Without meaning to, Madeleine thrust her naked hips against Hæra’s clothed ones. Something…new…was happening between her legs. It was almost like pain, but it felt good, too. She wasn’t just warm or interested. She ached—heavy, full. Soaked. “Yours,” she groaned.

Hæra bent lower. Her mouth traveled downward. She had to crouch a little to reach her next destination.

Madeleine’s breasts.

At the first hot lick on her nipples, Madeleine cried out. It was heaven, or hell, or some third unearthly place where she wanted to live forever. A place of heat and light.

Hæra switched back and forth between her breasts while Madeleine ran her fingers through all that hair and then clutched her shoulders. She held Hæra close as she sobbed with need. Her breasts ached as badly as she did between her thighs, until she was nothing but one long throb, and she couldn’t stop rocking back and forth. Hæra sucked her hard enough that it ought to hurt, it did hurt, and she only needed more. “Please,” she moaned.

“You need this,” Hæra growled. “Say it.”

Madeleine dug her fingers into Hæra’s scalp. “I need it!”

I need it, I need it, I need it. What else could she say, or do? She was made of lack and necessity, ripe for the taking.

Hæra tugged her head back and straightened up. Her eyes flashed as she loomed over Madeleine. “Are you ready now?” She touched the top button of her shirt.

How strange to want something so much that you couldn’t speak. For answer, Madeleine reached out toward Hæra’s buttons herself. Her hands shook as if she was afraid—or as if she were in withdrawal. They shook so much she couldn’t open the top button. It didn’t want to slide through its hole. Madeleine tugged at it hard, then harder, and let loose a little cry. “I can’t get it!”

Hæra laid her hand over Madeleine’s. “It’s not for you to do.” Those blazing eyes burned their way through Madeleine. “You’re not in control of this. I am.”

Shouldn’t that be terrifying? It was safer to be in control, to decide when to start and stop, and to dictate how things happened. How strange that her knees went weak, that her mouth softened, and her every nerve begged her to let go. Let Hæra do whatever she wanted. Madeleine would want it too.

“Thank God,” she whispered.

Hæra unfastened her first button. She repeated, “Are you ready?”

“Please.” Madeleine clutched her hands into fists at her sides. Otherwise, she’d reach out and do what Hæra said she couldn’t. And then, would this end? No, it couldn’t end—Madeleine would do anything, anything⁠—