Bridget’s eyes popped open. Was she ready for more? Of course she was. She could repay the favor. “Always.”

Except, when she made a move to sit up, Victor pushed her back down with a hand between her breasts, and a moment later she felt the head of his shaft push through her wet folds.

“Ah…” she moaned as he filled her up so perfectly the sensation brought tears to her eyes. It had been a while since he’d been able to do that. Did it mean his body was finally getting accustomed to the treatment?

She hoped so, but the pleasure was too intense for her to focus on anything other than where their bodies connected in the primal dance of male and female completing each other in the most perfect way.

It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt that she’d missed this, but she still had enough presence of mind to swallow the words. The last thing Victor needed was a reminder of that.

There was no preamble, no slow build up, Victor went fast and hard from the first thrust on, as if afraid that his erection was going to falter at any moment and wanting to reach the finish line before it did.

She wanted that too.

Fates, she hadn’t realized how much she craved the feeling of his shaft swelling a moment before his seed shot out and filled her. It was about more than sex, more than pleasure, it was about the affirmation of life. Even though the chances of him giving her a child were slim to none, the possibility was there.

A miracle could happen, and she would have a piece of him to cherish forever. A little Victor or Victoria.

Damn, this was the least appropriate time for morbid thoughts.

Gripping his muscular ass, Bridget pushed up, meeting him thrust for thrust and relishing the delicious friction.

His entire focus on reaching the point of no return, Victor was breathing hard, and droplets of perspiration were dripping down his neck.

Afraid that any sound she made would break his concentration and ruin his forward momentum, Bridget clamped her teeth over her lower lip and kept pumping her hips up and down, following Victor’s increasing tempo.

This wasn’t about her, and she didn’t care if she got another orgasm out of it or not. This was for him.

Bridget almost cried with relief when Victor threw his head back and roared his release, and when his sperm hit her channel, she let herself go and climaxed along with him. It wasn’t an earth-shattering orgasm like the first he’d given her tonight, but it was so much more precious to her.

Letting go of his buttocks, she crossed her arms over his back, holding him so tightly to her, she was crushing him.

“Too tight?” she whispered in his ear when he started wheezing.

“A little. But don’t let go.”

She eased her hold. “Never. I got you.”

Fates, she was such a damn liar. It wasn’t a promise she could make. It wasn’t up to her, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who could blindly put her faith in the Fates and hope for the best.

It was such an impotent feeling.

What if she’d dedicated her time to cancer research instead of the elusive immortal genes?

Wasn’t that more important?

The guilt washing over her was irrational, her mind was aware of that, but it didn’t help her heart.

Even if she’d focused her entire medical career on researching cancer, chances were she would have not been more successful than others who did it on a much larger scale and collaborated their efforts. She was a one-woman show, and what she could do wasn’t enough to help her own people let alone humanity at large.

Still draped over her like a blanket, Victor croaked, “I need another shower.”

Bridget doubted he had an iota of energy left. She could have lifted him and moved him aside, but that would have hurt his male ego. Instead, she gave him a light push. “Roll over, lover. I’ll get us some washcloths.”

He chuckled as he did what she’d asked. “I like it when you call me lover. Makes me feel manly.”

“You are all male, Victor.” She rolled the other way and got out of bed. “You don’t have an ounce of femininity in you.”

“Are you saying I’m not in touch with my feminine side?” he said as she headed for the bathroom.

Bridget laughed. “I’m afraid not.” He wasn’t in touch with his inner self, male or female, but that was a talk for another time.

Wetting a few washcloths, she wiped her herself clean before returning to the bedroom with the rest.

“You’re pampering me,” he said as she wiped his chest and then his neck.

“I love doing so. In fact, I should be doing it more often.”

Victor was so self-sufficient, it was easy to forget that pampering was not about fulfilling a real need but about showing affection. However, in Turner’s case, it might have been a real need.

He’d lived such a solitary life. The man was probably starving for someone to care for him and not even aware of it. Bridget suspected he’d suppressed all such yearnings a long time ago.

Victor looked at her with guilt in his blue-gray eyes. “You’re tired. I should be the one taking care of you.”

“Next time. It’s my turn tonight. I’m fully awake. It must be the adrenaline pumping me up.”

Fortunately, he seemed too spent to argue.

Bridget put the second used up washcloth away and picked up a fresh one. “Turn around. I want to wipe down your back.”

He did as she asked, and a minute or so later fell asleep, his deep rhythmic breaths causing her eyelids to droop.

When she was done with the fourth washcloth, Bridget dropped it on the nightstand, lay down next to Victor, and covered them both with the comforter.

“Good might, lover,” she whispered in his ear.

There was no answer.