"Wait—"
He doesn't wait. He pushes my thighs wider, hooks my knees over his shoulders, and buries his face between my legs.
My hand fists in his hair. My back arches. He's devouring me, tongue and lips and the scrape of teeth against sensitive flesh, and there's nothing in my head except sensation. Heat building low in my belly. His fingers digging into my thighs. The wet sounds of his mouth working me over.
Fuck. Fuck. This is obscene. This is—
He groans against me. The vibration shoots straight up my spine and my whole body clenches.
His tongue circles. Presses. Flicks over the spot that makes everything go bright and sharp. I try to close my legs—instinct, self-preservation, something—and his hands shove them back open, holding me there, spread and exposed.
So much for dignity. So much for any shred of composure. I'm going to come on the Mad God's face and probably scream while I do it and that's just—
He sucks.
Hard.
"Please—"
For him to stop, to never stop, to keep doing exactly what he's doing with that wicked tongue while I lose what's left of my mind.
He slides two fingers inside me.
My back comes off the bed. Sound tears out of my throat—raw, desperate, nothing like my voice. He fucks me with his fingers, slow and deep, while his mouth works my clit, and I'mgone. Sensation everywhere. His breath hot against my thighs. The obscene wet sounds filling the room. My own pathetic whimpering that I should be embarrassed about but can't find the brain cells to care—
"Come."
Growled against my flesh.
I shatter.
It rips through me, clenching around his fingers, my whole body seizing up while he works me through it. Relentless. He doesn't ease off, doesn't slow down, just keeps licking and sucking and fucking me with those fingers until I'm sobbing, until I'm shaking, until I'm fairly certain I've died and this is either heaven or a very specific kind of hell.
"Too much—I can't—"
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His face is wet. His pupils are blown wide, almost completely silver now, no white at all. He looks unhinged. Hungry. Gone.
"Again."
"I can't—"
He lowers his head.
I come again in minutes. This time it's sharper, almost painful, his name torn out of me in a scream I'll be mortified about later. My legs are shaking. I can't feel my hands. My brain has packed its bags and left the building.
He laps at me through the aftershocks, slower now, gentle in a way that shouldn't work with how brutal the rest of it was. His fingers slip out of me and his hands stroke up and down my thighs, soothing.
When he finally lifts his head, I'm boneless. A mortal-shaped puddle of overstimulated nerve endings pretending to be a person.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Presses a kiss to my inner thigh. Doesn't move away.
Footsteps in the doorway.
Koshin moves before I can react. His body shifts, blocking me—and then the gun is out. I didn't even see him draw it. One second his hand was on my thigh, the next he's got a weapon leveled at the doorway while his other hand presses me flat against the bed.
"Coin's issued a formal response to War's latest maneuver." Renan's voice. Completely casual. Like there isn't a gun pointed at his face. "They're claiming sanctuary violations in the Marches. Also, you missed the end of the meeting. Caius is pissed."
"Out."
