Pain.

Isa’s body was on fire. Waves of needle-fine agony rolled through her, followed by torrents of twisting, crushing, stinging pain while her organs were being compressed to the point of exploding.

Yanked out of the depths of sleep, her mind blanked at the pain wracking her body. Thoughts and impressions and lingering images of a dream fizzled into nothingness in the face of such devastating torment that an involuntary scream tore from her.

Pain and darkness—and a taste of death, drawing ever closer.

Through the flaming ruins of her mind, a voice filtered, made it past the lightning bolts of agony shooting through her nerves.

…got you…here…fine…

Every cell seemed to tear apart, her skin dissolving in acid.

That voice again, breaking through her pain, fighting it back.

“It’s all right. I’ve got you. I’m here. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

Basil.

With a choked sob, she pried her eyes open, and the boundaries of her world began and ended with his face. Even in the dark of the night, the fire having long burned down, every contour and line of his features was so clear, so vivid, finely honed like the marble sculptures of ancient human civilizations, beauty set in stone.

Her hand shot up of its own accord, her fingers gliding over his cheek, his nose, his lips. His eyes widened. The flecks of light brown in them sparked, shone like crystals struck by the sun.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.

Another wave of pain slammed into her, and she dropped her hand, balled it into a fist. Basil pulled her closer into his arms, buried his face in her neck, one hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair. He murmured words of comfort, a trembling edge of agony in his voice, as if he, too, was hurting.

She grabbed on to him, dug her fingers into his shirt, held on to him for dear life. He was her anchor, keeping her afloat in a sea of torment, making sure she didn’t drown.

When the last sting of the seizure subsided, she found herself with her nose pressed to the crook of his neck, inhaling the warm earth of his scent. His heat seeped into her bones. He was still stroking her hair, his breath fanning against her ear. They both moved their heads at the same time, and in the next second, her lips brushed over his.

The fine cascade of pleasure that ran through her rocked her to the core, made her gasp. He studied her reaction, with his face so close to hers there was hardly any space between them, and slowly, deliberately, returned the soft kiss. Her nerve endings lit up again—this time with arousal.

Her mind still raw from the seizure, she wasn’t thinking, her guard stripped away, exposing the hungry, primal creature underneath. She leaned forward, met his mouth again, with more pressure and urgency. More, she wanted more.

His fingers tangled in her hair as he obliged her request, thrust his tongue between her lips. Reason and sense nullified by the storm of pain that had wrecked her, she only craved, demanded, needed.

She rolled her body against his, seeking more touch to wash away the memory of pain. He half-groaned into her mouth, and gently bit her lip as he moved his hand down from her head over her back to her butt, pulled her against him—and his hardening shaft.

Feeling his desire for her fired off another cascade of sparks. She rotated her hips, rubbing against him, and moaned when he tightened his grip on her bottom. His mouth moved to her neck, where he kissed and licked along the lines of her throat. What would it be like to feel the heat of his tongue against her nipple? Within the flash of a second, nothing else mattered more than finding out.

She slid her hands to her front, unbuckled the clasps that held her reinforced tunic together, fumbled with the tie on her undergarment.

“Let me,” he murmured and took over.

Less than a heartbeat later, he pushed aside the fabric covering her breasts, and the chill night air brushed her skin. Her nipples pebbled, anxious for his touch. And he didn’t make her wait.

Tracing the dark ring of her areola with one finger, he pinched her tight bud between thumb and forefinger, just enough to make her back bow and her breasts strain toward him.

“Your mouth,” she rasped. “I want your mouth.”

The glint in his eyes mirrored the wickedness of his smile. “So demanding.” He licked over her nipple, then blew on it. “So perfect,” he whispered, and closed his mouth over her breast.

He sucked, let her feel his teeth, made her writhe under the zings of pleasure that arrowed straight down to the juncture between her legs. Molten lust flowed through her, centered throbbing in the spot she wanted him to touch above all others.

As if reading her thoughts, he brought his hand from her bottom to the front of her hips, cupped her over the fabric of her pants. She uttered a choked sound at the wonderful pressure of his hand on her aching core, and rubbed herself against his fingers.

Her nerves were on fire, for the best of reasons.

He moved on to her other breast, licked and nipped and sucked until she was strung tighter than a bowstring drawn back with an arrow. Her arousal had reached the level of dull pain, and she craved relief with a force that made her tremble.

Ever attuned to her needs, he made short work of the fastening of her pants and slid his hand inside, through her intimate curls to the swollen, sensitive flesh already slick with her desire.

Ye Fates.

Dropping her head back against the ground, she closed her eyes on a sigh, while she succumbed to shivers of pleasure at his touch. He slid two fingers inside her while he rubbed the heel of his hand over her mound, massaged the throbbing center of her arousal at the same time as he pumped his fingers in and out of her.

His teeth brushed over her nipple—and then he bit.

Starbursts of pleasure behind her eyes, an earthquake of lust and sweet, sweet relief rocking her body, warm bliss surging into every last corner of her soul.

He did something wicked, a twist of his hand, another finger added—and she came apart at the seams once more in a vicious, addictive high of an orgasm unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

She floated down from that rush of rapture, aided by hungry kisses on her cleavage, her neck, while the gleaming gold of Basil’s hair became her focal point, the night air chill on her exposed skin…and those torn-down walls of reason and sense rose again. She blinked at the twisted reality she’d allowed to unfold.

Oh, no. She hadn’t actually—

She bit back her sound of dismay. When her eyes met Basil’s, she shook her head, pulling her garments together over her chest.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” She scooted out of his arms, struggled to her feet. With trembling hands, she fastened her pants. “I’m sorry. This can’t happen again.”

“Why not?” Basil sat up, his expression part lingering lust, part open concern, with a hint of frustration. “Talk to me, Isa. I’m sure we can work it out.”

“Not this,” she whispered, her heart twisting into a knot of barbed wire.

She shook her head again when he wanted to argue, grabbed her sleeping mat, and moved it over to another corner of the cave. Lying down with her back to him, she closed her eyes tight, gritted her teeth. Her body still tingled from his touch, her core throbbing with the aftershocks of the most exquisite pleasure she’d ever felt.

She wanted nothing more than to crawl back to him, to give him the same kind of pleasure, to see him come apart under her caresses. She yearned to fall asleep in his arms instead of five feet away from him, wrapped in the shame of her thoughtlessness.

Because thoughtless she’d been. She should have never let it come this far, should never have encouraged the passion between them to flare into a blinding blaze. It wasn’t fair to him.

She needed to save his life soon, before her soul broke under the pressure.

* * *

Basil flopped down face first on his sleeping bag and stifled a groan of frustration. His cock was so hard and aching, he thought he might explode like an untried teenager. His fingers still carried the scent of Isa’s arousal, driving him crazy with lust.

Gods damn, but she’d been so passionate, so unrestrained, demanding her pleasure, begging for his touch, and he’d been more than happy to deliver. After that first kiss, he’d known there lurked a fierce hunger underneath her composure, but this just now? It had blown his estimate of the level of her passion out of the water.

And, of course, now his desire to get her naked and riding him into blissful oblivion had only increased a gazillionfold.

Based on her retreat, however, that option seemed highly unlikely to ever become a reality. She’d apologized to him. Apologized. As if she’d done something wrong. What was going on with her? What was the reason behind her adamant resistance to give in to her attraction to him? How bad did it have to be that she couldn’t even tell him? I just don’t get it.

He thumped his forehead on the ground a few times and valiantly tried to convince his balls to just let it go and stop hurting. By the Powers, she was killing him.