The Cursed - By L.A. Banks Page 0,105

a hump in his back, and made his tattoo solid gold.

"I love you so much, want you to be safe, want us to be one, want a home, Carlos, a family, everything in this life, just with you," she said, beginning to cry. She didn't care if she was babbling, didn't care that she was bordering on hysteria - didn't he understand, she wasn't playing. "I wanna grow old with my man, see our babies grow up, I wanna still be your baby when I'm sixty-five, and wanna love you like this 'til the end of time." He couldn't piece together even a mental reply. Every thing was coming out of his mind in short bursts like his breath. Her admission wrecked him, took him to a place where there was no game in him. Core meltdown, her angel touch was dredging pleasure paradigms unfound, hidden cells within cells, loading in his shaft with pressure, unreleased, unrelenting, his body tethered to hers, unable to spend itself without her, filling his sac with such need that tears wet his face as his mind emptied first.

"Whatever you want," he gasped, "I want." It felt so good he was delirious, straight babbling. "Wherever, however, whenever, it's yours." Air scorched his lungs as he held her tighter, silver-gold sweat now flinging off his temples and hair with every hard stroke, running down his back, tickling the crack of his ass, wetting his balls as they swept against her. Then suddenly it felt like time had stopped, holding him hostage on the edge of a blinding release, his sanity was ransomed, and beneath him was the only person in the world that could set him free.

"Oh, God, Damali baby, I love you, I want all those things too, tesoro, everything, all of it. Just let it go!"

His voice broke with a wail as he felt her start to fall, pulling him, dragging him over the edge of the largest precipice he'd ever scaled. His fingernails ripped down the sheets as he fell; the pleasure bolt left his skull and his sac at the same time, thundered down his spine and imploded in his shaft. The first wave of what hit him was so intense that he couldn't even bite her, his body just jerked like lightning had struck him and was melting him down into white-hot protoplasm from the inside out. Everything within him poured out into her. Hot, sticky Neteru essence that made him holler as it left his body in strobes of ecstasy. She was sobbing when the second wave hit, and soon he realized she wasn't by herself. Feathers were everywhere; his tattoos were running from ice-cold silver to white-hot gold, pulling more seed up and out of him with each phase-shift until he buried his face in her shoulder ready to beg her to make it stop.

Soft hands slid down his wet back and dredged the last of it up and out of him with a shuddering moan. He dropped against her body so hard he was afraid he'd crushed her. It took a minute for his orientation to come back. That was the thing that he loved so much about making love to her, he could never tell how it was gonna go. V-point, creation-point, a chakra-bending experience, lit pulse-point foreplay that ended in him seeing stars ... or a mind-meld talk-dirty-to-me-baby, hard roll in the hay, or something profound just like this. He was half-scared of the places she could take him, truth be told. But he wouldn't give that part of their relationship up if a nine were at his skull.

"You okay?" he finally murmured between heavy breaths as he peeled himself away from her just enough to roll them both over.

"No," she whispered, hiding her face against his chest, sobbing hard. "It was so good ... I'm devastated."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN

If someone had put a gun to his head and asked him outright why was he sitting in the hotel lobby bar only a few hours after making crazy love to his wife, he wouldn't have been able to answer.

"You'd be one dead motherfucker," Carlos muttered into his Remy, setting the short rocks glass down hard on the bar.

One thing for sure was he needed space. They'd set up shop however many times before, built compounds and safe houses, even had lairs, and watched them be burned or sold. But there was something real different and real permanent about the way each woman on the team looked at

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