Page 145 of War

War gazes down at me, his eyes going a little hazy as he rides the last of his orgasm out. What feels like an eternity later, the horseman’s thrusts begin to slow. Eventually, he has no choice but to slip out of me.

I’m sore everywhere; the kind of sore that makes your cheeks flush.

War lays back on his bed and drags me onto his stomach. He cups my core, even as I feel his cum begin to leak out of me.

“To feel that a part of me is inside you still—wife, there is no more thrilling sensation in the world,” he states.

My breathing begins to slow, my sweaty flesh cooling. All my aches and pains are flaring back to life.

Now that I’m beginning to come down, War’s adoration is starting to—well, I’m having a few misgivings.

The sex—I definitely want second helpings of that—but the horseman is looking at me like things have changed. And yeah, my close brush with death had given me some perspective, and yeah, I did surrender to him and all, but now I’m sensing that my words and actions might mean a smidge more to him than they do to me.

I begin to push away from him. “I should clean myself up …” There’s still a tub full of water, and now I’m sticky—

War pulls me back down, luring me back to him with his heated kisses. “Not so quick, my wife.” He brushes my dark hair aside so that he can kiss the nape of my neck.

“But I’m dirty,” I protest, desperate to put a little distance between us.

“Nothingabout what we did was dirty,” War says, a bit too fervently. “And I like having myself all over you.”

That’s exactly what I’m having an issue with.

“It is going to be different now,” he adds.

I swallow. Uh oh.

“Um, what do you mean?” I say carefully, keeping my tone light.

“You are mine wholly and completely—and I am yours. For now and always it will be this way.”

Oh dear God. That sounded a lot like a vow to me.

What have I done?

Chapter 40

Despite my misgivings, we spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in War’s bed, getting up only to eat and drink.

I don’t know if he’s aware of my unease, but if he is, he couldn’t have devised a better strategy for distracting me from it. I might be troubled by War’s feelings for me, but I have zero problems with how he makes love.

Not even nighttime seems to quench whatever thirst drives the horseman. War wakes me up twice more for sex.

By the time morning sunlight is streaming through our tent, War’s hand has moved its way down to my clit for the millionth time. He strokes it, and I moan softly in protest. My body feels like it’s been wrung of every last orgasm.

Despite that, I feel myself slicken against his hand. Who would’ve thought I’d have another round in me?

“Cannot keep my hands off of you,” War says, moving his other palm to my breast. Against my better judgment, I arch into his touch.

“So receptive,” he murmurs.

Something I seriously did not take into account earlier—all this skin on skin action has almost completely healed me. And my libido is thanking War for it.

The horseman rolls on top of me. I tilt my pelvis up, and for the thousandth time in the last twenty four hours, my horseman slides inside me.

Much, much later I manage to actually pull myself out of bed and clean myself up as best I can (much to War’s disappointment). Before I can get reeled back in for more sex, I dress and slip outside.

I nearly scream the moment I do so.