"Do you like," he drawled as she gasped.
The reply she eventually gave him was nothing but a bunch of sounds; then again, all that erotic straining gave him his real answer.
She really liked the way she felt.
Encircling the small of her back with his arm, he gently lifted her up to his mouth. He had a moment's hesitation before he latched on, just because he could not believe he was actually doing this to someone: It had never occurred to him that he would have any kind of sex life outside of memories, but here it was, up close and personal, so to speak, that electric connection sparking, his body naked and aroused, his mouth about to taste someone different.
"Tohrment. . . " she moaned. "I do not know what I am. . . "
"It's okay. I got you. . . I got you. "
Dropping his head, he parted his lips and brushed at her nipple through the sheath, going back and forth, back and forth. In response, her hands dug into his hair, feeling good against his scalp, tightening, scratching.
Shit, she smelled fantastic, her scent lighter and more citrusy than Wellsie's. . . yet still like rocket fuel in his veins.
A lick brought him the rasp of the cloth and the hint of paradise - so he lapped at her again. And again. And again.
Sucking her into his mouth, he pulled on her nipple, tugging upward as he fell into a rhythm. And while she
held on even harder to him, he moved his hands all around her body, learning her hips and her outer thighs, her belly, that tiny rib cage.
The bed made a subtle creaking noise, the mattress giving under him as he moved closer to her. . . and brought their lower bodies together.
It was time to take this up a notch.
This was why females got that look in their eyes when they thought about their mates.
No'One finally understood why, when a hellren walked into a room, his shellan straightened a little and wore a secret smile. This was the cause of the shared glances between the two halves of the species. This was the urgency to get the mating ceremony done with, and the guests fed and danced, and the house shut up for the day.
This was why happily mated couples sometimes did not come down for First Meal. Or Last Meal. Or any meals in between.
This feast of the senses was the ultimate sustenance for the species.
And something she had never believed she would know.
The reason she was able to enjoy it? In spite of the frantic demand in both of their bodies, Tohr was so careful with her. Even though he was obviously aroused, and so was she, he did not rush: His self-control was a set of steel bars over their collective mating instincts, his tasting and tempo as unhurried and unthreatening as the graceful fall of a feather through still air.
It was rather driving her nuts, actually.
But she knew it was for the good. Frustrated as she was, she knew this was the right way, for there was no possibility of confusing who she was with or whether she wanted this -
The sensation of his wet mouth sealed upon her breast made her cry out and score his scalp. And that was before he began to suckle at her.
Around her nipple, he said, "Will you open your legs for me?"
Her thighs obeyed before her lips could form an acquiescence, and the laugh she got in response was a deep rumble of satisfaction in his chest. He also wasted no time. Relocking his mouth onto her breast, his palm slipped down to the top of her thigh and drifted over to the inside.
"Lift your hips for me," he said before licking at her nipple some more.
She obeyed immediately, so lost in anticipation that she couldn't comprehend why he'd asked. Except then there was a soft brush all around her legs.
The sheath. He was moving the sheath up -
His touch returned, brushing over the top of her thigh, going downward. . . before moving once again to the inside. . . .
Oh, the lack of barrier. As if it had not already been good enough.
In response, her pelvis arched and strained and got nowhere when it came to urging him to the heat he would ultimately claim. Verily, under his diverted ministrations, the blooming at her core shifted into something edgy, the welling sensation changing into a sharp-edged need, the pain of which was much like that of the strikes he'd taken at her vein.