"I know." He shifted, wedging one thick thigh between hers so she straddled it, the hard muscle pressing right against her core through her clothes. "I can smell it, remember? Your want. Your need." He rolled his hips, grinding the rigid length of him against her belly. "It drives me insane, Delia. Makes me want to pin you here and fuck you against this wall.”
"Yes," she breathed, hardly knowing what she was agreeing to.
"Not here. Not like this." His voice cracked with restraint. "You deserve better than a frantic rut in the shadows. But—" His fingers slid lower, shoving her tunic up farther, tracing the plush curve of her thigh before finding the hem of her smallclothes. "I can give you something. If you want it."
"I want it."
His fingers pushed the fabric aside and stroked slowly through her drenched folds. She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper as he circled her clit once, twice, then plunged one thick finger inside. The stretch was immediate, perfect; she clenched around him with a muffled whimper.
"There," he murmured against her ear.
She was going to die. She was going to shatter into a thousand pieces right here in this alcove, back scraping stone, thighstrembling, the distant murmur of voices from the main path reminding her how exposed they were. She didn't care.
His other hand clamped over her mouth.
"Quiet," he reminded her, his fingers still working between her thighs. "You remember what I said? Quiet,krenna. Or we stop."
She nodded frantically against his palm.
He rewarded her by slipping one thick finger inside.
He rewarded her with a second finger, stretching her wider, pumping slow and deep while his thumb worked her clit in tight, merciless circles. The pleasure coiled fast and vicious, her hips bucking against him.
"Good girl," he growled against her temple. "Taking my fingers so beautifully.”
She whimpered behind his hand and came hard.
The orgasm ripped through her in sharp, shuddering waves, her cunt spasming around his fingers in frantic pulses. She screamed into his palm, the sound muffled but raw; her nails scored his shoulders, thighs clamping his wrist. He worked her through it until the spasms turned to helpless flutters and she sagged against the wall, boneless.
He eased his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean with a low, satisfied rumble. Then he replaced his hand with his lips, kissing her softly, tasting herself on his tongue.
"Beautiful," he breathed. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come for me."
Delia trembled, legs weak, but her mind sharpened on the hard length still throbbing against her thigh. She reached for him.
"You didn't—" Her fingers found the laces, fumbling them open in the dark. "Let me—"
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." She found the laces of his trousers, fumbling in the darkness. "Show me. Teach me how to touch you."
His forehead dropped to her shoulder. "Delia—"
"Please."
The laces came free. She reached inside and wrapped her fingers around him, and his whole body jerked like she'd struck him.
"Like this?" she asked, stroking experimentally, and he thrust into her grip once, helpless. The ridges shifted under her fingers; she felt them rise and fall with his pulse, slick with precum that eased her way.
"Tighter,” he rasped. "You won't hurt me. Tighter. Faster."
She obeyed, pumping him with firm, steady strokes, thumb swiping over the broad head on every upstroke. He groaned loudly, and she reached up to clamp her free hand over his mouth.
"Quiet," she whispered, echoing his earlier command, a thrill racing through her at the reversal. "Unless you want the whole stronghold to know."
His gaze snapped to hers in the dim light, and he thrust into her fist harder, hips jerking, muffled sounds vibrating against her palm, desperate, raw, beautiful.
He came with a shuddering roar trapped behind her hand, hot pulses spilling over her fingers in thick ropes, coating her wrist. His body shook, tusks pressing her shoulder as he rode it out, hips grinding weakly until he stilled.
