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His hands run down, cupping my full ass and he squeezes insistently. I return the favor, pulling him toward me and gliding him between the gap in my thighs. I pin him there, tightening my muscles to make him squirm.

Heat floods through me as friction and proximity send my head spinning with arousal.

Straddling him on one of the massive ottomans, I press my clit against the base of his cock, pleasing myself and teasing him with every stroke. Soon, the slick of my sex slips along the bottom of his shaft, pinned to his stomach.

All he can do is watch me, watch my folds spread around him up and down his length. I push his head back, kissing his neck, nibbling at his ears.

“You kept me sane,” I moan. “Through the worst of the pain.”

“You kept me alive,” he responds. “Even if you have almost gotten me killed a dozen times. I’ll always live for you. You’re the only thing worth living for.”

My heart shatters.

It’s the sweetest agony.

Shakal is a part of who I am now. He is a part of my soul. And I can never go back from this.

If there were any walls left within me, the brutal torture and his healing hands blasted them from me. No more doubts. No more fear.

There is nothing between us.

I almost smile before I take him inside me, sliding slowly, deeper and deeper. Settling him within me, I sigh.

I am complete.

Ciro’s arms wrap around me as he grinds once, rotating his hips deliciously. He is more than a perfect fit. Just slightly more. His width is so snug, hugged within my walls so that all I can feel is him.

And as I adjust to him, becoming more and more lost in his eyes, he inches in deeper, seating me right against his lap. It is almost too much, these sensations.

The exquisite relaxing of my core around him. Every spiral of my hips soaks him, draws him right onto the spot I need him most.

Each rock of our rhythm takes me further into the dream, deeper into his love. I am fucking gone. And I could go on like this forever.

There is no one else, nothing else around us as I begin to buck along his shaft, using my hands against his rock-hard abs and the cushion beneath us to push back, pumping forward again.

All I can feel is the entirety of his column within me, his hands on my breasts, his finger playing along the apex of my sex firing off volcanic quakes of bliss in my center, spraying sparks and showers of magma through my limbs, my hands, my feet.

Rippling waves of heat and desire consume me as he grips tighter, my sawing shortening to tight, fast flicks of my hips. It feels like I am racing toward my first release. My muscles tense, my middle shudders.

But it is not quite fast enough, not powerful enough to drive me over the edge.

“I need you…”

“Tell me…”

There are no words. I grab at him, pulling him with me as I rise.

We continue to kiss, bite, lick, all the way to the bedroom. A lustful laugh escapes his lips as I leap to the bed, he follows, landing with his arms braced around me, then pinning me to the bed. Our fingers interlock, he holds me down.

And plunges into me again.

It’s the most pleasure I’ve ever felt in my life, the most intense, growing, immense pressure. Every thrust is devastating, all the way to the hilt, filling my core entirely. Each pounding stroke makes me gasp, makes me moan.

This is the line between pain and pleasure I have always known I wanted. That I have never been able to find.

Fully letting myself go, challenging my body and pushing both of us to the limit.

Soon I will come undone. Soon I will cascade over that cliff like a sparkling waterfall. I want to reach that peak for that sweet unwinding. But more so, so that he can make me come again and again and again.