Inhuman

he said nothing, but his thoughts sped up and a rosy hue brightened the purple they swam in. And his heart beat faster. "You're right," he said at last. "I'm afraid. I hadn't realized that."
    "Okay." She nodded. "Good. So am I." And she reached for his head and put her hands behind it, went up on tiptoe, and kissed him.
    His lips were warm and, for two difficult seconds, completely still. Then he quivered. And exploded.
    His arms took over, binding her tightly to him. He wanted his mouth everywhere, not just on hers. He kissed her chin, the crest of her cheek, and licked her ear, then kissed her eyes closed and ran the tip of his tongue along the base of the lashes. Then returned to her mouth. "Beautiful, beautiful," he crooned, his breath soft and warm against her lips. "So beautiful."
    It was true. Nathan never lied. Under the glory of his hands coursing her back, her arms, her hips, with his mouth making magic on her skin, she was beautiful. She tried to tell him the same with her mouth and hands—that he was splendid, glorious, and hers. Hers. In this moment, if only for this moment, he was hers.
    "A moment," he said, tearing his mouth away to lean his forehead against hers. His breath came fast. "It's been so long… I need a moment, or my control—"
    "Nathan." She cupped his face in her two hands. "Will you hurt me? If you turn loose of your bloody control, is there any chance you would hurt me?"
    His eyes were so dark, the pupils dilated. So intent. He shook his head once, his eyes never losing their focus on her. "But it's been so long. I don't… expectations are different than they used to be. I want to do right by you."
    Her breath huffed out. "You don't have to do this right. There is no right way because there is no wrong way, not between us. Do you understand? You can't do this wrong."
    "Oh." He blinked. "Oh!" And he laughed, delighted, and the sound of it was young and beautiful. Beautiful. "I see. Of course. You're wise, Kai.
My
Kai." The possessive came out fierce, startling her for an instant—just long enough for him to sweep her into his arms.
    He laid her on one of the sleeping bags and crouched over her on hands and knees, tugging off her jacket, then her shirt—a stretchy knit, which was good, because he was not patient with the fabric. And kissing her, kissing whatever part of her his mouth happened to be near as he stripped her.
    She was hard put to keep up, but she managed to get his shirt off and his pants unzipped before he yanked her jeans off. And her panties. And her bra. He moved her hands aside and finished stripping himself with the same ruthless efficiency he'd used on her. Her eyes widened briefly as he removed the sheath on his leg—a sheath and a knife she hadn't known was there.
    Then he lay down beside her and held her, just held her, pressing skin to skin, touching her hair, her breasts, and whispering to her—English words like "soft" and "beautiful." Words in other languages—French, Spanish, what might be Russian. Words in tongues she'd never heard or heard of.
    Her name sounded the same in all of them.
    Her hands acquainted themselves with him, too—sandpaper skin on his cheeks, where his beard was growing. Softer skin on his flanks and bottom, coarse hair on thighs tight with muscle. The fascinating flex of muscles in his back and shoulders as he stroked her.
    Need pooled in her belly. When his lips closed over her nipple, the liquid tugging turned her as hasty as a kid waking up on Christmas morning. "Now," she said, and, "Oh, yes," as he played with her. "Oh, lovely. Yes. But now, Nathan." She wrapped her hand around him, hard and twitching, and he trembled.
    But he wasn't finished. He told her so, and he found more places to touch, turning her on her side, lifting her leg, exploring her until she trembled and clutched him and panted. Before panting turned to cursing—barely before—steady, imperturbable Nathan suddenly shook all over. He flipped her onto her back and centered himself over her and drove home.
    With his second stroke, she exploded. On the third, he did, too.
    Eons later they lay in the crumpled dark with breaths and legs tangled together, the one still quick, the other limp. Kai found enough wind to say, "I always thought that was an old wives' tale. And I didn't do it myself, either."
    "What?" He stroked her hair.
    "I've gone blind."
    He choked on a laugh. "No, but the mage light… you were right, but so was I. Normally keeping it going is