“Yes, fuck.” Carys’ voice was midnight and then she went back to biting Greta’s neck and fucking her to within an inch of her life.

Tremors of pleasure began to shake Greta from her core, and when Carys swirled a thumb over her clit, her body clamped down in an orgasm so explosive that she nearly slammed her head into the wall. She screamed silently, biting on her own fist to dampen the sound.

Carys curled her fingertips over Greta’s G-spot, and another wave of orgasm gripped her.

She rode it out, blasted apart by pleasure, her heart thumping and the blood pulsing through her, leaving shivers of orgasm in its wake. When Carys slid her fingers out and brushed Greta’s clit again, she was so oversensitized that she jerked away and wrapped Carys in her arms to keep her still.

“Ohmygooodd,” she moaned. “You’re outrageous.”

Carys hummed her satisfaction and laid a kiss on Greta’s hair.

Suddenly, Carys tensed, and Greta tuned back in to the world around her. Voices were approaching, and she could hear someone say, “Is this the corner where…”

Carys turned them so her own back was to the approaching tourists and slid her hand out of Greta’s pants. With a dark look, she licked her fingertips, and shuddered with lust.

Two women rounded the corner and pointed to the tomb next to Greta and Carys, talking about it. They wore khakis and cotton sweaters and looked like they might be mother and daughter or perhaps sisters. They were reading from a printout, and both had cameras around their necks.

Carys gave a casual wave as she stood in front of Greta. “Enjoy the boneyard,” she called jovially as they walked off.

Greta snorted. “Oh god,” she groaned and collapsed onto Carys’ shoulder. She concentrated on making her legs support her weight and then pulled Carys back toward her. “What can I do for you?” she asked, running an appreciative hand over Carys’ breasts.

“Mmm, nothing. I feel great.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m very, very sure,” Carys said.

She raised the hand that had been inside Greta to her nose and breathed in deeply. Greta trembled and flushed. She buttoned her jeans, then kissed Carys deeply.

“That was magical, thank you.”

“We make our own magic, darlin’,” Carys said.

Chapter 19

Truman

It was an uncommonly sunny day for December—or so Ash said; Truman was used to it being a pleasant seventy-five degrees all month—and they were in Thorn. Ash was on the phone with a local farm on the mainland, discussing wildflower sourcing (and rolling his eyes rather dramatically at Truman in response to whatever was being said), and Truman was finishing up his own work for the day before he could get to the project he was excited about: designing a new logo for Thorn.