His own climax slammed up the base of his spine, and it was all too fast. It came on too strong, sank invisible teeth into him, and it wouldn’t let go. Groaning, he spurted into her. He was so blinded by the extreme pleasure, he was only vaguely aware of how she rocked with him, encouraging every last ripple.

It wasn’t enough. It couldn’t ever be nearly enough.

He needed to continue, to go deeper, spill more of himself into her, until there was nothing left of him to give. Until there was no turning back.

A shock of realization slapped him.

What he needed to do – it was absolutely the one thing he shouldn’t.

Gasping, he withdrew. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. His cock was still so stiff and aching, he couldn’t bear to touch himself, while he buried his face in the extravagant dark pool of her hair.

I can’t fall in love with you, he thought.

But it was too late for that. He was already in love with her.

It had been too late from that moment at the masque when he took her hand and tucked it gently into the crook of his arm.

He had always been a little in love with her. How could he not be? Falling the rest of the way had felt so effortless, so right. All it had taken was spending a little time with her, talking to her, holding her in his arms.

I can’t mate with you and leave you. And I can’t stay with you either. There’s too much distance lying between us, too many impossible barriers.

She cupped his cheek and tried to meet his eyes.

“It’s not you,” he said. He sounded too harsh, and concern darkened her expression. “It’s not this. It’s me.”

“What can I do?” she whispered.

“Nothing. I just want this too much.” He yanked her cloak off his back and shoved it into her hands. Everything he did was too rough, but he couldn’t control himself. He realized he had been so on fire to get inside her, he hadn’t even gotten fully undressed.

Tearing off his clothes, he stood when he was entirely nude. His cock ached fiercely. So did his soul.

He realized he could see more of the clearing than he could earlier, and he looked up at the eastern sky. The pale gray of predawn crowned the neighboring trees. It was almost dawn. They had run out of time.

Striding away, he headed for the river. When he reached the bank, he dove in. Icy water closed over his head.

It was the only way he could think to quench the fire that ran in his veins.

I can’t mate with you and hope to live.

EIGHT

L

eft alone by the fire, Bel curled on her side and drew her knees to her chest. She stared sightlessly at the dying flames.

Making love with Graydon had been more raw and elemental than she could have imagined. It had also been over much too quickly. Sharing that sense of closeness and pleasure, the urgent need for each other. His body was so powerful, and he used it so gently. She fingered one of her nipples, still sensitized and swollen from his mouth.

She loved sensuality, and she enjoyed making love. She’d had other lovers besides Calondir, both before marrying him and after they had decided to reunite for the sake of the baby.

But the community they had established in South Carolina was a close-knit one, and she hadn’t taken a lover since they had created the Elven demesne, so long ago. She had set that part of herself aside and focused on the many other aspects of her life.

She felt as if she had drifted into a state where she had been only half-alive, partially awake, but now her sexuality had flared to life again, opening all her senses.

The ground felt harder, the air cooler, the fire warmer. Her skin was hypersensitive to the weight of her cloak and the uneven folds of his coats underneath. Unaccustomed to being with a man, the private place between her legs throbbed.

The look on his face as he left her. Her emotions felt heightened too, and the pleasure she had felt turned to ashes. Her eyes filled.

Blinking back the wetness, she searched for the handkerchief from the parcel of food. When she found it, she used it to clean the inside of her thighs. Then, as the clearing lightened with dawn, she dressed.

Funny. She had been so warm before, she had felt like she was burning up. Now she felt so cold, her bones ached.

She kicked apart the dying fire and began to toss dirt onto the most stubborn of the embers. As she worked, Graydon returned in silence.

He was naked, of course, and dripping wet, and completely unself-conscious about his nudity. He moved fluidly, without affectation or hesitation, like an animal.

Staring at him, she forgot what she was doing. They had coupled together in such an uncontrolled, heated rush, this was the first time she had truly seen all of him.

Unclothed, his masculine body was lethal in its perfection. He was the same golden tan all over, his tall broad bone structure wrapped with heavy, powerful muscles. The sprinkle of dark brown hair on his chest arrowed down his long, rippling abdomen to his groin.

No longer erect, his penis was still large and heavy. It lay in a thick arc over round, tight testicles. She swallowed as she looked at him. No wonder she was so sore.

She dragged her eyes up to his closed expression. His jaw was tight, and he held the firm lines of his mouth in an uncharacteristically stern line.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “If I had been thinking more clearly, I wouldn’t have started dousing the fire before you’d had a chance to dry off and dress.”

With the back of one hand, he swiped at a droplet of water on the end of his nose. “It’s all right. I needed the cold.”

He wasn’t deliberately being mean or cruel. She didn’t believe he could ever be that with her. He had simply closed himself off emotionally, in a way that he hadn’t been since he had stepped into her path at the masque.

Ducking her head, she went back to her task, not stopping until she was certain the fire had been extinguished. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he dragged on his clothes. It couldn’t be pleasant to dress while still wet, but he didn’t complain.