Page 67 of What Blooms in Barren Lands

And I did. Not just because the fist was wider and larger yet than the familiar, already generously oversized hardness of his erection, but it was also suppler, capable of rubbing my walls with deft, little flicks of the wrist, of stroking my cervix the way he would my clit with his fingers.

Prohibited from speaking, I hummed and I sighed appreciatively to let him know just how right he was.

“Fuck symphonies and operas,” Einar reacted to my sounds of pleasure, his voice husky. “I don’t miss any of that. Hearing you like this is the best music there ever was.”

My universe-shattering joy wasn’t just a result of the physical sensation. Being caressed from the inside, having Einar’s hand and lower arm up in my body gave me a sense of ultimate, all-encompassing, complete submission, of giving up all control. Of being owned. Not owned to be used, but rather to be treasured.

The pressure increased and increased as I spasmed with ecstasy. My whole body relaxed first in that limp, ragdoll way of blissful surrender. And then it seized, convulsed, exploded as I was obliterated just as the timer went off, ringing in unison with my yell.

“Fuck! Oh god! Fuuuuuuck!”

I was suddenly aware of every single cell of my body, every atom, because each particle of me tingled and vibrated with the imminent split of separation. I fell apart, the euphoria too strong to withstand, and I felt something rush and spray out of me that I was certain was my blood, because it was not possible to enter heaven and hold on to earthly life at the same time.

I had come unravelled.

“Well, just look atthat...”

Einar’s fingers brushed my forehead as he yanked the scarf off. His face came into view, his eyes liquid with lust like molten metal, and his skin shining with a sheen of accomplished excitement. He was looking at me with undiluted wonder, even though I was a complete mess, my hair ruffled and my face covered with wet streaks of tears and snot.

The only reason I didn’t feel self-conscious was that I was panting hard, still descending from those incredible heights of a land unfit for mortals.

“You have to see this, babydoll.”

Finding me in no state to lift my head on my own, or even to comprehend what he was saying, Einar reached my nape to help me.

My eyes immediately landed on the slick, swollen flesh of my intimate area. And on Einar’s arm, buried inside me halfway up to his elbow. His fine hairs were drenched, and so was the sheet below, its black hue a shade darker yet.

An embarrassed blush flooded my face because I thought at first that I had peed myself. But it was soon replaced with a grin of perverse pride when I realised that no, no that was not what had happened at all. There was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

Some time later, breathless and not quite capable of coherent speech, I stretched luxuriously, pulled the covers over myself, and closed my eyes. I sensed a movement next to me, though, and opened them again almost instantly.

Einar was already dressing himself.

“I’m sorry, love, but I can’t stay any longer,” he said, reaching his hand down and pushing a stray strand of hair off my forehead.

“You can’t?”

I noted that he looked troubled, almost anxious.

“No. I’ll have to gather some men to deal with the bodies and to hide their bikes.”

“Oh. Of course!” I sat up so abruptly that stars briefly appeared before my eyes, and my head swam. “I’ll come and help,” I said as soon as the world stabilised around me.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he protested. “It’ll be hard work, digging graves and carrying them and whatnot. Quicker if men do it. Don’t feel bad, that’s what we’re here for.” He looked directly at me and made me feel, not for the first time, as if he could read my thoughts.

It was a shame I could not read his to pinpoint the exact cause behind the tight creases of concern around his eyes.

“Einar, what exactly are you worried about?”

“Ah.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Tell me.”

“It’s just ... what happened today may have dire consequences,” he said quietly and then, noting my perhaps not altogether comprehending expression, he elaborated: “These arseholes told you they belonged to a colony of fifty armed men. And they have bikes. Albert and I heard the motors, that’s what made me go looking for you.” He inhaled deeply while fastening his belt. “What if those two thugs told the others at Bonifacio where they were headed? When they don’t come back?—”

“Other men with guns might come looking for them,” I gasped, and shivers ran through me. “How did I not think of that? Oh, Einar, I’m so sorry you had to kill them because of me.”

“I’m not. No one threatens you and gets to talk about it.No one. My only regret is that I had to kill them so fast.”