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“Wakefield," she gasped, as her world began to tighten, as her hands fisted onto his jacket, her eyes grew wide open and looking at him. They were still dark, still dangerous, so very full of passion, but she would have followed him, devil that he was, anywhere in that moment. She was lost and he would show her the way. "Pierson," he whispered back, his finger delving into her, sliding over her sex and sliding back inside her. Deeper. Harder. She rocked against him, rode his touch, his strokes. And when she said his name again, called it, gasped it, it was because he'd taken her over that edge, carried her into a world she couldn't have imagined. "Pierson!" she cried out, her body quaking, falling, rising all at once. "Oh, Pierson, yes!" For now she knew the way.” — Elizabeth Boyle