I lose count of the number of times we come together. As soon as a passionate round ends and we settle into one another, curving our bodies together, another spark of need ignites. We fuck on every inch of the suite, moving from the bedroom to the sitting room to the office, leaving a hurricane of destroyed furniture and general disarray in our wake. Our power is uncontrollable, aether exploding out of us in waves. Through it all, we don’t hurt one another, subconsciously protecting the other from the force of our magic.

We orgasm together again in the bathing chamber, Laurel pressed against the vanity and my eyes watching every movement from the mirror, hungry for whatever glimpse I can get of her as she comes. When we’re done, I stare at our reflections, matching marks over our hearts, hair tousled and unkempt. Words can’t describe the way Laurel looks, standing there with her hair hanging over her breasts, leaning on my body for support because of how satiated and relaxed she is. She meets my eyes, and I beam at her.

“You’re so perfect,” I murmur, kissing the top of her shoulder, the words not enough to convey the deep well of feelings I have when I think of her.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she teases. “But we’d both be more perfect if we bathed. We stink of sex.” I growl, the idea of her washing my scent off sending a possessive ripple through me. Laurel seems to understand, and I’m grateful that we’re going through the confusion of the mating bond together. “We can fuck again immediately,” she soothes, eyes bright. “But I need to relax my muscles for a minute and clean myself up.” Suddenly, worry for her consumes me. Have I hurt her? I’ve been demanding and exacting, without once thinking about how that might make her sore. Again, she seems to know my thoughts before they fully form in my mind. “You didn’t hurt me. I wanted every backbreaking thrust. Trust me.” Her eyes light up. “But I do want to soak for a minute, and this is my favorite bathtub in the entire kingdom.”

I look at the tub that’s big enough for four fully grown fae, dominating the bathing chamber. Laurel pads over to it, hips swaying, and channels steaming water to fill the tub. Then she walks to a built-in wardrobe and pulls out two plush robes and various soaps and creams. She dumps several of them into the running water before lowering her body into the mound of bubbles.

“Are you going to join me?” she asks, invitation in her eyes, and I’m in the tub in a flash. An involuntary moan escapes my lips at the steaming water that instantly releases the tension in my neck, arms, and legs. I lean my head back.