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At last, they collapse into stunned silence. Boneless, she traces his nude backside, and he brushes the edge of her breast. For a long time, they’re quiet, thunderstruck, exhausted.

Finally, they muster the energy to roll onto their sides. Still touching, they tangle themselves up, their limbs braided.

They swap goofy grins, unable to quit staring. They whisper into the night, interpreting shared memories, and clarifying misunderstandings, and shedding light on past actions. They talk over one another, and bicker in amusement, and laugh with remorse.

Like they did over the course of three days, the conversation flows from one subject to the next. All in all, it’s imperfectly perfect.

Envy purrs and snacks on Sorrow’s jaw.

Sorrow’s fingers dip low to fondle him.

This only gets them riled up again, which is fine. It’s going to be a long, steamy night. And a much longer, steamier life.

By dawn, Sorrow is one-hundred percent fucked. And happy.

The bedding is a mixture of linen and fleece, since they’d combined the two after making love for three consecutive romps, after she’d taken him into her mouth and made him roar, and after he’d licked her into a fainting spell.

Envy sleeps on his stomach. The blankets barely cover the swells of his ass, with those tight indentations and smooth skin. Sorrow traces his slumbering body with her fingertips, then swears affectionately under her breath. It should be against celestial law for one being to look like him. But she knows his flaws as intimately as his attributes, and she loves them in equal measure.

Slipping into her robe, she pads outside to the lagoon. She watches the water sparkle, where his tethered boat bobs over the surface, and the burgundy ferns sway.

On the opposite side of this refuge, a waterfall enclave of baths, and basins, and pools awaits them. She plans to return sometime today, to make Envy show her more hidden crevices, preferably ones in which she can moan as loud as she likes while he bends her over a watery embankment. Because even with all this love business, some things like lust don’t change. In fact, the love only spurs them on, their desires rarely satiated, if the past few hours are anything to go by.

Sorrow’s hair drapes over her chest. A private rush of blood oozes into her cheeks.

Is she blushing? Probably.

That’s fine. Besides, only one person is allowed to see her this way.

That person is coming this way. A shadow falls across the ground, and a pair of arms weave around her waist, and a dangerous mouth nibbles on her lobe.

When Sorrow tilts her head to give him better access, a husky voice mussed with sleep flirts, “Hubba hubba. I could get used to this.”

She nestles into him. “Which part?”

“You. Me. Pain. Pleasure.”

“You think we can handle it?”

“So far, so good.”

“Then it helps that I love you.”

“I love me, too.” When Sorrow flings back her head and guffaws, he squeezes her playfully. And when she angles her face toward his, Envy grins. “But I love you more,” he promises before claiming her mouth.

Sorrow parts her lips, and her hand dives into his hair. With every resonating sweep of their tongues, she feels the truth down to the marrow of her bones. And she returns the heated kiss, because the feeling is mutual.

That’s their choice. That’s their fate.

Envy traps her against him and whispers in detail all the things he wants to do to her while cornered like this, with the open world shimmering ahead of them.

At which point, he carries her into the lagoon and proceeds to demonstrate.

32

Envy

Six archers are already there when Envy and Sorrow arrive.