And he drank from her.

Deeper and deeper, until her movements grew needy and her noises desperate, her fingers that were fisted in his hair alternately pushing him closer and tugging him away.

He wanted to bring her to climax in that manner first, to assure it and to prepare her to take him, but the pushing at his head became tugging as she breathed, “No…I can’t…I don’t want to be…not before you, without you. True,” a fierce tug, “come inside.”

He should have fought it, but in that moment, the want in her tone, the desire in his body, he could not.

He swept over her, hazily taking in the beauty of desire softening her features, heating her amber eyes, and he covered her, careful of his weight even if she’d assured him her wound was healed.

“I am not small,” he had the presence of mind to murmur.

“I noticed and I don’t care.” She had strength in her tone, and in her fingers, which were clenching greedily at his arse.

Gods, his beautiful wife.

“Farah—”

“Make me yours.”

He dipped closer, gliding a finger along her hairline, it coming to him that they should slow this, be present in it, not lost to it.

“Farah—”

“I want to belong to you,” she whispered, and he grew still. “I yearn to belong to you, True. Please, il mia vita, it seems I’ve waited eternity. Please, my husband, make…me…yours.”

This was her wish, and his, he would give it to her.

To them.

True took hold of his shaft, found her with the head, and slowly, he eased inside.

He watched as her eyes closed in ecstasy when they became one.

And his body locked as her slick heat tightened around him.

She rounded him with all four limbs.

He stared at his wife, his queen, now his lover, just his love, her hair all over the pillows, vines of ivy creeping through the locks, and he did not notice this oddity.

He moved inside Farah, finally making her his, finally giving himself to her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he grunted, struggling not to climax, she felt that good, smelled that good, her pleasure looked that good.

She tightened further around him…everywhere.

He gritted his teeth and moved faster.

“Gods, yes,” she whimpered, her hips finding his rhythm.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice guttural.

He watched as she forced her eyes open.

“You’re mine,” he declared, the movement of his hips slipping out of his control, thus they hammered into hers, fast and hard.

“I’m yours,” she gasped.

“You’re mine forever, Farah,” he growled.

Her nails dug in at the base of his spine and the back of his neck.

He gloried in the bite of her claiming.

“I’m yours,” she whimpered, her movements frantic, her sex grasping, clutching, seizing.

Gods.

“And I am yours,” he told her.

Her dazed eyes focused on him and they grew wet.

“You are mine.” Her voice sounded like it would break.