The skin around her nipples screamed as Morgan stroked it, and she writhed with unaccustomed sensitivity as her mind went white. Morgan bent her head and closed her lips over her right nipple. The hand not still pinning Emilia kneaded the other, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger, and lightning traveled through Emilia. Morgan’s tongue lashed her with fire as her climax took her by surprise. Up and up she sailed, Morgan’s teeth raking over her between exquisitely, almost painfully tender kisses, and she screamed into her father’s house as every filament of her being aligned.

“Did you . . .?” Morgan asked her when she regained consciousness.

“Holy. Fuck.” Each word was a struggle. Language was a struggle. Why were there so many words? Her body was a mess of nerve endings, each alive and desperate, and she shivered as Morgan’s breath passed over her skin.

“Holy fuck,” Morgan agreed, and another shudder passed through Emilia at the look of reverence on Morgan’s face. She let her head fall back as it claimed her.

Morgan’s hands tugged at her shorts, and she raised her hips to let her remove them. She seemed to know Emilia was in no condition to return the favor, because she kicked off the rest of her clothes before settling against Emilia again. The contact of skin on skin, softness and curves and muscles and bone and Morgan, Morgan—Emilia slid her hand between them.

“Emilia,” Morgan said as she parted her. “Oh god, Emilia.”

“Look at me.”

Morgan’s eyes flew open. Emilia entered her, and the full strength of Morgan’s body closed around her hand as Morgan propped herself on one elbow to hold her gaze. Emilia moved her hips in time with her hand, and Morgan’s body answered. The tight line of her stomach was just visible, but she forced herself not to look away from those slate blue eyes as she gathered Morgan to her, bringing her slowly and inexorably to the brink. She watched Morgan’s pupils expand as she came, but Morgan did not break their eye contact even as her body trembled and she breathed out Emilia’s name.

“You,” Emilia said in wonder as Morgan fought to hold herself upright.

“No. You,” said Morgan, and though she should not, in Emilia’s opinion, have been capable of such immediate reaction, she slipped three fingers inside Emilia, then four, rocking with her while her thumb teased her clit and the room spun again.

Her body no longer belonged to her. It belonged to Morgan, and Morgan eased more deeply into her with sure, strong, inexorable strokes. She opened. The complete and total surrender as Morgan filled her unlocked something. She arched against her, wanting her deeper, more totally, more completely than she’d ever wanted anything.