longer the kingdom he saw swimming before his vision when he thought of his purpose. It was glittering blue eyes, soft pink lips, blond hair his hands could get lost in. It was Olivia.
The realization hit him with the force of a thunderclap. Everything in him screamed its denial, but he pushed it aside. Because he didn’t care for the future, not now, not with her slickness on his tongue, her desire coating his lips. He held more tightly to her, taking her against his mouth, lavishing attentions on her until she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls where there had before only been silence. This dry, barren place would never be the same again. Because it was filled with her.
And neither would he. Because he was filled with her, too.
He wanted her to be filled with him.
He shifted their positions, rising up to kiss her mouth, testing the entrance to her body with the head of his arousal. There were no preliminaries. He was not tentative as he’d been the first time. Rather, he thrust in deep on a growl, blinding white light flashing behind his eyelids.
He buried his face in her neck, relishing her scent, relishing her. Here he was, at the site of his desolation, in the place where he had been most isolated, most alone, as close to another person as one could possibly be.
He had no restraint now, no ability to hold himself back, and he gave thanks when she arched beneath him, crying out her release because it left him free to chase his own.
And when he did, he was consumed by it. Overcome as a lone traveler in a sandstorm, utterly devastated. Destroyed.
When it was finished, he had no strength left inside him. He could do nothing but pull her body against his and hold her as sleep took hold of him. There was no thought to anything else, no thought at all. Just the desire to rest.
That realization sent a jolt through him. Where had his focus gone? Was this moment of bliss the beginning of a road to ruin? Because it was difficult now to want anything but his own satisfaction. To lose himself in these sorts of moments. To weave a life together made of them. Of happiness and pleasure and comfort. Instead of purpose and loneliness.
But what will your people do if you lose your purpose? If you slide into corruption?
Just for a moment, he let himself imagine falling asleep with her. Making her his world. And a bright, intense burst of joy pierced the darkness inside him. A pure shaft of happiness like he’d never known before.
A happiness that scared him more than any pain he had yet endured.
It brought back memories. Memories long ago blocked out. His mother smiling. His father placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. Those words he could never hear.
Right then, he wanted to run. Right then, he wanted to get away. She made him remember. And that was even deadlier than forgetting.
“I LOVE YOU.”
Olivia didn’t mean to speak the words, but the moment they left her mouth she surrendered. Not just to the feeling, which she had come to terms with yesterday, but to the fact that she had just confessed it. She had said them many times over the course of her life. Her parents, to her sister. To her first husband. But never in all of her life had the response mattered so much. Never in her life had the words cost so much to speak.
Always, they had been the right things to say. A gift with nothing behind them.
But these three words spoken to him were like three strips taken from her hide. Essential parts of herself given to him because they were necessary. Because he was necessary. It made her vulnerable, she knew. It exposed every bit of the neediness she had been afraid of exposing all of her life. But she didn’t care, not now. Because finally, finally she wanted something that was worth the cost. She wanted someone who was worth the cost.
Tarek was the strongest man she had ever known. If he could face down the pain, the fear that he had endured, the loss, then certainly she could give something of herself to him. Had anyone ever given themselves to him? She would.
She realized now that she had stopped giving of herself a long time ago. She was insulated, surrounded by people who kept walls erected between them. As she did, too. But she couldn’t do that here. She couldn’t do that now. Not with him.
She couldn’t protect herself and love him. She would have to risk. Have to step out.
She had sworn she would never break. But for him she would have to. For him, she would break open and pour herself out. Show him her heart, her neediness, her everything.
For this man who saw her. This man who looked at her as if she was singular. Precious.
For this man, she would.
She felt Tarek stiffened beneath her hands. “Olivia, no.”
“Yes.” She knew already this would end badly.
That it would hurt like hell. But she was committed to it. She was so tired. She wanted to grab a sledgehammer and physically break something down to symbolize what she wanted to happen inside her. She didn’t want protection or comfort. She didn’t want safety. She wanted raw heat, passion. But the only way to get that was to walk through the fire. Better to burn alive than freeze to death.
“I cannot love,” he said, his voice like stone.
“You can. There are a lot of things you didn’t think you could do. I know you didn’t think that you could make love to me...”
“Is that it? You are taking that as a sign of love? A sign of affection?” He moved away from her, standing by the edge of the bed, pacing like a caged animal. “I want nothing to do with love,” he said, his tone fierce. “And even if I did, I lack the capacity.”
She shook her head, feeling numb. “No. I don’t believe that.”
“Because of this?” He indicated the bed. “Any beast can rut. That does not indicate the ability to love.”
“So now you’re going to reduce this? Now you’re
