gly into his chest. Every time she thought she had figured something out, the rules changed. His chest, however, was a very nice place to be. His shirt was thin enough that she could feel the warmth of his muscles beneath it, and his heart beating, fast and strong.
“I can hear everything,” he gasped. “Everything. The water, the sky, birds, I... don’t even know what I’m hearing. Voices?” He paused and said achingly, “I hear music.”
“Saina is singing,” Gizelle told him. She could barely hear the strains from here, Saina’s magic a faint, distant tickle in her mind.
“What have you given me?” Conall drew back and put his hands at either side of her face. “How did you do this?”
Gizelle wanted to be close against his chest again, but his hands on her face were nearly as nice. “I don’t know,” she said simply. “I don’t know how I work.”
Then he bent and kissed her, and all the questions were irrelevant.
Gizelle had never understood kissing. She’d watched others kiss with fascination, not sure what the appeal of touching lips was when touching people altogether was rather distasteful, or what they did with their tongues when their mouths were open. The sucking looked uncomfortable, even while they seemed to be enjoying it immensely.
But Conall’s mouth explained it all, without any words whatsoever. It was an intoxicating mix of strong and soft, and when she instinctively opened her mouth in welcome, his tongue set her entire body on fire. She couldn’t be close enough, she couldn’t have enough of him touching her, and she whimpered in overwhelming longing as she kissed him passionately in return. His hands weren’t on her face anymore; one was at the small of her back, pulling her closer, but not close enough, and the other was tangling in the hair at the back of her neck.
She had her hands on his arms, and when he suddenly drew away, she took handfuls of his shirt, trying to keep him close.
“I’m sorry,” he said, panting raggedly. “I meant to let you set the pace. I shouldn’t have...”
“Do that again,” she begged, her breath as unsteady as his was. “Please...”
She threw arms around his neck and he let her kiss him again, bending to meet her hungry mouth with his own.
Every time she thought the kiss was ending, they found some new way of touching tongues, or his fingers found new places to tantalize her. Even his teeth were amazing, when she dared to explore them, and her lips felt crushed and sensitive and ravenous.
“Conall,” she breathed, when they broke for breath.
His arms tightened around her, and he made a noise that sounded like grief and happiness at the same time.
“I want more,” she said shyly. “I want...” she wasn’t sure how to articulate herself and feared looking like a fool. “Will you do sex with me?” That wasn’t right.
“I would like to make love to you,” he said earnestly.
That sounded better.
Much better.
He was kissing her neck now, which Gizelle hadn’t known was a place that would like to be kissed so much, and it was very distracting. They were still on their knees together in the sand, and it seemed like a poor place to continue what they’d started, so she was delighted when he rather suddenly picked her up and got to his feet with her in his arms.
She could still kiss him this way, and he could carry her back to his cottage.
Chapter 30
Conall had fantasized about hearing again, imagined what strains of music would sound like, what noise the wind in trees must be making.
He hadn’t imagined a din like this. He wasn’t sure if he was hearing insects or frogs, or possibly birds. And the wind was like a thousand whispers, voices just out of hearing, a radio just out of tune. The music was the least of the sounds he had in his head.
And the very best of the sounds was Gizelle.
He could hear her breath catch, and her little moans when he found particularly sensitive places. When she said his name, it was like a piece of heaven. She didn’t sound like he had expected, and it was a long moment, very distracted by her kisses, before he recognized that he wasn’t truly hearing her, he was hearing through her ears.
His own voice was somehow distant and different as well, like hearing a poor recording of himself.
She was a scant armful, all long, smooth limbs and hungry mouth, and finally having her in his arms was the answer to every question he had ever had.
His cottage was fortunately close to the beach, because between Gizelle’s demanding kisses and his own desperate need, he would not have gotten much further.
The door was not locked, and he fumbled with one hand to open it and then kicked it closed behind them so hard that it bounced back open. He left it open, carrying Gizelle into the bedroom.