His need was as raw and desperate as hers but he tried not to dwell on it, pushed it to the back of his mind, and focused only on her pleasure. If she made up her mind to leave soon after he couldn’t stop her, but as her husband he wanted to do his duty and leave her without want. She was wet and fragrant and lush and wild, clawing and biting at him, kissing him with such ardor that he felt he might drown in her attentions. His lust was a heavy haze in his mind—no amount of masturbation or daydreams in the hundred years since she’d left could replicate this feeling of being together, of knowing that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.