"Simon," she panted, her hips snapping up, chasing the artist's hand. "Deeper. Please, draw it out."
"I’m trying," Simon rasped, his voice sounding wet. He was working his fingers with a frantic, dexterous rhythm, staring at the junction of her thighs like it was the holy grail. "You're drowning me, Tess. You're so wet."
"Good girl," I murmured, kissing her jaw, her ear, the sensitive cord of her neck. "You're doing so good. Listen to that slick sound. That’s the sound of you being real. That’s the sound of you surviving."
"It feels... heavy," she cried out, her head thrashing against Anders. "I feel full."
"You are full," Anders spoke from behind her. His voice was the counterpoint to mine, sharper, cooler, smelling of bourbon. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing the scent gland there, a threat and a promise. "We have you bracketed. You are the center of the structure."
"Daniel," she begged, her hands leaving Anders’ arms to reach for me. She grabbed my face, her palms sweating, desperate. "My mouth. I need... I need noise. I need weight."
She wanted to be grounded. She wanted to be overwhelmed so that she couldn't think about the past.
"Open," I ordered.
She dropped her jaw.
I kissed her again, harder this time. I let my weight settle on her, careful not to crush her but heavy enough to pin her to the rug, heavy enough to make her feel the reality of my mass. I ground my hips against her thigh, letting her feel the hard ridge of my own arousal through my jeans, letting her know that herheat was affecting me, that she was powerful enough to break me too.
Simon picked up the pace. I could hear the wet, heavy slap of skin against skin. The scent of burnt sugar spiked, he was close to the edge, getting high on her pleasure.
"Ah! Ah! Simon!" She broke the kiss, screaming his name. It was a jagged, raw sound.
"Tell him," I encouraged, moving my mouth to her throat, licking the pulse that hammered there like a trapped bird. "Tell him how good his hands are. Just like the sketchbook, Tessa. Just like the drawing. You're the masterpiece now."
"It's beautiful," Simon choked out, his free hand gripping her hip, bruising the skin with his grip. "You're beautiful. I’m sketching this in my head. Every line. Every shiver."
"I'm burning," she wailed, tears leaking from her eyes. "It’s not stopping. The ache isn't stopping!"
"We aren't stopping either," I vowed. "We're going to layer it. We're going to pile it on until there's no room for the ache."
I sat back on my heels, needing to see her face. My hands moved to her breasts, cupping them through the thin silk of the open robe. They were heavy, swollen, the nipples hard and dark.
"Look at you," I rumbled, letting my gaze travel over her like a physical touch. "So red. So responsive. You aren't broken, Tessa. Broken things don't burn this bright."
"Daniel," she hissed, her hips bucking off the floor, grinding against Simon’s hand, seeking more friction. "Your voice. Use the... the vibration."
"On your throat?" I asked.
"Yes. Everywhere. Make me hum."
I leaned down. I pressed my mouth against the hollow of her throat, right over her voice box.
"Okay," I whispered. "Sing with me."
I started the hum. Low. Chest-deep. A continuous drone of pure Alpha resonance.
It vibrated against her trachea. She gasped, the sound distorted by the pressure.
"Good," I praised against her skin, keeping the vibration going. "You taste like salt. You taste like work. I love how messy you are."
I moved my mouth lower, to the swell of her breast. I took her nipple into my mouth and hummed against it, a sharp buzz of sensation that made her scream.
"Anders!" she cried out, reaching back blindly.
Anders caught her hands. He laced his fingers through hers, gripping tight, anchoring her to the earth while I played her body like an instrument and Simon drove her toward the edge.
"I've got you," Anders growled against her ear. "I'm not letting go. Not this time. No protocols. Just this."
