Gripping his shoulders, I rise and lower myself again, a long, slow movement taking him out of me and then in again.
I fight the urge to plunge faster, the extended glide of his cold length into my core sending my senses into a spin.
His palms flex against my back, his breathing erratic.
He hasn’t hummed. Hasn’t sung. His voice is now ragged. “Thyra, you could drag me down, tear me to pieces, and I wouldn’t care.”
He isn’t using his Voice. He spoke barely above a broken murmur, and his words are so unbearably raw that my heart could crack.
“Kiss me,” I say, intensely aware that he has rarely claimed my mouth and although I’m not certain why, I’m sure it has something to do with how conscious he is of my emotions. How intently he listens to my moods.
He surges up beneath me, driving himself deeper into me as his mouth crashes against mine, a hungry kiss, a clash of ice and heat that takes my breath away and pushes every logical thought from my head.
I let go of my control, trusting my body and his, riding every plunge and withdrawal as the coil of needintensifies within me, tightening andtighteninguntil I’m crying for release.
His head drops to my breasts, his arm at my back supporting me as I arch while he takes my nipple into his mouth, drawing his tongue across the hard nub.
My body shatters with pleasure. A release that pulls screams from my lips and sends my senses, my mind, my entire being spiraling upward and outward, beyond myself. Then back again, like a coil of fate has wound around us, binding us together.
His mouth moves on my breast, his tongue teasing me, his groan vibrating against my sensitive skin as he lays me back onto the bed. His body slides smoothly out from mine. His hands stroke my arms, pushing them up above my head, his kisses trailing to my neck, to my earlobe, where he whispers, “Do you want more?”
“I couldn’t possibly want?—”
He inhales against my throat; his hand finds my other breast, working my nipple, light touches, hard touches, and everything in between.
Pleasure coils once again deep in my core.
“Yes,” I gasp, a near-desperate need overtaking my senses. “I want more.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Stellen
Thyra’s moans fill my hollow spaces.
Every sensitive part of her body is finally mine to explore. The curve of her breasts, the soft skin inside her thighs, the gentle folds and firm nub between her legs.
Mine to taste. Mine to stroke. And then, when I’m certain I’m in no danger of influencing her choices, mine to sing…
Once again, I send her into oblivion, this time with my mouth on her clit, her orgasm so intense that her cries could shatter me into pieces.
With every hum, I give her pleasure, but I cage my own need, my songs ensuring I stay in control.
I have to stay in control.
She just finished her monthly courses. Her fertility will be at its highest soon. I won’t take any chances that she’ll become pregnant.
I must never father a child.
The power of song must end with me.
So I keep my pleasure at bay, humming the notes that willheighten her pleasure while stopping my body from achieving a release.
And, somehow, I don’t fucking care.
This way, she can ride me as much as she likes, as long as she likes.
For the third time, she collapses onto me, her breathing ragged, her heartbeats drumming in my ears, a rhythm I could live my life to.
