But one thing I could count on was Ashley’s unnatural ability to only show the face he wanted people to see. No one in this room would guess what he was feeling or thinking. Or hearing.

I gave his fingers a hard hug with mine, and he squeezed back.

“Time starts now.” Madwulf tipped the hourglass.

Ten minutes. I drew in a breath and stared into the molten silver of Priest’s stunning eyes.

Never had there been a pirate more gorgeous or seductively built than him. He exemplified manly beauty and virility. Staring at him this close, I was immediately overcome, shook to my soul with love and longing.

Hypnotized, I lost myself in our connection, sinking fast and deep into the mystical alchemy that bound us together so intensely.

Light fingertips tickled between my legs, stirring nerve endings. Calloused fingers. Familiar. Comforting.

“One finger.” Madwulf’s brogue broke through the spell, tensing my spine. “And I require proof of her lust.”

“Every time you speak,” Priest snarled over his shoulder, “the sand begins anew. Start it over!”

“Fine.” Madwulf reset the hourglass. “Carry on.”

Sweat slicked my hands. Ashley’s sweat? Mine? We were both perspiring in the clasp of our entwined fingers, the tension unbearable.

Priest set his mouth on my jaw, breathing easily, patiently, as his finger slid along the slit between my legs.

I felt dry down there. Perhaps too dehydrated to produce natural lubricant. But for Priest to succeed, it wouldn’t be the physical pleasure that sent me over. It would be our emotional connection. I needed him on that level more than any other.

So I focused on his dependable gaze, on the thoughts he couldn’t voice that swirled so turbulently in those eyes. He penetrated me completely, without so much as the tip of his finger in my body.

He penetrated me with his adoration, the force of his steadfast tenacity.

He’d been inside me for three years, stretching out, rearranging things, and making a home for himself. He was stronger than my heart, bigger than my soul, and more powerful than my mind. He symbolized the deepest level of love. Not because he was kneeling beneath me and fingering my cunt, but because he never gave up on me.

I knew he would find me. Never doubted it. I shouldn’t have run from him two years ago. I’d been too narrow-minded, too narrow-hearted to hear him, to understand his tragedy in loving two people.

I’d been wrong.

His finger circled my center, never dipping, never entering. The motion was exquisite, overwhelmingly tender, lulling me under his sensual spell.