Stella had climbed atop Rose, and they rocked together like mirrors, breasts brushing, lips tangled, the wet sounds of sex and gasps blending with the slow heartbeat that echoed through the black stone beneath them.
The goddess rose again - not apart from them, but within.
She lifted from their center like smoke, her form becoming clearer now - full hips, glowing breasts, no face but the essence of every face Jude had loved. Twelve women made her. Twelve wombs gave her birth. Twelve moans became her name.
She hovered above Jude now, and he reached again - not with his hand, but his soul.
"What do you want?" he asked without words.
Her answer filled his skin, his breath, his cock.
"To love more. To become more."
She pressed herself down over him - not into flesh, but into being.
And suddenly, they were all on him.
Every wife.
All twelve.
Not with bodies - but their spirits, their essence.
He felt them as one.
Every hand. Every tongue. Every tight heat. Every soft moan.
