Author Note: This chapter contains explicit sexual content. Feel free to skip the chapter if needed. I'll help you catch up in the next few chapters.

  Dahlia

  When darkness fell over Firen on the Friday after the Reaper was unmasked, Hawthorne came to me.

  He didn’t knock. Somehow, he had acquired a key to my home—one that rested on the ring of keys I'd noticed the last time he visited.

  I didn't bother pointing out the invasion of my privacy. I doubted Hawthorne cared about such things where I was concerned.

  So as I waited in the kitchen, sipping on just enough red wine to calm my nerves, he unlocked the front door with a click and stepped inside. I listened as he closed the door, locking it behind him.

  And when he stepped from my entryway and into the kitchen doorway, I rose on steady legs despite my uneasiness and admitted in a low voice, "I wasn't sure you would come."

  Hawthorne’s eyes roamed over my nightdress, picked out just for him. The green dress was short, covering only the top half of my thighs. While it didn’t expose my breasts, the material was thin, leaving my nipples visible through the fabric.

  He swallowed hard as he met my eyes with his own and said only, “Tell me you’re certain this is what you want.”

  He leaned against the doorway as he waited for my response, and I took a second to look over him as he had done with me.

  Unlike the last time I saw him, when he was dressed in grimy fighting clothes, he was now dressed in simple, dark trousers and a dark blue tunic that fit tightly across his chest. Even with his twin swords strapped to his back, he looked almost welcoming dressed like this—not at all as intimidating as he appeared in his soldier attire.

  His long dark hair was pulled back behind his head, revealing his feather-tipped ears. And his eyes—dark and dangerous—didn’t deviate from my own as he waited for my response.

  I had every reason to refuse him. The Imms were my enemies, after all, and Hawthorne had given me little reason to trust him.

  But I had no doubt that this was the path I would take now.

  And in recognition of my decision, the connection between us, invisible to the eye, drew me towards him—strengthening my certainty. I'd intended to use desire as a pretext to get close to Hawthorne, but in truth, I wanted him more than I ever anticipated.

  I stepped towards him, reaching a still hand out to run my fingers over the soft fabric covering his chest as I murmured, “I’m certain.”

  His pupils grew large, blotting out the color of his irises as he ran a hand over my jaw with gentle fingers before placing a finger under my chin, tilting my head up, and leaning down to press his lips to mine.

  And it felt as if a fire sparked inside me.

  His kiss destroyed all my reservations, leaving me to wonder why I ever questioned our connection. I leaned into his touch, inhaling his rainstorm scent as I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer.

  But Hawthorne wanted more.

  With a low groan, he reached around me to grab my ass and pull me firmly against the growing bulge in his trousers. He lifted me, forcing me to wrap my legs around his hips as I bit into his bottom lip, making him groan again as he started to move—to carry me towards my bedroom. He moved quickly with an Imm grace that couldn’t be replicated by humans.

  I was startled when he tossed me onto my bed, but when I saw the urgent need in his expression, I knew he wasn’t going to take his time with me. No. Hawthorne was going to take me without pause, without question, and without any of the niceties I was used to in the men I’d been with before.

  Soon, Hawthorne would leave Firen—leave me. He didn't need to worry about looking me in the eye tomorrow. He didn't care about my feelings. He was different—this was different.

  This was solely about pleasure.

  “I’m not gentle, human,” he warned, gripping the hem of his tunic to lift it up and over his head.

  “I don’t want gentle,” I admitted in a breathless voice, running my eyes over his strong body and feeling a little overwhelmed by the sheer strength of the man before me.

  His muscles rippled beneath his skin as he moved with more grace than a man his size should have been capable of.

  “We’ll see.” He smirked at me as he reached for the top button on his trousers and slipped it through the hole.

  Somehow, that single movement made my pulse quicken with excitement for what was to come.

  I started to lift my nightdress, but Hawthorne shook his head to stop me and murmured, “Not yet, human.”

  So I stopped and used the tips of my fingers to smooth down the dress over my thighs. Hawthorne watched the movement of my fingers as he reached down to unbutton the second button on his trousers.

  I expected him to take his time with the third button, but without pausing, he unbuttoned it and slowly slipped his trousers down his legs.

  When his massive cock sprang free, I felt my breath catch, and my heart rate quicken again.

  I felt some trepidation at the sight of it. It wasn’t extraordinarily long—well, fine, maybe it was longer than the men I’d been with before—but it was thick—no doubt too thick for a single hand to wrap around the damned thing.

  Maybe I wasn’t as prepared for Hawthorne as I'd thought.

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  "By the Imm-God," I whispered, shaking my head now as I started to lose confidence and blurted out, "Are all Imms that big?"

  Hawthorne didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, shaking his head as he approached me and teased, “Don’t let it intimidate you.”

  “Too late,” I breathed, retreating a little on the bed as he stalked nearer.

  He grinned at me as he climbed up after me, “You can stop this—you need only say the words.”

  But I didn’t want to stop.

  We both knew that.

  And I wasn't about to run away, now.

  When he reached me, I closed the distance between us by leaning forward to forcefully press my lips to his. He stiffened in surprise, at first, but then he seemed to melt into my touch, his weight pressing against mine until he was lying over top of me with his cock pressed to my hip.

  One of his hands crept up my right thigh, sending goosebumps across my skin as I sighed against his lips. When his hand reached the thin fabric of my undergarments, he ran a finger over the wet fabric and murmured, “Soaked through already…”

  Without waiting for a response, he gripped the fabric in a tight fist and tugged. Tightening against my flesh, the fabric tore loudly, and he threw it away without looking away.

  Now that I was exposed to him, he ran his fingers through my wetness and groaned, “I swear, God created you to be temptation in physical form.”

  When his fingers reached my clit, I jerked against his touch and groaned, "Shit—that might be the nicest compliment anyone has ever given me."

  And it was. Somehow, that single sentence made me feel like I had power over him.

  "There's a lot about you worth complimenting," Hawthorne murmured as he pressed a finger deep into my core, and my back arched involuntarily as my body simply reacted to his touch.

  "Damn it, Imm—you aren't supposed to be nice," I gasped at the sensation of his touch, needing more. And as if reading my mind, Hawthorne slipped in another finger to join the first, making my hips press upward into his palm.

  "Shh—calm your thoughts. Just feel, Dahlia," Hawthorne started to slip his fingers in and out of my core in a slow rhythm that made me moan with need.

  “More,” I urged—no, begged, “Please—I need—”

  I didn't need to explain. Hawthorne knew exactly what I needed.

  Removing his fingers, he shifted his hips to center himself between my legs, spreading them wide as he pressed the tip of his cock to my core and gently pushed the tip inside. I groaned as he stretched me slowly—just enough to avoid causing me pain.

  But at the sound of my groan, Hawthorne thrust inside as if unable to wait any longer. The sudden intrusion—sudden fullness—was sharply painful. His cock stretched me to the brink of what I could handle—the tip stabbing at the deepest reaches of my core as I struggled to accommodate the sheer size of him.

  I started to cry out in a strange combination of pain and pleasure, but Hawthorne pressed a hand to my mouth as he whispered to me, his voice strained, “Sweet human. You are perfection.”

  He was wrong. I wasn’t perfect. I didn’t deserve his admiration.

  But just for this moment, I could let him believe his words.

  I forced myself to relax, groaning as he shifted, just enough to press his pelvis against the bundle of nerves at my core that ached for more. Sensing my need, Hawthorne slowly retreated, slipping his cock out before thrusting back into my core and making me close my eyes and moan involuntarily.

  Taking my sounds as encouragement, Hawthorne set his hips into motion—his thrusting taking on a rhythm that few could match. I reached back to press my hands to the headboard for support, and with every thrust, I seemed to lose sense of the world around me.

  Right now, the world belonged to only Hawthorne and me. There was no law against Red Halflings. There was no Reaper. There were no Imm intruders. There were no missing children.

  There was nothing but the pleasure growing between us as we both sought to satisfy our pure, carnal need with every thrust of his hips.

  As I grew close to my peak, toes curling in anticipation of pleasure, Hawthorne wrapped his arms around me, and in one quick motion, he flipped us so that he was on his back and looking up at me. From this position, his cock seemed to push deeper inside me—perhaps too deep.

  I felt my eyes widen at the change, and he chuckled before reaching up with both hands to tear the dress with three sharp tugs at the fabric, pulling it free of my skin and leaving me entirely bare as I straddled his hips.

  He threw the fabric away with a snarling, “The image of you in that dress will remain in my memories alone.”

  “Greedy Imm,” I mused, not at all worried about my torn dress as I rubbed my aching clit against his flesh.

  “Ah, but you’re the greedy one, human,” Hawthorne whispered breathlessly as he ran his fingers over my breasts, “So ride me—stroke my cock with that beautiful pussy until we both cum.”

  In response to his crude words, I leaned down to kiss him, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He groaned and forced me back before leaning forward to take one of my breasts between his lips and suck, making me gasp when I felt the sharp pain of his pointed teeth biting into my breast.

  When he released my breast, I saw two small holes where his teeth had punctured my flesh, leaving a trail of blood to drip down my breast and onto Hawthorne’s chest.

  Hawthorne eyed the blood with rapt fascination, “Your flesh is so soft.”

  I could only hope the last of the poison coursing through my blood was enough to keep my healing at bay.

  Hoping to distract the Imm from the sight of my blood, I raised myself onto the balls of my feet, sliding up and nearly off his cock before dropping down to force it deep inside my core again. Hawthorne’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he groaned, “What magic is this?”

  I laughed at his reaction, and at the sound of my laughter, he grinned up at me as if admiring the sound.

  I continued to ride him—the movement becoming more forceful as I chased the peak of my pleasure. And as time passed, Hawthorne’s murmurings, groans, curses, and even facial expressions only served to heighten my sensation. I was driving him mad with desire, and he had no way of hiding it from me.

  With every thrust, my need grew, and the ache in my core became unbearable. I needed to satisfy that ache—and soon.

  So when Hawthorne grabbed my hips with almost bruising force to add more strength and speed to my motion, I finally found my orgasm. I cried out at the intensity of it—unable to breathe as pleasure coursed through my entire body in waves.

  And as if he’d been in sync with me the entire time, Hawthorne joined me with a snarl as he thrust hard into me one last time, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he spilled his cum deep inside me, murmuring my name over and over with his final, weaker thrusts.

  And when we were both spent, I was left to stare down at Hawthorne.

  It was difficult to look him in the eye.

  I collapsed onto the Imm, resting my head against his chest as I caught my breath. I listened to his heartbeat—a reminder that he was more like me than I had ever cared to admit.

  Our hearts beat. Air filled our lungs. Blood coursed through our veins. We felt longing, pain, and probably even love.

  We were the same in almost all the ways that mattered.

  And that reminder was unsettling.

  When our heavy breathing eased, Hawthorne stroked my hair as I rested, unmoving from the warm, comfortable place I had settled into on his chest.

  He murmured, “You must rest, human. I need more before I’ll be fully satisfied.”

  “How much more?” I shifted to look up at his face, curious to know the answer.

  In response, Hawthorne leaned forward and pressed his lips to the tip of my nose in a strangely intimate way before leaning his head back. He closed his eyes and sighed before admitting, “I may never get enough—it would take forever, and we can’t have forever together.”

  I tried to think of what forever with Hawthorne might look like and failed. He was right that we couldn't spend forever together, but not for the reasons he believed.

  And right now, with everything at stake, I couldn't dwell on his words. It would only eat away at my determination to save Erich.

  There was nothing more important than saving him.

  So I settled back into Hawthorne's chest and looked across the room to where his clothes lay in a pile on the ground, resolve strengthening at the sight of them. Within Hawthorne's clothes was, perhaps, the key to Erich's freedom.

  I needed only to take it.