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“So gorgeous,” Puck rasps. “That’s it, luv. Ride me until you come.”

The satyr has stamina. I know this from previous endeavors, but it never ceases to amaze me. Whereas I’m about to fracture into a million pieces, he’s not done. Snatching my hips, he advances our movements, tugging me back and forth. He meets me halfway, his waist lunging with urgency.

I sob with need, with ecstasy. We move in haste, rocking together, driving faster, faster. My fingernails puncture his flesh, my waist beating against his. Puck’s length hits another glorious spot and hammers there. Rapture and tension converge where he pumps into me.

I bend over and grab the fur rug for support, my hips racing. “Oh,” I scream.

“Come on, luv,” he urges.

It happens. We lock together, then unravel. A white-hot sensation condenses and then blasts from our centers. My walls contort around him, bliss and warmth gushing to the tips of my toes, to the peak of my skull.

Moans pour from my throat and scatter across the living room. Puck hollers, his length pulsating, emptying inside me. The release goes on and on, endless, boundless.

We slump, panting for air. I collapse, falling atop Puck. He catches my lips in a tired kiss, his fingers lurching into my hair.

The fire sways. It brushes gold across the room, illuminating the perspiration at my bust and across the grid of his stomach. I nestle into Puck’s chest while he palms my backside. Like this, we listen to the rain tapping against the panes, gentle and steady now.

I smell the leftover pancakes and the musky aroma of our bodies. That’s when I know for sure. With him, I’m home.

Puck mutters against my scalp, “By the way, have I complimented that spectacular fable you composed?”

The fable. After the battle, the tale had flowed as if it had been building inside me, storing itself away until then. Perhaps I ought to write it down. Thinking of the blank pages left in my notebook, a thrill flutters through my chest.

I fold my arms across his collarbones and rest my chin there. “It was a start.”

“And a fine one.” The satyr runs his knuckles down my ear. “What are you feeling, luv?”

“I want to stay,” I tell him. “I want to stay here with you.”

His eyes jump all over me with hope and repentance. So I ask, “What about you? What are you thinking?”

“Same thing.” Yet he sighs, combing through his hair. “But—”

“I don’t care. I don’t care that you’re immortal, and I’m not. Do you?”

“Don’t fucking go there,” he says tenderly. “You know me better.”

“I’ll grow old and die someday. You’ll have to watch it happen. Can you take that?”

“You’ll destroy me whether you leave or stay, Juniper. Either way, it’ll always be you. Just you forever, and ever, and ever, and ever…” He thinks about it. “And ever.” And he nibbles on my neck. “And ever.” And my shoulder. “And ever.”

I chuckle. “Then I’ll stay—”

But Puck grabs my face and kisses the last of my words from my lips. I smile, because although I don’t like being cut off, I’ll forgive him this one time.

Perhaps I’d made my decision a long time ago. We may have begun in different worlds, but I don’t want it to end that way. I want my realm and his, my family and his arms. By some measure, I want both, even if it means dividing my time between here and where I came from. That’s what Lark’s planning to do, so I’ll do it with her.

Puck lives out loud, and I live within the boundaries. But those differences strengthen us, which means we’re capable of making this work. I’m not giving up, and neither will Puck. We’re too stubborn for that.

Impulsively, the satyr peels his mouth away. “You sure, luv?”

“I’m sure,” I promise. “I want more of this—more of you.”

The words prompt a thought in his head. I see an idea flittering through that cunning mind. “In that case, why wait to start?”

Thusly, Puck gives more of himself to me. He brushes my lips with his and whispers something against them. It takes me an educated moment to decipher the word: His name.

It’s a quick but hearty trio of letters, two vowels and a consonant. It’s a throaty sounding moniker that originates from under the soil. It’s the name of the tree standing vigil outside this home.