Chapter 41 #2
A low growl rumbled from Baird's chest, and my body answered, light flaring brighter as I hurtled toward orgasm.
I pulled myself up, wrapping my arms around his neck, my pace demanding he fuck me harder, faster.
That strange, ancient voice rose from me again, a command to bind him to me.
“Come with me,” I said, not a question, but an order.
And I felt it—that same surge of electricity, but now focused where our bodies were joined. Pleasure tore through me, bright and overwhelming, and I cried out as it crested, the force of it dragging Baird with me. His answer was a raw, guttural sound, more animal than man or vampire.
Around us, our bodies still echoing with release, the light flared brighter still, gathering and condensing until it burned between us—an imploding star, white-hot, brilliant, impossibly dense.
Then, with a sound like a rushing breath, it collapsed inward, no larger than a coin, and drove itself into me just below my navel.
A deep ache bloomed where it entered me, bringing tears to my eyes.
I did the only thing I could: I pushed myself down on Baird's cock, crushing the head of it against my cervix.
That sharp, familiar pain was a welcome distraction, temporarily eclipsing the burning thing now lodged deep in my belly.
My pain blurred into a desperate, mounting pleasure as I ground against him.
Through our bond, Baird felt my agony and tried to pull back, confused, but I held him fast. The deep ache in my belly was being consumed by a sudden, blazing arousal.
With tears of pain in my eyes, I cupped his face.
My moans left no room for questions, and he understood without a word: I needed another release, to erase the hurt with ecstasy.
“Take what ye need from me, Mira. Take it,” he whispered against my cheek, the words repeated like a vow.
And then it happened.
The sensation surged through me—no longer contained, no longer held back—stealing my breath as it expanded outward, the inverse of what had come before. Where the light had gathered and burrowed into me, now it burst free, radiating through every part of me at once.
The world fell away.
There was only sensation. Only release. Only the echo of something vast and bright moving through us both. Whatever pain had ever existed dissolved in that instant, erased as if it had never been there at all.
I trembled in his arms, exhausted yet electrified, a confusing mix of spent and elated. Baird's breath was still ragged against my cheek. “Are ye alright, Mira?” he murmured, his voice thick with concern, a smear of blood still dark on his mouth.
When I pulled back to answer, a laugh escaped me, shaky and absurd, as I took in the glorious wreckage of us—blood, sweat, sticky champagne, and his release painting my skin.
My laughter seemed to quiet his worry. “I didn't know wedding night sex could do that, “ I said breathlessly. “Someone should have warned me.”
My joking eased his concern, but not completely.
His hand stayed firm at my back, anchoring me as though he didn't quite trust the world yet.
He brushed his thumb under my chin, wiping away a spot of blood—but his touch lingered, careful.
Listening. “That…felt different.” His voice tinged with the wonder of what we'd just experienced, two people with almost two years' worth of supernatural lovemaking between them, awestruck at something that defied even their explanation.
“Yeah,” I said. “Different.” I shook my head slowly, still picking through bits and pieces, flashes of light and brief memories of pain. “I thought for a moment, if this was how I died, it would be incredibly inconvenient,” I offered lightly.
“Ye don't have any pain now?” Baird's voice was low, a sheepish guilt that shadowing his eyes.
“I could feel it inside ye, and then the pain you were creating for yourself, pushing me as deep inside as ye could.” He swallowed, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting mine again.
“Does it always hurt that much when I'm deep like that, when I hold ye and ye can't ease off?” His expression was a fragile thing, torn between a desperate need to know and fear of the answer.
“I'm not going to lie to you,” I started, my voice still breathless.
“Sometimes it hurts, but sometimes…I want it to hurt. My orgasm is different then, pushing past that point of pain.” Just trying to explain it with him still inside me, soft now instead of hard, made me throb again with want.
“…those times, the pain makes the release even more intense.”
I squirmed off him, stretching out beside him on the bed.
He reached a hand between my legs, his palm covering my swollen flesh, and I arched against him, reveling in the masterful way he always seemed to know exactly what I needed.
“But I don't have the faintest explanation for what just happened,” I admitted, still dazed.
“I'm guessing that wasn't on your wedding-night bingo card.”
“No, Mira Campbell,” he said, and my heart gave a foolish little leap at the sound of my new name on his tongue. “That was not on my bingo card—though I'm still no' entirely certain what one is. But I appreciate the sentiment all the same.”
I caught his hand before he could pull it away, holding his gaze as I lifted it to my mouth. I tasted him—me and him, heat and hunger tangled together—bold and unashamed.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered, licking his hand clean.
He laughed softly, eyes bright, something tender threading through the humor. “What are ye sorry for, lass?”
“For all the laundry,” I said, stretching languidly like a satisfied cat, the wicked smile tugging at my lips entirely unrepentant.