at all.
She plastered herself against him and stood on her tiptoes, aligning herself against him, her every curve fitting so naturally to him.
He growled low in his throat and lifted her effortlessly off her feet. They traveled only a few steps before she was falling, descending. He came down over her on the bed, his solid body thrilling in its power and weight upon her.
He kissed her mouth, her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of her throat until she was moaning and arching against him.
Her hands wedged between them so that her fingers could access his clothes and tear at the fabric of his shirt with a desperate need. This, now, was everything. In this moment, she could forget the pain, forget what was and what was yet to come.
Buttons popped and flew through the air. A voice in her head told her to slow down, to enjoy and memorize this moment, the last she would have. But it was that same voice which made her rush greedily ahead and seize this, him—a memory to keep her warm for generations of lonely, bitter cold.
His hands moved with more finesse but were no less quick. Everywhere he touched, she burned, felt alive, connected to another soul.
She cupped his face in her hands, stilling for a moment. Her palms flexed over his cheeks, reveling in the rough scrape of his bristly jaw. She gazed up into his eyes. The light there was nearly blinding, and she marveled that she’d done that to him. She’d brought out that desire in him. The intensity of his gaze stripped her of everything, made her feel bare and exposed—as if he could see to the core of her. All her secrets … including the terrible thing she was about to do. She had to do.
“It’s going to be all right, Darby.” His voice stroked her like the brush of a feather. His fingers brushed her cheek with such tenderness that a sob rose up in her throat. “We’re going to find Aimee.”
Staring into his beautiful face, she wanted to believe that. Wanted it to be true. And maybe … maybe it was.
But it was a chance she couldn’t take.
She wasn’t going to gamble with Aimee’s life. Not when every moment that passed, a piece of her might be dying at Cyprian’s hands.
She knew what she had to do. She saw it so clearly—even as she saw herself in Aimee. Alone. Motherless because her mother couldn’t protect her, help her … Just like Darby’s own mother, Aimee’s mother hadn’t even been able to protect her.
Luckily, Darby had her aunts to take her in. Darby shuddered to think what would have happened to her without her aunts. She would never have made it.
Aimee had no one. No one but Darby.
And Darby knew. She had to be there for Aimee. Had to do this thing for the girl. A girl who had a shot at a normal, happy life. The life Darby could never have.
Deep down, she had still been hoping, kidding herself that she did have a chance. Why else was she trying so hard to live, struggling with this cat-and-mouse existence that wasn’t really living at all?
She came up on her elbows and kissed him then, putting everything she had into it. Everything she ever had to give.
His hand delved between her thighs, playing against her, locating the little nub buried in her folds and rubbing, pressing, squeezing until she bucked against his hand.
She whimpered, thrusting her hips to meet him. He eased a finger inside her, working it slowly in, stretching her until a low moan spilled loose. Ducking his head, he claimed her lips, taking the sound deep into his mouth. He drank greedily from her, his kiss deepening, slick tongue sliding against hers in a sinuous dance.
She moaned as his finger withdrew, her hips moving forward, seeking. Her core burned, ached with need.
He tore his lips from hers with a broken gasp. Their heavy breaths mingled between them, warm as vapor. He dropped his forehead to hers, his glowing eyes probing, seeking, reading her hunger for him in her own unblinking stare.
Then she felt him pushing inside her. She hissed at the burning pleasure, the searing stretch of her inner muscles. Deeper, he penetrated her, and the pleasure grew, expanded.
With a groan, his fingers seized her hips, anchoring her for his repeated thrusts. She cried out at the swift, pounding pleasure.
One of his hands flew to the back of her head. His