it not? And the need for sex? It wasn’t even about having a child. It was about survival—
Wrath.
Oh, God, he was going to come up here. Whenever he was done talking to Tohr. And he was going to find her on the floor—and then what?
Even through the maelstrom of hormones, she was able to think that through to its conclusion—he was going to be in a horrible position: either service her and live with consequences he hated, or watch her suffer.
Which he would never do.
Her palms squeaked against the slick floor as she pushed her thousand-pound torso up. Climbing the drawer pulls like they were a ladder, she had to take a break at the counter level, her vision swimming, her eyes struggling to focus as her body begged for sex it simply couldn’t have.
Before she succumbed to this entirely, she was going to take care of things on her own.
Her hands were shaking so badly, it took her several tries to capture the kit, but eventually, she got the thing and brought it down to the floor. Time for another breather on the cool marble. But not too long a delay. The waves were coming harder and faster each time.
Fumbling fingers, the glass vial bouncing out of its tether, skittering away.
She was crying as she dragged her body after it, arm out, hand pawing—
“Beth,” a voice said. “Oh, God … Beth.”
A masculine palm came down from out of the sky, reaching for her, searching through thin air for her—and through the morass, she struggled to process the hows and whys—except then her body made the connection for her.
Wrath.
As his shitkickers came into her vision, her hormones blew up, responding to his presence by ratcheting up to a level that was Hell not just on Earth, but under her skin, boiling her blood, making her sex scream for what only he could give her.
But that could never be.
“Go…” she cried out in a cracked voice. “Drug me … or give me the—”
Wrath knelt down with her. “Beth—”
“Give me the drugs! I’ll do it—”
“I can’t let you—”
Pegging him with a hard stare, she didn’t have any energy to fight with him. “Give me the fucking drugs!”
Wrath’s body had begun to respond as he took the stairs up to their quarters—and by the time he made it into the bathroom, he knew exactly what was doing. As well as what the solution was: Every instinct in him was roaring to service his female, to ease her suffering in the only way that mattered.
Shaking himself, he dropped to his knees, patting around for her, following the sounds of her voice and the jerking movements of her body against the marble floor. She was incoherent, writhing in pain, lost to the throes of the needing.
“Give me the fucking drugs!”
It took a moment for her demand to sink in, and then he realized that this was a moment in life when the path that was presented had only two forks—and in his mind, neither was a good one.
“Wrath…” she groaned. “Wrath … just drug me.”
He thought of the kit he’d left on the counter. All he had to do was open it, fill a syringe and inject the morphine into her. And then her suffering would be eased—
Only partially, a part of him pointed out—
A fresh onslaught of need crushed Beth’s body, her gasp rising to the volume of another scream, her limbs knocking into him as she spasmed.
He wasn’t sure exactly when his mind made itself up. But suddenly, his hands were at the button fly of his leathers, the medication forgotten, the direction chosen.
“Hold on, leelan,” he grunted as he released his erection. “Hold on, I’m coming…”
Too fucking right.
Except as he felt around for her legs and went to take her jeans off, it took him for goddamn ever: Her body fought with him, thighs scissoring as she twisted and turned on the floor—but when he finally got the fuckers off her legs, he didn’t waste time. He forced her to be still, digging his hands into her hips, and then he—
Beth yelled out his name as he entered her, her nails tearing into his shoulders, her breasts shoving up against his chest. He came immediately, his balls tightening up and then releasing—and he wasn’t prepared for the response from her. As she orgasmed along with him, her sex milked him, pulling at his length, all but yanking at him—
He came again. So violently, he bit into his own tongue.
Pumping against her, pumping