Carpathian 17 - Dark Celebration

thickening even more.
    Pleasure flashed through her. She kept her mind firmly merged in his, reading his every thought, every image, making adjustments to push his pleasure higher, until his hands gripped her hair, his hips thrust helplessly and guttural sounds escaped his throat.
    She felt his body tighten, the rush of fire spreading from his toes through his body straight to his groin. She took him deeper, finding the perfect rhythm so that he shuddered and muttered an expletive she'd never heard him use.
    "You're killing me," he whispered hoarsely.
    In a good way, Syndil knew. Her entire body reacted to the knowledge that she was pushing Barack to the very edge of his control. She wanted to shatter it, to do to him what he did to her. The power felt incredible, and the satisfaction even more so. She was almost euphoric with happiness, kissing her way up his belly to his chest, his throat, urging him over the top of her, so frantic to have him buried deep inside her she couldn't think of anything but pleasing him—pleasing herself.
    She fell back into the rose petal-covered snow, dragging him with her. Skin pressed to skin, hearts beat the same rhythm. She felt his weight settle over hers, his hands hard on her hips, his knee nudging her thighs apart. He thrust hard, entering her body, joining them together in one fiercely primitive stroke. Her nails dug into his shoulders. Lightning streaked through her body, and she cried out with drowning pleasure.
    He moved in her, hard, sure strokes, filling her emptiness until she felt as if she were soaring free. His hair slid over her skin, a sensuous silk brushing her already hypersensitive breasts. Her body tightened, muscles clenching and gripping as her hips rose to meet the fast rhythm of his. She moved slightly, adjusting her position, and his hands gripped her hard, holding her down.
    At once she was aware of her surroundings, of the man on top of her. Syndil looked up at the face, almost savage in his desire, red flames flickering in the depths of his black eyes.
    She could see his teeth, already lengthened, the muscles clearly defined in his arms.
    Syndil tried desperately to hold onto the passion that seemed to always be locked away inside her. It poured out on occasion, but somewhere, somehow, just when she thought she had conquered her fears, a door slammed shut and dammed up her needs, her physical desires, behind a wall of terror. She fought it, fought the rising panic and the memory of teeth biting at her, of brutal hands hurting her, of something obscene and unnatural ripping through her, taking her virginity without love or thought for her innocence. He had been family, a loved one, yet he had attacked her, nearly tearing out her throat, beating her, raping her in every way possible. She had fought until the bones in her hands were broken and her flesh was saturated with blood and she thought he would kill her.
    This wasn't Savon, her attacker, this was Barack, the man she loved above all others, yet she couldn't separate the two when Barack covered her body with his and held her down.
    She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't hear him trying to soothe her. She could only feel the weight of him crushing her, feel the grip of his hands, see the glow of red flames in his eyes.
    "Stop." She whispered the word, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Her throat swelled, threatening to choke her. "Stop. Oh, God, Barack, you have to stop." Her voice swung toward hysteria as her control shattered, her mind seemed to fragment and she couldn't distinguish past from present. She began to fight him, hitting hard, clawing at his face, pushing at his chest.
    She drew blood before he caught her wrists, shaking her head back and forth to avoid his mouth when he bent close. He whispered something to her, but she couldn't hear him, caught up in the deadly illusion she couldn't seem to escape.
    Barack groaned and rolled off her, to lie faceup in the snow, staring at the flakes as they fell from the sky. He slung one arm across his eyes to hide his expression, shielding his mind so she couldn't see the anguish and frustration filling him. He wanted to roar with rage to the heavens, but he stayed silent, struggling to bring his body under control. He heard her choke back a sob, and turned his head toward her.

    Tear sparkled like diamonds in her eyes, trailed down her face to drop into the snow-covered ground. "I'm sorry, Barack. I'm sorry. What's wrong with me?" She