Page 87 of The Secrets of Roan Island

“Fuck me,” Noah groans and lets go of my hands, adjusting and supporting me with a tight grip on my ass. He notches his head at my opening.

“Yes. Yes. Do that.”

Without preamble, his hard cock rams into me, and I cry out from both the pain and the pleasure, stretched to the limit as he fills me completely.

“See,” he groans, pulling out, then pushing back in. “I told you it would fit.”

“Yes!” I cry out with a strangled gasp at the beautiful invasion. “I feel you everywhere.”

I claw at his back, tilting my hips in time with his thrusts.

“You feel so good.” His voice is deep with lust. “Your pussy is perfect. Like you were made for me.” His hands tighten on my ass, the tips of his nails pricking my skin, and I shudder. “I’m going to fuck this perfect pussy until your legs shake. Until this whole house shakes. You’re mine,ta’ari.”

“I love when you talk like that,” I say as he lifts me, sliding me up and down on his cock. I help him, using my hands on his shoulders. Over and over, again and again, pleasure coming in wave upon wave as he fills me. I yell his name, clawing shoulders, screaming my pleasure so loud it rattles the artwork on the walls.

He drops us to the floor and takes me on my back, slamming in and out of me so hard we’re moving across the carpet. My back burns from the rug as he pounds into me. Pleasure mixing with pain. Pain mixing with pleasure.

As if in sync, we bite each other at the same time, blood and venom flowing from me to him, from him to me. The pleasure is all encompassing. It’s more than I could ever imagine. We reach bliss together, a twisting coil of two bodies trying to climb into the skin of the other. I don’t know where I begin and end, where Noah begins and ends. I come as he fills me, screaming his name just as he screams mine.

It’s a gradual fall from the precipice as consciousness returns.

Still connected, Noah props himself up on his elbow and looks down at me. His hands move the hair from my eyes, and he kisses my cheeks, my eyes, the tip of my nose. He sighs, and I know he’s thinking he loves me. I feel it.

“I love you too,” I whisper.

He grins. “I have been well and truly caught by you, Professor Ruby Rose.”

“And I by you, Noah Roan.”

He carries me back to his rooms, lays me down on the bed, and makes slow, sensual love to me until we’re both exhausted. Then we lay tangled together, silent.

Tomorrow, we’ll worry about what’s to come. We’ll talk about everything. We’ll face the rest of Noah’s family and figure out what to do with the women who know too much. Tomorrow, I’ll write to my friends at the Women’s Conspirator’s Society and tell them… well, I’ll figure that out tomorrow. I’ll figure out what I’m going to do about my job. Tomorrow.

Tonight, I’m going to stay in Noah’s arms and rest. Tonight is just about us, the foundation for a future we’ll forge.

The thought makes me smile, content to be alive and loved by the man I love. I listen to him sleep, the slow, contented rhythm of his breathing as I curl against his side.

He tightens his hold, cuddling closer as if I might disappear.

I smile in the darkness, recalling the way I thought I’d made a mistake coming here, the way desperation brought me to an island filled with secrets. A foolhardy plan for survival. But now, wrapped in the arms of my mate, I think this—coming to Roan Island—was the greatest idea I ever had.

Epilogue: Shemaiah

The sound of Noah claiming his mate is difficult to drown out. At least for a Mavarri. They’ve been at it for days, and I’m officially done. I’m tempted to leave the confines of the island to get away from them, but where would I go? Besides, as hungry as I am, it wouldn’t be wise to surround myself with humans on the mainland, not until after the next new moon. If I can wait that long.

Ruby screams Noah’s name yet again, and I down the last of my wine. They’ll carry on the Roan lineage in a matter of days at the rate they’re going. And drive us all mad in the process.

I slam my glass onto the table and stalk across my favorite parlor in the house to put on a disc, hoping to drown out their noise. I click the lever to turn the music up as loud as it’ll go, but the warbling sound bursting from the metal amplifier does nothing to drown them out.

I’m happy for them. Truly.

Even if I’m fucking miserable. An emotion I’d never let my family see.

I pour myself a third glass and wish it was something stronger. Something thicker. Something with a breath and a pulse. I think of the women upstairs and bite my cheek to taste my own blood, trying to ease my thirst. We still have a little over a week before the next new moon party, but with so much fresh blood in the house, my thirst has been worse than normal.

The women have all been remarkably strong the last few days, despite their varied stages of terminal illness. Their fortitude in the face of the bloodshed and violence in the temple was… noteworthy. Losing Celeste was a blow, but she died quickly. Better than the slow agony she would have faced from the virulent plague consuming her body.

Her death mattered. I owe her, and each of them, a great debt for helping kill our father.

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