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Fates, she has missed this. Fates, she has never known this.

Envy’s a multitasker as he sucks on her flesh with sweet, insistent tugs that wrench disjointed moans from Sorrow’s lips. Meanwhile, there’s a sweep of air as her robe shuffles, the upper half parting beneath his fingers. Her breasts spill from the material, puckering into the night air. At last, the pads of his digits circle her nipples, working them until they’re raw, and she’s senseless.

Somehow, she manages to say, “All this time, I thought you weren’t serious. I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

Envy rips his mouth from her throat and twists her around. “Isn’t it obvious by now?” he growls, haggard and hungry. “I fucking lied.”

He’s barely finished speaking when he hoists her against him and attacks her collarbones. Sorrow flings her head back, her breasts pitching into his soaked shirt. Her palms hook onto his nape for dear life, for him, for this.

On a ragged groan, he angles her into a deep bend and clamps his lips around a breast. She cries out. She can’t, she can’t take this, she just can’t.

But she does. He makes her take it.

His tongue flits around her nipple and pulls it into his mouth. Though heat is a lost notion to Sorrow, embers shoot from where he sucks on her, cinders burrowing within the intimate crease of her body. He’s destroying her, drenching her under the robe.

Releasing Sorrow, Envy guides her down. Her body sprawls along the boat’s floor, her thighs spreading around his waist. Reaching behind, he peels the sodden t-shirt from his chest and chucks it aside.

Sorrow’s belly gives lurch.

So much dark skin. So many flexing ridges to taste.

He doesn’t give her the chance as he spreads himself over her, finally cautious of his injury. She grapples for his shoulders while he carefully hitches one of her limbs over his hips. They’re panting now. And that’s before she feels the hard length of him erect against her pelvis.

Envy resumes the onslaught on her other breast. At the stroke of his tongue, Sorrow bows off the ground. She claws through his hair, ripping the black manefrom its tie.

They’ve never kissed. Does she want that?

Envy has other things in mind. Inching back, his eyes pin Sorrow with a dangerous glint. Holding her gaze, he reaches under the robe without preamble, the width of his arm splitting the hem. His touch scrapes through the dark curls and makes contact with her wetness.

Like a coil, it springs apart around his fingers. Sorrow’s mouth falls open on a silent moan.

Envy’s expression melts into a pained grin as he skims her folds. Slowly, surely.

His fingers gather moisture and locate that tiny nub, coating her there. Rhythmically, he swirls his thumb over a million nerve endings, lightly scraping, patiently dabbing at the ridge.

Overhead, the stars pierce the firmament. Out here, there’s so much open space to holler.

So she does. She digs into his shoulders and tosses a plea into the sky.

“That’s it, my nymph,” his hoarse voice urges. “That’s it. Swell for me.”

And then two of his fingers flex into her.

Together, they moan, hard and long. But she’s not sure who’s louder, and she doesn’t care. All she cares about is the tender pump of his digits as they probe inside her, nudging her into another cry, and another, and another.

It’s the most lucid type of pleasure and pain in existence.

Envy’s features twist, watching her, watching her. Below his waistband, she glimpses the firm length of him, and she wants it. So badly does she want him riding into her. But she can’t speak, can barely think.

His arm lurches between her spread thighs, which fall wider apart as he accelerates the pace, her body jutting from the impact.

Ambitious.

You intimidate me.

Say it again. Tell me to stop. Come on.

Right there. His finger strikes her right there, slipping, retreating, and again, and again, and again. Sorrow’s about to pass out. The stars burst, fragments showering from the canopy and crashing into the lagoon.