Page 169 of Decimation

“Don’t,” I gasp. “Don’t wait. Fuck me. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Something breaks in him then, some leash he’s been holding onto for months. His hands grip my hips hard enough to leave fingerprints, and he pulls out almost all the way before slamming back in, and the force of it drives me harder against the tree. I wrap my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles behind his back, and the new angle lets him go even deeper.

“Yes, yes, yes…”

I’m babbling. I don’t know what I’m saying. The words are falling out of me like water, like prayer, like confession. Lazarus fucks me against the olive tree with rough, desperate strokes, each one driving a moan from my throat. His face is buried in my neck, his breath hot against my skin, his ruined voice whispering things I can barely understand.

“Mine. You’re mine. No one else’s. Never anyone else’s. My wife, my love, my everything…”

His hand snakes between our bodies, his thumb finding my clit, and the dual sensation pushes me right to the edge. I’m so close. I’m right there. The pleasure is building, coiling in my belly like a spring, and I know when it releases it’s going to shatter me into a thousand pieces.

“Come for me.” His voice is a command, a plea, a benediction. “Come on my cock, Leandra. Let me feel you. Let me feel you fall apart.”

I do.

The orgasm hits me like a wave, like a storm, like the hand of God reaching down and touching my spine. I scream his name, I think I scream his name, I can’t tell anymore. The world has gone white, gold and silver and the only thing that exists is the feeling of him inside me. The feeling of him holding me, the feeling of him groaning against my throat as he follows me over the edge.

His release is hot and wet inside me, pulsing with every beat of his heart and he keeps thrusting through it. Drawing out both our pleasure until we’re both trembling, oversensitive, and gasping for breath.

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

We’re still pressed against the olive tree, still joined together, still breathing hard. His forehead is resting against mine, and I can see the colours around him even with my eyes closed. They’re bright now, almost blinding. Joy, satisfaction, love and something deeper, something that might be peace.

“I love you,” he says, and his ruined voice is so soft I almost don’t hear it. “I know I’ve said it before. I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but I need you to know it. I need you to believe it.”

I open my eyes. His face is inches from mine, his scarred throat visible over his shoulder, his dark eyes searching my face like he’s looking for something he’s afraid he won’t find.

“I believe you,” I whisper. “I love you too.”

He kisses me then. Not rough and desperate like before, but soft. Tender. A kiss that tastes like salt, sex, and something that might be tears.

Eventually he pulls out of me, and I wince at the sudden emptiness. He tucks himself back into his trousers with movements that are almost businesslike, then bends to help me adjust my dress. The straps are torn beyond repair, but he just smiles and shrugs off his shirt, draping it over my shoulders. It smells like him; sandalwood, sweat and something darker, something that belongs only to Lazarus.

“We should go inside,” he says. “You’ll get cold.”

“In a minute.” I lean against him, my head resting on his bare chest, my eyes fixed on the stars. “I want to stay here for a minute. I want to remember this.”

His arm wraps around me, holding me close. The silence stretches out, comfortable and warm, and I feel something I haven’t felt in years.

Safe.

Not the fragile, temporary safety of locked doors and armed guards. Not the desperate safety of a hostage who’s learned to please her captor. Real safety. The kind that comes from knowing the person beside you would burn the world down to keep you warm.

“The stars are beautiful,” I murmur.

“I told you,” he says. “I was looking at you.”

I laugh and elbow him in the ribs, and he laughs too. A rough, broken sound that’s still not quite what his voice used to be, but closer. Closer every day.

“Come on,” he says, tugging me gently toward the villa. “Let’s go to bed. We have a lifetime to look at stars.”

“A lifetime,” I repeat. “That’s a long time.”

“Not long enough.” His arm tightens around me. “Not nearly long enough.”

We walk back through the garden, past the roses, the fountain, and the cypress trees standing sentinel in the dark. The villa lights glow warm and golden ahead of us. Tomorrow there will be meetings with the Senate, reports from Chapter Lords, decisions to make, enemies to watch and a thousand small fires that need putting out.

But tonight, there’s this.