Weeks later, she awoke to his touch on her shoulder. The morning air was cooler than usual. Or she was hotter. She could no longer tell.

“How are you?” he asked solicitously.

“Still fat as a bear,” she snapped. “These stupid things were never in my way before.”

She had never much considered her chest before. She was slim and in perfect condition. Her breasts had always been small and firm, polite enough not to impede her. But now . . . she’d given up on archery weeks ago. Not because it had become impossible, but because her pride could not bear the effect on her marksmanship.

“Rise and shine, Belkynn Kallon,” he smiled kindly at her. “It’s time we went down the mountain.”

“Down the mountain?”

“Yes,” he brushed her bangs back. They had grown too long too fast. Her hair was normally cut for practicality. But Damar had encouraged her to let it grow out for the sake of warmth. Her bangs hung to her chin already. “We’re going down to the Tribes.”

“To what end?” She frowned at him, willing him to get to the point he was pointedly avoiding.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, rising to fetch water.

She rose and stretched while he was away. They had worked together to tailor a maternity outfit for her that was both adjustable and protective. It fit more comfortably than her own skin these days. A slight cramp, a shift, and a jab reminded her that there was another soul protected there. She rubbed her belly and cooed to the growing person inside.

“You kick like a daughter of mine,” she told it fondly, disrobing to rub ointment into her skin. This had become a morning ritual with her; her warrior’s habit was to always dress first, but she understood the necessity of the ointment for her own and the child’s health.

“She’ll be her mother’s daughter in every way,” Damar replied, walking into the light with a pitcher and basin in his hands and water sacks harnessed over his shoulders.

“And what shall she take from her father?” Belkynn batted her eyelashes. Damar’s lips twitched into a grudging smile as he stowed the his burden and set himself to grooming her.

“I’d take your advances much more personal,” she said wryly. “But I know all your attention is about this parasite you embedded in me.”

“I don’t recall you objecting at the time,” he remarked casually, rubbing essential oils into the skin of her lower belly.

“You were drunk,” she sneered. “You likely don’t even remember it.”

“Who got me drunk?” he teased.

She reached out suddenly, seized with longing that was more overwhelming for the fear that shadowed it. Outside his cave, she might never touch him again. Her heart ached for him. Her skin glowed with the tender stone of his grip. Her heart thundered like cavalry hooves. Her skin grew hot, breathing grew suddenly shallow and fast.

“Belkynn Kallon,” his voice was the only tonic to soothe her. And yet it stank of rejection. She clutched him with determination, forcing herself to control her own desperation.

“No,” he said. He grasped her wrists for a moment, but his hands were oily, and her skills would not permit easy dissuasion. “Belkynn Kallon,” his voice was pleading, but now it was muddled with conflicting messages.

Desperation melted as her ear caught on the implications of his tone. He was begging her to make the decision he refused to make. He was begging for her to seduce him. He was hers now. At least for the moment. And what was there other than the moment.

She pulled him down to her, lying back on the furs and down mattress. He struggled, but was too conflicted to stop her. Panting with need and desire, she pulled his head down to her chest. Holding his head by the braided ponytail with her right hand, she removed the small cloth that covered her breasts. Using her hips for leverage, she pulled him down to lie beside her.

She could smell the musky response of his body now. She gasped at the sudden thrill of his lips on her nipple. Everything faded to the sound of three heartbeats, two gasping mouths, and the ecstasy of surrender. Scooting herself beneath him, she stripped him with a deftness that surprised her. Her experience with men had seldom called her to remove any clothing. The sense of control elated her. She pushed on.

His teeth grazed her nipple. She cried out. Pain or pleasure no longer mattered. He was hers. She was his. They were together. And their bodies were more brazen together than any beasts’. They transcended their bodies. She felt herself swell as though the mountain itself could no longer contain her. She was certain greater pleasure was never known.

And then he was inside her. She screamed with the first thrust of his passion. Pleasure so intense it felt almost like pain exploded between her thighs. Her own fire burned so hot that he met no resistance, sliding into her wet darkness in smooth, ardent strokes. Her head spun from it. She tasted salt, and realized that she had bitten into his shoulder. She pulled back, too enraptured to be appalled.

He pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue flicked in, caressing her own in an imitation of their grander act. His hands moved over her skin, teaching her pleasure in places she had not imagined. She shifted beneath him, changing to a position more appropriate for a woman large with child. Still, his hands and mouth taught her body new pleasures. He kissed the crook of her elbow, her wrist, the hollow behind her knees.

She was suddenly on top of him. She had conquered the mighty Damar. She lowered herself to engulf him fully. His flesh was hot even in the heat of her own fire, and stiff as ironwood. He was physically fit, though not the most endowed man she’d pleased herself with. Certainly the most skilled. The most amorous by far—and the most patient.

She pushed all thoughts aside and dwelt completely in the rocking, the lovely feel of sliding herself back and forth, up and down upon him. He sat up, reaching for her. He stroked her breasts with his thumb and forefinger, then nipped at them. Her back arched, and his mouth closed again upon her nipple. Shivers quaked up from between her legs, up her spine, through her entire world. Her wetness flooded over him as she engulfed him time and again and again.

The wave of pleasure built. He used his hands to cup her buttocks at first, helping her as she increased her tempo. She rocked against him. He slid into her. She slammed herself against him, feeling his heat and hardness fill her completely. His hand snaked around, and suddenly he was rubbing her the way she rubbed herself when alone. The pressure grew higher. She felt him pulse. His heat seemed to expand. Roseate passion turned to burnished gold. To silver. To molten-steel argent.

She felt the explosion of her own climax mix with his such that is seemed they were one. He was part of her. Not separate. Mingled. Alloy of heat, flesh, water, fire, earth, and star matter.

And then he was holding her in his arms; nothing more mattered.