"No." His mouth moved lower. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them wider, tucking them over his arms as he held her open. "It was cowardice dressed up as courtesy."
"Targesh—"
"I am done being courteous."
His mouth found her.
Verity arched, a gasp tearing from her throat as the wet heat of him claimed her.
She was slick already, and the evidence of it smeared against his lips, his tusks grazing the tender skin of her inner thighs as he worked her. The points dragged lightly, not piercing but pressing, a reminder of his edges even in this intimacy.
His tongue was devastating. Broad strokes that made her hips buck, then precise, focused attention on the spot that made her vision white out at the edges.
"I thought about this," he said against her, the words vibrating through her core. "Your taste."
She wasn't thinking. She was sensation and heat and the desperate grip of her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, demanding more. He gave it. His tongue pushed inside her, and she cried out.
He didn't stop. Didn't slow. Just held her open and took what he wanted, and what he wanted was her coming apart on his tongue.
The first orgasm hit her like a wave breaking. She shattered, back arching, his name torn from her throat in a sound that didn't belong to the woman who wrote careful notes in margins and organized other people's memories. This sound was raw. Animal. His.
He worked her through it, gentling only when she started to shake, when the aftershocks made her twitch against his mouth. Then he pressed one last kiss to her center and lifted his head.
His face was wet. His eyes were wild.
"Again," he said.
"Again."
He slid two fingers inside her.
She gasped at the stretch, every nerve raw and alive. His fingers were thick, the ridges of his knuckles dragging against her inner walls as he pressed deep.
"Targesh—" The word broke on a moan.
She wasn't passive in this; her hips rolled to meet his rhythm, chasing the pressure building again, surprising her with how quickly her body demanded more.
His other hand spanned her thigh, holding her open, thumb pressing into the soft flesh where her leg met her hip.
"This," he growled, eyes locked on where he entered her. "Your body takes me like it was made for me."
She could feel herself clenching around his fingers, the obscene wet sounds filling the chamber. Her face should have burned with it. Instead she watched him watch her, watched theway his jaw worked, the way his chest heaved with breaths he wasn't bothering to control.
"More," she said.
He added a third finger.
The stretch made her back bow off the furs. He stilled, giving her time to adjust, his thumb finding her clit and circling with maddening patience.
"Look at you," he growled.
His thumb pressed harder, his fingers curled, and the second orgasm crashed through her without warning. She heard herself cry out, felt her body clamp down on him, felt the gush of wetness that soaked his hand and the furs beneath her.
He withdrew his fingers slowly. Brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean while she watched, chest heaving, utterly undone.
"Targesh." She reached for him.
He stood. His hands went to his tunic, pulling it over his head in one motion. The firelight caught the planes of his chest, the old scars, the dark hair that trailed down his stomach. His hands moved to his trousers.
