“Ciaran…” she panted, looking down at him.
The sight of his head between her legs made heat curl in her belly.
Soon, his mouth found the inside of her knee. The warmth of his lips traveled up through her before he had moved an inch. By the time he reached her inner thigh, her breathing had grown ragged. She braced one hand against the lid behind her, and the other stayed curled in his hair, holding on.
When his mouth finally found her sex, the sound she made tore through the tower. His tongue circled and pushed into her, and she felt pressure build in her belly.
She ground her teeth, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as he continued to stroke her. Her thighs trembled against his shoulders, and her head fell back. The hand in his hair tightened.
“Ciaran.” His name came out broken and breathless. “I am close.”
He rose to his feet and pressed his mouth briefly to the side of her neck as his hand replaced his mouth between her thighs.
Ava felt a wave of pleasure rush through her as his fingers found the same rhythm without missing a beat. She gripped his shoulder hard, unable to say anything. She could feel him against her hip, his length poking through his trousers.
His breath was warm against her ear. “Ye drive me absolutely mad. Do ye ken that?”
It was not a question, and she could not have answered it anyway.
Her climax came with a force that surprised her, rolling through her in a long shuddering wave that broke whatever restraint she had been holding onto. She pressed her face into his neck and felt him hold her through it until the tremors ceased, leaving her sated and limp.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he brought his hand up slowly. She felt him taste his fingers, and something moved through her at the sight. He kissed her after, and she tasted herself on his lips. For some reason, she did not pull away.
When he finally lifted his head, she looked at him.
His hair was disheveled from her hands, and his eyes were dark and hooded. She swallowed hard as he leaned in.
He kissed her again, slower now, deeper, and she surrendered to him without hesitation. Then he shifted, and the piano edge caught the back of her thigh.
“Ow.”
He stopped at once. “Did I hurt ye?”
Ava blinked at him, then let out a breathless laugh. “Only me pride, I suppose.”
For a beat, he stared at her as if he had not expected laughter in the middle of this. Then his mouth curved. “Yer pride?”
“Aye,” she said. “But daenae worry, the piano isnae jealous.”
That drew a rough, low laugh from him, and the sound of it loosened something in her chest. She laughed too, still flushed, still unsteady, her forehead nearly resting against his as the tension from the interruption faded into something warmer.
His thumb brushed lightly over her cheek. “Are ye all right?”
“Aye,” she replied, and this time there was no breathless confusion in her voice. “I am.”
The answer settled in the space between them.
He looked at her for a second longer, then kissed her once, slowly, as though the pause and the shared laughter had somehow made the next touch more intimate instead of less.
For a few seconds after, Ava could do nothing but breathe. His right hand remained on her waist, steady and warm. The other rested against the piano lid beside her. She could hear his breathing too, slower than hers, though only just.
When she opened her eyes, the room looked the same as it had been earlier. She could see the candles, the dark wood, the open window. Yet nothing in her felt the same as it had been when she had first climbed those steps.
Ciaran looked down at her with an expression she had no proper name for. She saw hunger still and something more open than she had ever seen in him before.
He helped her down from the piano with more care than when he had lifted her onto it. By the time her feet touched the floor, her knees felt weak.
She sat against the side of the piano, pulling her cloak closer around herself by instinct. Ciaran sat down beside her, one knee bent, one arm draped loosely over it. He looked as if he did not know what to do with himself.
