She led him back into the grove's center, where the vines coiled softly around their ankles like affectionate pets. The second-born stepped aside as Lucy lay down, spreading herself over the moss, hair fanned like a halo. "We start again," she said.
He knelt between her legs, kissed her inner thigh, then her lips. He entered her slowly, feeling every inch, every gasp, every shudder. She clung to him, whispering his name between ragged breaths, eyes wet, voice full of something holy.
When she came, it was with a cry that shook the branches.
And then, without pause, Emma crawled toward them, kissed Lucy deeply, and then slid into Jude's lap, taking him into her with a gasp. "Don't stop," she begged. "I want to carry you again. I want to feel it grow inside me."
He gave her everything.
