Holidays are Hell

Warren lifted her and Zoe didn't rail at him for manhandling her like she would have with anyone else. She didn't fight to assert her own control over this lovemaking just to prove she could. She just let herself be swept up and away, because the weakening of her knees, her limbs, the numbing of her mind and thoughts, had nothing to do with his otherworldly strength versus her much-hated humanity. It was just Warren loving Zoe as he always had. Loving her, she thought numbly as his mouth found hers, and not what she could do… what she had done, and would do yet. No, this night was all about being cradled and cherished by the only man she'd ever taken into her with no ulterior motive outside of giving as good as she got.

Which is what she did now.

Humanity hadn't stolen her agility, and when he swung her to her back, her legs whipped up and around his waist. His response, to grind against her, was automatic, as was the moan coaxed from his throat and into hers. Problem was, she was still clothed—they both were—so many of the soft growls and needy whimpers that escaped them both in the next few seconds were driven in part by frustration. The rest were spawned by sudden sensations—a palm cupped just there when her simple cotton shirt was finally lost, a hunger emphasized by the bite above the breast, a surprised laugh at the responding pinch. And a slow melt into the heat of each other's flesh as the rest of their clothes fell away.

Zoe had dreamed of this moment, and these sensations for too long to rush. She arched against him whenever she got the chance, but kept it light and unhurried, just a caress of thighs, a skimming of skin, a slow glide from her belly to her thighs to show him she was already wet and ready for him. That she'd been ready for years now, waiting even as duty had kept her away.

One didn't need supersenses to quantify need, and Zoe felt Warren, too, straining to stay himself. He slowed his hands to a languid caress even as the need to race along her sides made him shudder. He tasted her with breathy and heated lips—not just sampling, but drinking her in like her skin was a sweet liquid and vital to his very existence.

This was what she missed most, Zoe thought as she eased over him, blanketing him with her core, lacing his limbs with hers. It wasn't her lost strength or the vitality leached from her world with the stripping of her extrasensory abilities. It was the union of mind, body, and spirit with a man, who'd known her so long, understood her so well, and frustrated her so completely.

Zoe eased up, Warren shifted, skimming hips, and smiled as he slid home. Zoe swallowed hard. She could swim in this liquid motion, just let herself drift away as a body both outside and inside herself determined the beat of her steadfast heart. She rocked, feeling like she was mere driftwood on a vast open sea, and the only thing keeping her from floating away entirely was the knowledge that their time together was finite—that the sun would rise and their bodies would part, leaving behind slick thighs and an hollowness where he once resided.

Zoe wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand on her way to caressing Warren's cheek, pulling him closer and deeper as she pushed the thoughts away. She didn't want to swim in these feelings, anyway. She wanted to drown in them. And that wasn't allowed.

"Zoe—"

She pressed a finger to his lips, knowing he sensed her pain. She recalled the ability, and the way emotions burning on the air. He wanted to console her, but words weren't going to fix it, and besides, he felt the same way. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his tensing fingers and the way he pulsed inside of her.

And that was comfort enough.

She smiled, being as brave as the moment would allow, and his image blurred beneath her. The first tear fell as she refitted her body against his, opening to him further, and inviting the hard and the soft, the warm and the wet. And when they came together, the tendons in his neck straining as he cried out below her, Zoe knew she wasn't just sating him, she was completing him. Because duty aside, Zoe Archer and Warren Clarke were simply made for one another. And when she collapsed atop him, the long smooth length of him still filling her, warming her, she knew that Warren had come home as well.

Later, when he was as bone-weary with the need for sleep as she, Warren wrapped his arms around her from behind, spooning her body with his own.

"You're wrong," he finally whispered, and she knew he would let her go.

Zoe smiled bittersweetly as his hands warmed her breasts, nuzzling back, cocooning herself further. Safe for now. "If I am you won't need to ask me to relinquish my star sign again. It'll be someone else's for the taking."

A sigh hollowed out his body.

She turned in his arms because it felt like there were suddenly acres and canyons and miles between them, and quickly drew close again. "But I'm not wrong. I have prophesies and legacies and adventures left to fulfill."