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Alina can’t sleep.
Which, to be fair, isn’t an unusual occurrence. Ever since she was a child, she had suffered nightmares and restlessness, and it hadn’t improved following the events of the past few months. After learning the shocking truth about her identity, having her world turned upside down again and again, she doesn’t lack any material to ponder about.
Some nights, she wouldn’t mind, finding the moon a rather pleasant being to confide in, the dark enveloping her soothingly. Certain things come easier after the sun has gone down, allowing shadows to draw over reality like a blanket. However, the seemingly endless meetings today had worn her down; headache-inducingly long discussions of warfare that went on for hours.
Strategizing always called for strong opinions. Mal and Nikolai had yet to agree on something that wasn’t the ultimate end goal of eliminating the Darkling, and Zoya’s snide, venomous comments decidedly did not help matters further. The rest of her inner circle are easier and more than once the voice of reason, but in its entirety, even their calm did not always balance the scales in the middle of passionate discussions.
Alina can’t blame them. The decisions they were making were grave, and the pressure of the inevitable consequences in the aftermath weighed heavy on all of them.
With a faint sigh, she rolls over onto her side, the fabric of the black satin sheets whispering over her like the ghost of a touch as she pulls the blankets up higher.
Even after the time she’s resided in these chambers, his scent never seems to leave. Without even meaning to, Alina inhales a little deeper, a heady mixture of pine and mint invading her nostrils. A hint of her own soft floral one, too.
It shouldn’t be as pleasing as it is.
He hadn’t found her today, she wonders absently. Not that she’d been wanting him with her while she’s actively plotting against him with her trusted— friends? Followers? Partners? Alina isn’t quite sure what to call them. Nikolai would like that last one, while Zoya would despise all three of them.
It does feel rather strange to think about at times, that the one thing they all have in common was the demise of the most powerful Grisha to walk the earth.
The Grisha in whose bed she’s currently tossing around in, restless by the idea of having to do the one thing that goes against everything in her nature.
Her hair was still lightly damp from her bath, and the loose brown strands are strown over the pillow, her body finally soft and clean after hours and hours of compromising and contemplating.
She would sleep, but a certain feeling prickles under her skin, and it has something to do with the sensation of the Darkling’s alluring darkness curling around her, alarmingly welcome. Attempting to shrug herself out of it, she turns over onto her other side, but now she is met by the sight of the dark closet looming against the wall. Unwillingly, she pictures the series of identical black kefta’s it contains, neatly organized and hung in a row, clean from any dust like at every moment, the owner should return for them.
Oh, Saints.
As a final resolve, Alina flops onto her back, staring up into the inky abyss. She shouldn’t even be thinking about him, but here she is. Unnoticed, one of her legs draws up slowly, as to alleviate the warm pressure leisurely forming between her legs. There’s… something tugging at her, like an insolent, impatient child willing her to hurry up and give in to its will.
She can practically hear him mocking her.
Poor Alina, all by herself. Do you think of me, Little Saint? Do you wonder about what I’m doing, whether I’m thinking of you at night? I can assure you, you will have nothing but my devout attention, if only you’d let me.
Shut up, Alina snaps back at him, squeezing her eyes shut. It’s maddening how he invades her thoughts like this, especially when she’s by herself. But she does little else.
Hot, experienced hands grasping the back of her neck, traveling down her body and leaving a burning, electric sensation that travels straight to her core, silky dark locks soft as she pulls at them, the groan he let out against her lips before he—
No, Alina tries to think, but her head – and body – have a mind of their own. Heat warms her cheeks, and she shifts, suddenly overly aware of her body.
It has been such a long, tense day, and she just needs a release, any.
Letting out a sharp huff, she wiggles around in the bed, attempting for another futile minute to find sleep, but eventually ends up on her back. Glaring at the dark abyss of the ceiling, one of her hands finds its way between her legs, leisurely pulling up the fabric of her nightgown until she reaches the swiftly increasing warmth.
A light gasp escapes her as her fingers apply pressure to her favorite spot, circling and rubbing until her slick gathers at her entrance, and she pushes a slender digit inside. Her eyelids fall shut with a shudder, and her mind grasps at images.
Ocean-blue eyes, tan skin, strong, calloused soldier’s hands, treating her with a gentleness better suited for a being much more fragile than Alina.
It falls flat, and she bites her tongue in frustration, her efforts redoubling as the scene unwillingly changes to one much darker, much more forbidden.
The edge of his war table digging into her lower back, his hand palming her breast, and then up her thigh, so agonizingly close to where she was swiftly yearning for his touch.
Her core clenches, working her clit in fast tiny circles.
And then he had paused.
Are you sure? He had asked, so kindly, so genuinely, and she had said yes, so eagerly, so wantonly.
Confoundedly, over these past few months, Alina had found herself imagining the possible situations that could’ve occurred more than once. Had they not been interrupted. She knew his mercilessness, a quality which the Darkling without a doubt uses to his advantage in any situation. Alina can barely hold herself back from remembering the tales the girls in her encampment giggled about, how a man could get on his knees before them and please them with— And would he?
If she asked.
Anything, Alina, his wretched voice whispers in her ear, and she would snap her teeth at him had it not been her own head conjuring the entire thing.
Shame heats her face, but she’s already too far gone, her movements quick and frantic, and she dares to tease a second finger lower, pushing inside. Her spine bows at the strange, wonderful sensation, and she reaches this spot inside her that makes her eyes flash open and breath halt, her fingers pressing down harshly on her clit by instinct.
From across the room, a dark form lounges back against the side of the fireplace, watching her intensely.
Her heart stutters to a clear full-stop once she takes hold of him, but it’s too late. The sheets have twisted, ridden up around her waist, exposing her bare body, her glistening cunt on full display with her legs drawn up in her complete unawareness of his presence.
Alina should be shocked by him being here, while what actually shocks her is the desperate whine that resonates, too loud in the quiet room, as her fingers trip over her clit.
It’s a visible battle of cold hard logic and pure corrupted desire, and one is the victor.
His gaze roves over her, from the apex of her thighs to the heaving of her chest; the peak of her nipples, until his midnight eyes finally snap to hers, darkened to shadowy pits of dangerous heat and thrumming lust. The strong lines of his forearms flex; crossed over his chest.
“Now, Alina,” the Darkling murmurs low, tone dipping to one of pure sin that makes her insides tighten longingly, “Won’t you let me see how sweet you look when you come?”
Mortification adding to her arousal, her body betrays her once again as she comes with a stuttering moan of his name, hand cramping where her fingers are buried deep inside, palm grinding against her clit as his obscure gaze burns into hers. With a satisfied sigh, her eyes fall shut, tongue tracing her teeth as she slowly comes down.
Which also grants for her hazed brain to clear up and become stunningly aware of the reality of the situation. Her throat feels weirdly thick as she stares at him wide-eyed, scrambling away from him on the mattress, pulling up the sheets to her chin. The Darkling seems amused as he approaches her, reaching out to catch her blanket by the edge, keeping her from hiding entirely.
“No need to be so bashful now, Sankta.” An arrogant smirk pulls at his beautiful features.
A flush colored her cheeks, her dark hair is disheveled, and sweat shines on her cleavage. But despite her embarrassing state, Alina glares daggers at him, and demands, “How are you here?”
A lilt of an eyebrow. “You called me.”
Shamelessly, his eyes trace over her every curve, the bend of her knee, the dip of her waist, to where the fabric is gathered to shield her most intimate parts, her arms pressed into her ribs, clutching the sheet up above her breasts.
“Why— You’re not supposed to… How can you touch me?”
His smile widens. “I know things about power you can’t begin to imagine, Alina.” Then, his look meets hers once again, and he gives a sharp tug at the cloth, forcing her to tighten her hold.
“Don’t,” she begs, but knows it’s weak.
Aleksander tuts, tilting his head at her as if to inspect the situation. “My Alinochka, so frustrated, all by herself. Spread your legs, pet.”
A whimper escapes her, and she shakes her head furiously. The Darkling doesn’t appear to have much care for her reluctance. At once, her cover snaps away and she’s bare before him, the slick of her center cool in the open air. His grip catches her ankle and pushes her legs apart, allowing him to stare his fill. That strong sensation of righteousness washes over her again at his touch, feeling so terribly delightful despite her inner moral protests.
Alina squirms, overly conscious that there really isn’t much to look at, scrawny as she is. He frowns at that, scanning her reddened face, eyes shying away from his sharp ones, and then his confusion smooths out. His nostrils flare, a triumphant smirk quirking his lips up.
“Ah,” the Darkling says leisurely, “I see. The tracker still hasn’t claimed you, then.”
At that, her brows furrow, and she asks, having accepted that the actuality is too ridiculous to fully comprehend, “Claimed?”
He cocks his head at her. “Your virginity, Alina.”
What?! Alina huffs offendedly, attempting to sit up to move away from him; but he doesn’t allow her, “I have—I’m not… You have no right!”
Her words carry little weight, his interest delayed once again to the apex of her thighs. Her skin prickles under his intense gaze, and a traitorous part of her can’t help but want. “Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, and his praise makes a tiny jolt of electricity twitch in her cunt, his hand sliding up her leg and making her squirm, “Such a good little cunt. I wonder…”
And without any preamps, The Darkling delves two fingers into her warm wetness, and despite herself, her cunt clenches hungrily around his thick and blunt digits, squelching with a wet sound that has her shift and turn her head away from him, her flush deepening furiously. She nearly whines at the loss as he retracts them, unable to look away as he pops them up into his mouth and sucks them clean. A low groan rumbles from his chest, tongue dipping out to trace his reddened lips, as if to catch any hints of her arousal lingering. They glisten in the faint candlelight, and Alina feels a new-found possessiveness twinge in her chest.
The Darkling smiles at her, but it isn’t warm, more like a predator laying eyes on its prey. “My sweet little Sun Summoner. Now stay still for me, Alina.”
Trembling, she nods, breath hitching as he suddenly kneels on the bed, spreading her thighs until they strain, strong palms pressing them into the mattress. Meanwhile, he never breaks eye-contact, not once, and Alina knows that logically, at war as they are, this is highly immoral. She should push him off, but there’s one small, vital truth that’s holding her back. Or perhaps not so small.
She doesn’t want to.
The moment his lips, his tongue, his teeth, make contact with her cunt, Alina cries out so loud that the Darkling pauses to press a hand over her mouth. Breathing rapidly, she stares at him as he raises his eyebrows at her and says, “Can’t have you alarming the entire Palace now, can we, Alinochka?” She shakes her head as good as she’s able to, her choked whine muffled against his palm. No, definitely not.
The Darkling seems satisfied with her answer. “That’s right. I can always gag you, of course.” Her eyes widen, and he chuckles. “Would you like that, Alina?”
Would she? There’s something about her current position, to have such a strong, powerful presence looming over her, treating her with such attention and care, that makes her feel safe. A little scared, too. But it only makes her yearn for whatever else he can teach her, give her.
Luckily, he answers for her, focus deterred to the matters at hand, “Perhaps another time. As for right now… I need you to keep quiet for me, milaya. Can you do that?”
Yes, she nods hastily, a lump burning in her throat as she swallows, blinking up at him.
“Good girl.”
A little beam of pride bursts in her chest at that, and a low throb pulses through her sex. His head lowers, and Alina sighs in content, arching her back into the wet lap of his tongue, his hand now moved back down, spreading her folds and keeping her open for his attentions. It should feel strange, but the pleasure it brings her is indescribable. White hot little flames lick at her abdomen, and her small hands grabble at his dark, silky locks, pressing him closer and closer.
Suction at her clit has her moan his name once again, and Aleksander’s possessive growl transfers to her cunt; the vibrations shocking her to the edge.
“So responsive,” the Darkling mutters, and Alina hiccups a little as he presses inside, two strong digits that probe and search briefly until he finds that spot, “Need to stretch this tight little cunt for when I’m going to fuck you in a moment, malyshka.”
“Please,” she whines, eyelids falling shut.
That displeases him, and his efforts pause momentarily, tone firm as he demands, “Look at me.”
Her brows knit together, but she obeys, biting on her lower lip at the sight of his darkened eyes staring at her from between her legs, his hair slightly disheveled from her fervent tugging. His voice is hoarse, like he had just surfaced from deep waters, as he commands, “Eyes on me, or I will not let you come at all. Am I being clear, Alina?”
“Mhm,” she hums, and that earns her a sharp tap on her ass.
“Manners, Miss Starkov.”
Her nostrils flare, jaw setting in defiance. That insufferable—
Then his fingers crook inside her, and she decides that rebellions will be for another time.
Begrudgingly, she answers, a reluctant mumble, “Yes.”
He cocks an eyebrow at her, head tilting like he’s listening intently, “Yes, what?”
Alina tries her best to throw him a sharp glare, but doesn’t dare refuse him as she says, louder, “Yes, sir.”
A smirk. “That’s more like it.” And Alina wants to curse him, but it ends up in more of a drawn-out moan as he nips her clit, soothing it with his tongue before dipping lower to her entrance, teasing her, chuckling again when she keens at the foreign sensation and swiftly returns to her swollen bundle of nerves.
“Aleksander,” Alina begs, “More, please.”
He hums. “Look at you, asking me so nicely, solnyshka.” Leisurely, he begins fucking her again with his fingers, movements harshly than before, before he buries them deep, beckoning insistently, as if to call for her orgasm as he sucks viciously on her clit.
Her orgasm crashes over her like a wave, liquid golden sunlight coursing through her veins, and Alina doesn’t even bother to bite back the cry that leaves her, her eyes squeezed shut. Vaguely, she hears Aleksander’s voice whisper endearments to her, telling her how sweet she tastes, how beautiful she is, and her favorite, how good she is for him, just for him, his pretty girl.
All the while, he never stops; his skilled tongue insistent as he coaxes another climax out of her, on the heels of the other. But it’s too much, too soon. Surely, she can’t come again. Disoriented, she protests with a high noise, digging her heels in his shoulders, shifting her hips up the bed, trying to run from the impending crest; but it’s no good.
Instead, two tendrils of shadow come up to help keep her down.
“Aleksander, I can’t,” Alina moans, a little broken, helpless, “Too soon, can’t, not again, please.”
“Hush, zolotse, you can,” he coos, adoring her clit with soft, tiny licks, almost apologetically, soothing her, “Just relax.”
She hates him she hates him she hates him—
But, of course, there’s nothing Aleksander enjoys more than proving her wrong.
Her entire body shocks off the mattress as she comes with a sad little sob caught in her throat.
As she finally comes by, her lashes wet with tears, and Aleksander above her, palm cupping her center, holding her safely as he shushes her. “You did so good, Alina, darling girl. Come now, my sweet, open up for me.”
The linen of his shirt scratches against her oversensitive skin, and she squirms. Soothingly, he finds her breasts, playing with her nipples and making the heat in her lower belly smolder, patient with her as she slowly regains herself enough. Nudging her face against his, Alina searches his lips, and Aleksander indulges her gradually.
He kisses her like a man drowning, and she’s his oxygen.
Finally, they part, but just far enough for their noses to touch; her lashes fanning his cheeks, and then he wanders to tease purplish bruises into her neck, tongue tracing the collar of antlers. Alina relishes in how he pants hotly against her skin, and growls:
“You smell like me. It drives me mad, seeing you in my bed, in my sheets.”
Alina rolls her eyes, having re-found some of her wit. “Feeling especially caveman-ish today? Better yet: have you claimed me yet, as you asked so presumably?”
His teeth scrape her neck, and she gasps. “Not yet. But don’t worry, pet, I’ll have you come around my cock soon enough.” And then, he lifts himself from the bed. Alina can’t help but watch as he undresses, gaze drinking in the sharp lines of his chest, muscles flexing as his hooded eyes set on her, dark slits burning into hers as he undoes his trousers.
And, well. She’d always assumed he’d be… well endowed, unfairly beautiful as the rest of him, but whatever blurry image she’d pieced together was nothing compared to the real thing.
Would he even fit?
His hard length juts up against the taut lines of his stomach, and a truly near feral grin spreads on his face at Alina’s mildly perplexed expression, as she glances at him worriedly.
“Aleksander—”
“Shh,” he tells her, “Spread your legs for me, malyshka.” He guides her to wrap them around his waist, hovering above her. Reaching down, he rubs her clit in certain, gentle flicks, the softness in his touch so intimately that it confuses her a bit, but it feels so nice, her toes curling as she moans softly in the back of her throat, her pleasure soft and shivery. Her body melts into the mattress, cunt fluttering.
Of course, it doesn’t last long; every action its purpose. The Black General, never without a motive.
The thick, weeping head of his cock breaches her cunt, and it’s so sudden and unexpected that she would tense up if she weren’t so slippery wet from his earlier attentions. Instead, he sinks into her like a knife into soft butter; or a dagger into a broken heart, and his ragged moan that matches her own.
There’s no sting, but a slight burning as she stretches to accommodate him, and there’s a lot of him. His naked skin pressed against hers makes her a bit delirious with the sheer headiness that comes with feeling her power merge with hers, and Alina can’t remember why on earth she ever survived for so long without experiencing this. But she knows, she knows, she’s overly aware of all the atrocities he’s committed but now he’s so utterly human with his head buried in her neck, sweat dripping from his messy locks, his cock so deep she can feel him in her throat, and his strength is so overpowering that even if she wanted to, she couldn’t deny him.
It’s heaven. It’s hell.
It’s human, it’s exquisite, and it’s hers.
“Sasha,” she gasps, hands grasping onto his shoulders, digging into the tight muscle. His hips stutter at the name, his composure faltering for a split second as he groans low and agonized. Aleksander allows her to adjust for a mere few minutes before he begins fucking her in earnest in deep, aimed strokes, tilting her pelvis until his pubic bone rubs at her clit at every thrust. He takes her with his same infuriating endurance he saves for her; but not gentle. Alina clings to him, high moans caught in her throat as Aleksander lowers his head to her ear, speaking in a low rasp that has her shivering:
“Does my cock feel good, Alina? Is this what my little Saint needed? For all that tension to get fucked out of her?”
“Yes,” she whines, circling her hips a bit, and mumbles, brow crinkled, “’S so much, you’re so— big.” Even in her dazed mind, the words taste awfully cliché, but she has no other way to describe it.
Aleksander seems to like it though, of course. He smirks, and teases her with a sharp, light nip at her throat, pumping into her so hard the bedframe rattles, “Yes, that’s right, isn’t it? Such a tight little cunt, and all mine…”
Alina shakes her head with a noise of protest, “N-not yours.”
He stills, making her wiggle on the mattress, impatient. Then, he raises his head to look at her, his abysmal eyes narrowed and dangerous as he repeats leisurely, in a way she knows she’s in trouble, “…No?”
Deciding it’s too late to back out now, Alina tips her chin stubbornly, glaring right back at him. “I’m not yours.”
“Is that so?” He cocks his head at her, waiting, but when she doesn’t give, breathes out slowly, as if gathering his last patience with her. Then, his command sounds, tone clipped and leaving no room for protest:
“Turn over.”
Gone is the unspoken air of nobility he held, the Darkling flips her onto her belly like she’s nothing. Alina barely realizes what’s happening until she’s holding herself up on the mattress by her palms, her dark hair falling over her head like a curtain. His grip is harsh and practical as he tugs her hips up, nudging his leaking hardness against her soaked cunt. She keens in the back of her throat, pushing back against him.
The Darkling chuckles lowly, and tears spring into her eyes as he twists her hair around his hand, forcing her head up at once. Her gaze snaps to his and gone were Aleksander’s deep brown orbs; now she’s met by the smug, calculating look of the Black Heretic. Her breath comes to a stuttering halt as she finally understands his intention.
Namely, now she has no choice but to see every explicit detail of their current position in the wide mirror spanning over the wall facing the bed.
She’s not sure if she recognizes the girl: a deep flush that spreads from the valley of her breasts to the high of her cheekbones, brazen in the way she arches her back for the man behind her, her chocolate eyes glazed over with the sheer headiness of arousal.
“Do you like what you see, Alina?” the Darkling mocks, but she sees the sweat shine on his skin, his angrily red erection, the light pink in his own cheeks, his blown pupils darkening his eyes to bottomless black pits. Knows he is just as affected as she is by desire. For some reason, she’d expected his skin to be unblemished, but can’t help but wonder for the stories behind the pink and white scars carved into his strong chest; signs of how long he’d lived and fought at the frontlines. The centuries of experience he has on her.
Would he tell her? Would she listen?
His grip tightening painfully in her locks shocks her back to the present.
“I believe,” he says, “I asked you a question. You’d do best to answer me now, solnyshka.”
The degradation of it all has her squirm in discomfort, but he pinches her thigh, making her yelp, “Y-yes.”
The Darkling smirks, his cock slips into her without resistance, and she loathes the moan she lets out, embarrassingly loud. “The Holy Sun Saint, on her knees for me. Do they know what a whore you are? How you plot my demise by day, but let me fuck you senseless in my own bed at night?”
She closes her eyes; attempting to regain at least the slightest bit of sense back into her, breathing out steadily through her nose.
“Look, Alina.”
No.
His hips snap against hers punishingly, The Darkling growls, one of his hands moving down to close around her throat, cutting off her air ever so slightly, more a hint of a threat she knows he’ll follow up on, “Look. At. Me.”
Her lip wobbles, as she obeys with an impulse closer to survival instinct than willful intent, her entire body close to bursting into flames. His arm wraps around her waist, and then his front is flush with her back, his pace unfaltering. The sounds of their tryst fill the room, and he offers her no mercy.
Her golden skin is littered with hickey’s the color of deep red wine, proof of his mark on her. Her lips are parted, her chest on full display, breasts jumping with each deep pump, nipples stiffened into aching peaks. His head is buried in her neck, black slits staring piercingly into hers.
It’s vulgar.
It’s magnificent.
She never wants it to end.
“Good girl.”
A full-body shudder racks through her at that, her walls clamping down on his length. Alina leans back against him, weak and pliant, watching herself be used by him through the dark veil of her drooping eyelashes, well aware she never stood a chance.
The Darkling smiles, burying his cock deep, “My Alina, so beautiful like this.” His fingers find her clit again, and she cries softly as she feels another peak close in on her. Yet, she doesn’t dare avert her gaze from the mirror. “Now, tell me again. Who does this perfect little cunt belong to?”
“Yours,” she surrenders in a broken sob, wave of arousal cresting, “Yours, yours, Sasha, I’m yours.”
His ragged groan resonates through her as he bites down on her neck, and then his lips brush over the shell of her ear. “Come for me, Alinochka, come now.”
It’s a strange thing, accepting defeat. She never knew it to be so freeing.
Alina does so with a choked moan of his name, dropping forward, Aleksander’s warmth dropping over her back like a suffocating blanket, drilling into her relentlessly with sharp, short thrusts that leave her whining and scrabbling at the sheets, overstimulation on the edge of becoming unbearable.
Aleksander shushes her, throat hoarse, lips pressed into her shoulder as he groans, “S-so close, be good now, so sweet for me, my Alina.”
Her abdomen cramps in a faint ghost of an orgasm, and she whimpers again, burying her face into the sheets, pleading him soundlessly. And then suddenly, his movements stutter, and there’s a wet warmth deep inside her that she vaguely registers as somethingthatshouldnothappen but it feels nice, to hear Aleksander come undone, the moan of her name that he muffles in the matted nest of her hair.
He rolls off of her, and naturally, she seeks out his warmth, hiding her face in his neck and closing her eyes, allowing herself a few moments of peace in his arms. Between her legs, she feels his spend beginning to dripple out of her. Wrinkling her nose, she shifts, but Aleksander’s arm tightens around her. Two of his fingers push the few droplets that left her back inside her abused sex, teasing her for a brief second before disappearing, and she yelps softly.
Aleksander chuckles, making her peek up at him. Her chest tightens at how handsome he looks, locks of dark hair standing in every direction, a boyish grin on his face. But there’s still that cunning glint in his eyes, and that is what shakes her out of it, reality rushing back into her hazed mind as she shoves herself from the bed. Her legs wobble unsteadily, her muscles aching as she searches around for her discarded nightgown, mentally cursing herself.
This was never supposed to happen. This should never have happened.
She doesn’t realize she spoke that aloud until the sound of another laugh resonates through the empty room from behind her back, sharp and taunting. So very different from the one before that. Alina goes rigid, before telling him as coldly as she can muster, the slightest tremor in her voice betraying her:
“This never happened.”
The Darkling snorts again. “And yet, it did, Sankta.”
Clutching her garment to her chest, she stubbornly stares at the wall, trying to come to terms with it all and refusing to turn back to him. “Leave.” She has to brace herself for the second word, taking a deep breath, “Please.”
“Very well,” he replies, much to her relief. Her eyes squeezed shut, she waits. Her breath hitches when his hand suddenly touches her shoulder, his lips ghosting over a bitemark he left on the delicate arch of her neck. The hot air leaving his lungs fans over the shell of her ear as he murmurs, “Remember I will be waiting, Alina.”
Before she can come up with a biting retort, he is gone, as if he were never there; the only thing to account for it the soreness between her legs and the aching twinge of doubt in her heart.
After that, she does sleep.