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she’d denied herself for five long years of lovers wearing condoms for her protection and their own. His thick cock head stretched her, sliding sensuously within her well-lubricated pussy, nudging her womb. Long, impossibly hard yet smooth as velvet, his cock claimed her, driving her harder into the rough, wooden wall with every pistoning of his narrow hips.
    Her nipples throbbed, wanting his attention there too. His hands were busy, kneading her ass cheeks, lifting her. Opening her for his next forceful thrust, his thumbs caressing her anus, as though he intended to fuck her there too.
    As though he read her mind, knew her need, he dipped his head, took one distended nipple between his teeth and nipped it sharply before drawing it into the moist heat of his mouth and suckling.
    Her pussy clenched around his cock, the sensation one of rightness. She felt possessed as she hadn’t for five long years. Overwhelmed, she let her head loll back against the wall, closing her eyes and ears against the storm that raged around them. All that mattered was here. Now. Sam. The white-hot fire that spread from her pussy to her ass to her breasts. Even her brain tingled when the bubble of desire burst and she shattered into a quivering heap, held upright in Sam’s strong arms.
    Mastered. Satisfied as none of the meaningless string of lovers ever had…as she now knew no one else could. Sam had claimed her once. Now he claimed her again. Whether because of lust or nostalgia or animal need to mate in the face of death, she had no idea. It didn’t matter. Marcy could fuck a thousand men, but she was certain no one but Sam could ever make her feel like this.
    “Oh, baby. Yeah. Squeeze me. Like that. God, you’re wringing me dry.” His scalding semen bathed her cervix, her womb in powerful bursts that seemed to go on forever. Clasping her tightly, he laid her on the bed and lay down beside her, still breathing hard.
    It was after they’d lain there a long time that she noticed the wind no longer moaned all around them, and the driving rain had become a gentle shower. “I think the storm has passed.”
    “No, baby. We’re in the eye of the storm.”

Chapter Three
     
    Calm. Cool, damp air rich with the smells of Earth surrounded them as they sprawled on the tangled sheets. Marcy laid her head on Sam’s chest, the way she always used to after they’d made love. He stroked the silky skin of her back, remembering.
    Late nights when he’d come to her grainy-eyed from studying and she’d rolled over, warm and giving, welcoming him into her bed and her body. Lazy days they’d spent in bed and learned more about what made their bodies feel good than anything he’d studied in medical texts. Fun days when she’d dragged him out of his shell and taught him there was much more to life than studying and work and taking care of the basic human requirements for survival.
    Yeah. The memories surrounded him, wrapped them in a special cocoon much like the one with which Hurricane Kellen had temporarily surrounded Cabbage Key. A cocoon through which Sam saw everything with rose-colored glasses, but one he knew would soon give way to the tempest of love and hate that had gripped him since that fateful day five years ago.
    Unless…unless they could use these moments of suspended time to open old wounds and lance them so the venom would flow out and they might heal. Sam stilled his hand in the hollow of her spine. Thunder clapped in the distance, and bolts of lightning crackled. When she shuddered, he drew her closer.
    He felt ambivalent, loving her as he did, yet hating the brittle, hedonistic woman she’d become since they’d split up. Blaming her—and himself—for severing a connection that had begun with childish innocence and withered with suspicion and accusations. His suspicion. His accusations. His refusal to believe her, not the scientific near-certainty that told him the baby she’d lost in the first trimester couldn’t have been