Shuddering with another release, Anne pulled away, feeling the echo of his fingers as he unclasped his iron hold on her thighs. He’d never looked fiercer with want, his eyes hot, his mouth slick with her.

“I would give you that,” he rasped. “Every day, every hour.”

“And what for you?”

“Whatever you will give me.”

She edged backward and removed her chemise. In that cool gray morning, she was as exposed as he, naked in every way. Yet she felt stronger than ever.

Her knees pressing into the bed, she straddled him. Though he thrummed with want, he stayed as he was, lying back, feet on the floor and hands clutching the coverlet until his knuckles were white.

“This isn’t a promise,” she whispered.

“I know.”

She steadied herself over him, her hands braced on his chest, the head of his cock at her opening. At the touch of her wetness, he gave an animal growl.

His eyes were heavy-lidded yet fiery as she held herself above him, savoring even this small contact. And then she could wait no longer, and sank down onto him. She moaned at the sensation, thick inches of him sliding into her, filling her.

She paused for a moment, drinking in the feeling of him inside her. Looking down at him, she expected his eyes to be closed as he retreated into physical pleasure. But his eyes were open and fixed on her face. As if memorizing her.

Hot tears gathered in her own eyes. She wanted to be selfish and think only of herself, but the slick, sleek marvel of their joining, and the look of sorrowful rapture on his face, spoke otherwise. She had sought to test him, test herself, and now had her answer: their sex could never be merely two bodies pursuing mercenary pleasure. They needed balance, giving and taking.

“Anne,” he said, hoarse. He finally released his grip on the coverlet, his hand coming up to brush away her tears.

Using the back of her hand, she wiped her eyes, forcing the tears back. She did not know how much time she and Leo had left. She knew nothing at all. Only him. Only now.

She took his hand still cupping her cheek and moved it to her hip. Uncurled the fingers of his other hand and placed it on her other hip.

“Hold tight,” she whispered.

His eyes blazed.

She rose up, and lowered herself down. Hot sensation spread through her. She moved again. And again. Each rise and fall filled her with gleaming pleasure. Watching Leo beneath her, seeing the beat of his heart under the hard curves of his muscles, and the brightness of his gaze—she had never felt such a combination of ecstasy and suffering, and the darkness brought the pleasure into stark relief.

His hands gripped her tightly, his hips rising to meet hers with thick, potent thrusts. The tempo increased, flesh to flesh. She ground herself into him, shameless in her demands. Her tight, throbbing pearl rubbed against him, and he angled himself to reach her exactly as she needed.

Sounds came from her. Wild, unrestrained sounds. They mingled with his deep growls as their pace sped. And not once did their gazes part.

“Leo,” she moaned. “God.”

“Just like that,” he answered, panting.

She dug her fingers into his chest, leaving bright red marks. Release came like a hurricane, a storm of pleasure that wracked her every part, harrowing her with sensation. She did close her eyes then, tipping her head back as she lost herself to the climax.

The pulsations had barely dimmed when she felt herself gathered up and carried easily across the room. There was a crash and clatter as Leo shoved everything, including the food he had brought, off the table. He sat her on the table’s edge. At his wordless urging, she wrapped her legs around his hips, her hands clutching his shoulders, body already primed for more.

“I feared I would never feel this with you again,” he rasped. “That I had lost you forever.”

He gripped the table, gaining leverage, and thrust. Hard. She arched into him. He plunged into her again, and once more. The table shuddered from the force of his movements, just as she shuddered, yet she was caught in a maelstrom of pleasure from the fierce heat and power of him as he sank into her over and over. He was relentless, and she reveled in it. In him.

Another orgasm tore through her, harder than the first. She cried out. A moment later, he groaned, body stilling. Head bowed, he gasped against her neck, and his breath fanned over her skin.

They stayed like that, him still deep within her, their bodies fused.

“I love you, Anne.” His voice was deep, vibrating through her. “Even if the Devil drags me off to Hell, I will never stop loving you.”

She said nothing, only wrapped her arms around him and wished for answers that would not appear.

Leo woke with a start, and found Anne curled against him, his arms wrapped around her. She was soft and warm, deeply asleep. Darkness filled the room. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to soak up the feel of her, her supple pliancy and the silk of her flesh. It had been far too long since they had lain like this, completely at ease, unguarded—yet he knew it was an illusion shaped by fatigue. Though he had loved her body with a soul-draining intensity, she would not permit him this closeness were she not exhausted.

Pain, it seemed, had a limitless supply, for he felt it anew, cutting through him. He had always taken whatever he wanted, yet there seemed nothing he could do to make Anne his once more.

A soft tap sounded at the door. This had been what had awakened him moments earlier.

Naked, he eased out of bed, grabbing his primed pistol as he did so, and padded noiselessly to the door. Likely demons would not knock, nor common thieves, but he’d take no chances.

Whit’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Livia has returned.”

Leo opened the door a bare crack. “Is she in your room?”

“She appeared for only a moment. Doesn’t like populated places like inns. We’re to meet her by the river as soon as we can.”

Leo nodded, and closed the door. He turned to find Anne sitting up in bed, already pulling on her chemise. Though he was used to dressing in the dark, she was not, so he lit a candle. It guttered, until Anne gave it a pointed stare, and the flame steadied. More evidence of her strange new power.

In the pale yellow light of a single candle, they noiselessly dressed. The air in the little room felt filled with broken glass, each inhalation a study in pain. They were two strangers who had shared the deepest intimacy. He helped lace her into her gown, now stained and limp, and she thanked him with a small nod.

Dressed in his borrowed clothes, Leo put on his brace of pistols and slung his hunting musket onto his back. He had reloaded all of his weapons, ready for whatever might come. As Anne moved past him, he gently took hold of her arm.

She gazed up at him, stronger than he had ever seen her before, her hazel eyes clear.

“However long it takes,” he said quietly. “From this life to the next. I will find a way to regain your trust.”

“You have it,” she murmured. But she held him off with an upraised hand when he stepped closer. “I don’t know if it is enough. What we had ... is broken.”

“I’ll fix it. Make it as it was.”

She shook her head. “It can never go back to what it was. That is irrevocably lost.” She glanced down at his hand on her arm. “We have to leave.”

He did not want to, but he let her go, and they both left the room. At the doorway, she turned, then waved her hand. The candle winked out, throwing the chamber into darkness once more.

Down in the taproom, he purchased some bread, cheese, and apples, and had them packed into a hamper. “You need to eat,” he explained at Anne’s questioning look.

“What about you?”

“Take care of yourself first.” He had been hungry before. It had not killed him.