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His fingers dug into her hips—and then he fucked her.
There was no other word that could describe the ferocity and primal roughness with which he took her. She grabbed the sheet in her fists, her weight on her forearms while he pumped into her with powerful strokes that set off fireworks of lust in her belly, streaming out into her limbs, erasing all thoughts, every hard thrust launching an avalanche of the most primitive thrills along her nerves.
The sound of their bodies slapping together, flesh on flesh, of Basil’s moans and her own noises of helpless pleasure, drowned in the roar in her ears as she careened on the precipice of rough-edged bliss. Her legs and arms tingled, her vision flickered, the need in her building to a crescendo.
His finger on her clit, rubbing hard.
Then—a full-body detonation.
Pleasure hurled her high, high, high, out of the heat of her skin and Basil’s grip, before she slammed back into the physical reality of a climax that left her gasping for air in a shuddering body, thoroughly taken, ravished, destroyed.
Basil rode his own release with sharp, quick thrusts into her throbbing core, then bent over her back with one hand braced next to her on the bed, his breath heavy and fast. He rocked against her a few more times, drawing out the pleasure for them both.
They stayed like this for several thudding heartbeats, their bodies fused in the most intimate union.
He placed a kiss on her shoulder, stroked along her spine as he straightened back up again, and pulled out. The loss of his heat, of the hardness of his shaft, made her shiver. She collapsed on the bed, closed her eyes, floated in the haze of her sensual bliss.
The mattress dipped as Basil returned. “Here,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.
Opening her eyes, she turned to him, took the rag he held out to her, and quickly cleaned herself. He hauled her into his arms as soon as she tossed the rag aside, pulled her into the heat of his embrace, his love. That fire of his she wanted to wrap herself in, he’d thrust it straight into her, branding each and every one of her cells. She glowed with his warmth, his light.
Inhaling his scent of rain-kissed earth, she snuggled into him. “Basil?”
“Hm?”
“Isannarî,” she whispered.
“What’s that mean?”
She swallowed, drawing tiny circles with her fingers on his chest. “It’s my true name.”
His muscles tensed under her hands. He pushed her back just far enough to look at her, his face a study in disbelief. “Why are you telling me this? I thought you should keep that a secret?”
“I want to share it with you,” she said, and made sure he heard the emphasis and determination in her voice.
“Why?” His expression bordered on panicked. “If it’s so powerful, why would you trust anyone—”
She laid her hand on his mouth. “Not anyone. You. I trust you.” She caressed his lips with her thumb. “It’s a gift. I know you will honor it.”
The greatest intimacy she was capable of, the most precious part of herself she could give him—besides her life. If she had to go, she wanted to do so knowing she had shared what was a prerogative between fae mates, bonded for eternity.
He clasped his hand around hers, so much emotion written into the sculpted planes and angles of his face, into the earthen shades of his eyes. “I will. I swear on my life, I’ll never use it against you.”
She smiled, kissed his hand. “It makes me happy, knowing you’ll carry my true name in your heart.” Even after I’m gone.
Her conscience stung her again, and made it difficult to breathe. She damned her softened heart for not locking away what had no place here between them. And yet, doubt soured her happiness.
She struggled again with the urge to tell him, if not all, then at least that she was cursed to die. She failed miserably. Explaining it to him was an exercise in pain and futility, because there was nothing he could do to break it. Nothing she would allow him to do. For the only way to save her life was to take his, and even if he knew, if he were to offer, or worse yet, insist, she’d never let him make the sacrifice. No, sharing her fate with him would do nothing but break his heart twice—once now, when she told him, and the second time when death took her.
Would it have been fairer not to have sex with him, not to return his love? Maybe. She could have made it easier for him by continuing to refuse his advances. Her death would hit him harder now. It would have been the truly selfless thing to do, to push him away, to not further encourage his love…
Ah, but wasn’t she already selfless enough, giving up her life for his? This one thing, she wanted for herself…these few, fleeting moments in his arms, to be his true lover for the precious time they had left.
Chapter 21
The key jingled in Maeve’s hand when she unlocked the massive door to the Murray mansion. Stepping inside, she made sure to close the door carefully—she hated the loud bang when someone let it fall shut.
As she made her way through the foyer toward the kitchen, she heard them and smiled. Alek and Lily were home. After Basil went into Faerie, and Hazel left as well, Lily and Alek had moved in temporarily to keep her company. The house was awfully big for one person alone, and she appreciated having someone else around.
