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We hadn’t slept apart since before Evie died.

In my room, I lit the waiting candles. We had a generator but used the power sparingly. Besides, the flickering flames soothed me. I’d spent most of my nights with Evie beneath the soft glow of a flame. I was glad for its light now.

I stripped down to my briefs and reached for my lab notes, but as I stared at my scrawl, the words blurred. All I saw was her. I pictured her with a rifle raised in her small hands, her beautiful blonde hair whipping around her face. I pictured her surrounded by nymphs, her arms out in supplication, letting them sip the cure from her veins. I pictured her standing among thousands of people at the dam, giving them hope through her selfless words.

I saw her naked, and once the image of her full breasts and round ass formed in my mind, I couldn’t summon the memories of her wearing clothes. She was nude aiming her bow. Nude running the tunnels. Nude rocking against my body.

Blinking, I tried to push those thoughts from my mind. I couldn’t go down that heartbreaking path. But I’d already shoved my briefs down my thighs, my cock in my hand, engorged, aching. I buckled over, stroking, twisting my grip, remembering her graceful neck, rosy nipples, quickening breaths, and full lips. She licked those lips, the soft wet flesh made for my kiss, my cock. Like her cunt. Tight, warm, drenched, gripping my fingers, sucking my shaft inside. I was in her, fucking her, kicking my hips and grunting like an animal.

My lungs strained for air, my arm jerking, shaking. I came and stared blankly at the wet streams of my need dripping over my thigh. Emptiness swept through me. It was always the same. I fucked my hand, thinking about her, but the hole remained vacant. I couldn’t fill it. Not without them.

The warm hum of their approach vibrated beneath my skin. I looked at the door, watched it open, waited as Jesse and Roark joined me on the bed.

No one said a word. I couldn’t read their thoughts, but I didn’t need to. Their emotions, desires, and fantasies were mirrors of mine.

I crawled toward them, made them groan, tremble, and muffle their relief into the pillows, as I poured my love into their bodies. They filled everything left barren by the loss of Evie, quenched the veins that no longer pumped with her blood, and squeezed my heart with something different, but no less intense. I always thought of her when I jerked off. But when I was with them, my thoughts were as well. Like now, lying between them with my arms around Roark and my legs entwined with Jesse’s.

They were my warmth when the chill of grief enveloped me. They were my voice when I couldn’t find the words. They were my legs when I struggled to stand back up. And I endeavored to be the same for them.

Jesse never saw Evie’s spirit again after that morning in the garden, but he still looked for her. Roark never put his cassock back on, but he still prayed. And I hadn’t scientifically proved Dawn would save the future of mankind. But I believed.

I believed in her.

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It’s not over.

It might feel impossible to move on, but the story was never meant to end here.

Evie died for a reason.

And that reason is Dawn.

The Trilogy of Eve concludes with Evie’s legacy.

DAWN OF EVE (#3)

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