“When we’re done sparring, I must douse myself in the stream’s icy waters.” Releasing her hair, Rey kissed her roughly. “When you lean over to stir the porridge, I have to count the beams in the wall.” He rocked his hips against her. “And when your hair falls into your face”—he dragged his mouth down her neck—“I takes every ounce of my will not to bury my hands in it.”
She gasped as he kissed a path downward, avoiding her breast. She was soft as silk, warm as sunshine. Silla made an indignant sound, hands sliding into his hair, as she tried to pull him to her.
“Are you trying to tell me something, Sunshine?” he asked, his tongue tracing along her smooth stomach, chased by the bristle of his beard. She squirmed, so naturally, he repeated the motion. “Here?”
He kissed a path upward to her sternum. “Here?” he asked. She strained up, trying to pull his mouth to her breast. But Rey resisted. “You like to rush, don’t you? I like to go slowly.”
He pressed a kiss to the underside of her breast. “To savor.”
He dragged his nose up her sternum. “I want to learn you. What you like. And I won’t be rushed, Silla.”
He saw the moment she understood—this was a new version of their game, of their push and pull. If she thought she’d be able to control it, his touch told her otherwise. He teased her with another pass of his mouth, then hovered over her breast, just where he knew she wanted him. At last, he relented. Rey pulled the soft bud into his mouth, drawing a low moan from Silla.
Gods, he ached for her. Wanted to bury himself deep inside her. But Silla had rushed things before, and he wanted to be certain she was ready. And there were plenty of other ways to amuse themselves. Rey’s attentions slowly moved downward, along the sensitive skin of her ribs, the curve of her hip, along the waistband of her breeches.
“Take these off,” he said in his sternestAxe Eyesvoice. He watched a shiver roll through her as she rushed to comply. His eyes slid slowly over every dip of her body, trying to decide where he’d start. She was beautiful, so absolutely lovely. Their gazes met. Held.
“Lie back. Hold on to the table.”
He dropped to his knees. But Silla remained braced on her elbows, brows drawing together. “What are you?—”
Rey’s head lifted, pure fire racing through him. “I want to taste you.”
“Taste me,” she repeated, dumbfounded. And then, her brows drew together in realization.
A shaky breath escaped him, fingers digging into her thighs. “Do you mean you’ve never…”
Slowly, Silla shook her head.
Rey didn’t care if he was her first, and yet this pleased him. “Let me taste you, Silla. Let me worship you. Let me show you all the ways you deserve to be treated.”
“All right,” she managed, her voice shaking. And the trust in those two words made Rey’s heart melt into a puddle of pure heat. Laying back, she braced her feet against the table’s edge. But Rey’s fingers tightened on her thighs.
“Don’t be shy,” he said in a low voice, yanking her to the edge and hooking her feet over his shoulders.
Chest heaving, he felt Silla watching as his head lowered. His fingertips glided along the sleek skin of her inner thighs, chased with teasing kisses. And then Rey’s fingers slid through her.
“So soft,” he murmured into her skin. “You’re so lovely, everywhere.”
His fingers dipped inside her body, stroking gently, soon followed by the wet heat of his mouth. Silla’s body jolted upward, and she sat up, staring dazedly at him.
“Lie back,” ordered Rey, adjusting himself. She fell backward with a moan, and Rey’s own pleasure grew as his mouth moved slowly against her. With his tongue and fingers, he learned her—finding the spots which made her insensible—those which made her clench down. She was close, he could tell, tightly wound up. Her feet flexed, searching for traction, but Rey drew back, peppering kisses along her thighs.
Silla grasped his head, trying to guide him back to where she needed him. His eyes met hers. “I told you, Silla. I won’t be rushed.”
With a frustrated cry, her hands curved into fists, but Rey only smiled. He wanted to tease her, to drive her to the edge of madness. Bending down, he pulled her into his mouth with a gentle suck.
“Oh, gods!” she cried out, arching off the table. It sent a jolt straight through his body. Rey tightened his grip, holding her in place. His fingers slid back in, teasing, coaxing, while his tongue swirled, and soon he felt her climbing back up, reaching, reaching, reaching…
Again, he relented when she neared that very pinnacle. Again, she cried out in frustration. Her head swung back and forth, incoherent sounds spilling from her lips. But Rey only laughed.
“Please!” she begged. Her body writhed as though she was not in control. And she wasn’t, in the least. She was utterly at his mercy.
This time, when his tongue found her, she received the full weight of his attention. He found a rhythm and was relentless in his touch. Her heels dug into his back, knuckles white from her grip on the table’s edge, but Rey held her firmly to him.
At last, she reached the peak, breath seizing as her back bowed. Silla cried out as her body clenched down again, again, again. It seemed to go on endlessly until at last she lay limp on the table.
“That was…” Her inability to find words was the highest praise. Silla raked her hands over her hair, as though trying to drag her mind back to her body.
