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The places they’d drifted to afterward. The secret tunnel leading from the enclave, which he hadn’t shared with anyone else.

The dance. The hug.

Gripping the lagoon’s ledge, she twists her mouth into her shoulder, muffling another tilt of her lips.

You’re smiling.

That’s what he’d recently said to her. And yes, she is. Raising her head, she turns to the sky and lets the grin wreathe from one end of her face to the other. She goes crazy and flashes her teeth.

After that, she wiggles out of the robe and dunks herself into the lagoon. This induces a lazy splash, the surface quivering. The firmament rotates as Sorrow unravels and floats on her back, arms and legs akimbo.

Has she ever felt so brave? So badass? So happy?

Another heavier splash alerts her to his presence.

The wave that accompanies his arrival causes Sorrow to bob. While her pulse accelerates, she keeps her gaze on the canopy. She’s no longer grinning, but neither does she frown. Rather, her features are lax and rested.

A pair of wide palms materialize under her. One hand braces the slot between her shoulder blades, the other her lower back. Silent and getting his eyeful, Envy balances Sorrow, then begins to sway her.

Overhead, the astral cathedral becomes a sphere as he spins her slowly, the afternoon stars slanting. The motion transforms this view, distorting it, changing it, making it new.

Sorrow’s smile breaks through again. With it, she laughs. She feels him grinning, amused by her chuckles as they turn, and turn, and turn.

They stop abruptly, gasping as though they’d been wheeling faster than in reality. Sorrow’s chest pumps. She can’t take it anymore.

Envy swings her upright just as she straightens to her feet. Her arms find his shoulders, and his arms find her waist. Her gaze makes it as far as his mouth while the angle of his shadow indicates he’s doing the same thing, staring at her lips. They’re dripping, heaving in damp air.

He’s as naked as she is, though the surface conceals everything below the ramps of his hipbones. Above that, he has removed the dressing, the bruised flesh having dissolved and his ribs contracting normally.

Sorrow trembles. As her breasts surge into his chest, in a gloriously moistened slide, Envy hisses.

If she meets those eyes, she’ll lose her nerve.

They pause, their faces tipped inches apart. Small, smoldering pants rush from their mouths, which part, so fucking close. Her eyelids fringe, a bead of perspiration leaking down her cheek. Under the depths, he hardens against the spot that’s contracting inside her.

Her heart beats like a drum. Or is it his heart?

They’ve never done this. They’ve never done this one thing.

To hell with it. To hell with all of it.

She cranes her head and brushes her mouth with his.

Envy’s torso hitches, unleashing a strangled noise. He stalls, dangling off a precipice while she waits, choking when he reciprocates with a caress of his own mouth. And then they’re teasing each other, their mouths grazing languidly.

Envy’s lips are plush and full, and what a rush to skate her flesh against his, tracing the bends and crooks. What an absolute high to feel his nails dig into her, while they withhold from one another.

Their heads bank to the opposite sides. This time, Envy’s tongue comes out to flick at her teeth. A mewl curls from her throat. A frisson of pleasure racks up her thighs, slamming into the place where she aches for him.

This is the longest calm-before-the-storm that she’s ever known. This must also qualify as the most frustrating, drawn-out incident in history.

His tongue makes another pass, this one along the crease of her mouth. Curse him, the contact reaches her womb. On a sigh, oxygen pours out of her.

She licks him back, swiping the bow of his upper lip. Envy seethes, his palm scaling to the back of Sorrow’s skull, snarling through her roots and cupping her head. He’s got her ready. And as she grips his nape, she’s got him primed.

They wait, and wait, and wait.

And they stop waiting.