“Stop. No. I can’t do any more of that, I can’t. Please, I’m just not used to it. I’m not used to hearing things like that, and feeling things like this. I swear I don’t want my magic to disappear, but god if all of this heat doesn’t die down just a little. Just enough that I canbreathe,” she burst out, far louder and more frantic sounding than she really wanted to seem. It came out like a scream, in word form. And she couldn’t help trying to get away from him, at the same time. She jammed her hands up, between their bodies, so close to shoving at his chest that she felt the cold heat from him radiating against her palms. In fact, the only reason she didn’t go the whole way was that he got there first.
He saw those hands and stepped away.
Yet somehow, once he had, all she wanted to do was pull him back.
Even as he poured more sultry things into her ear. “Mina, your magic is not going to disappear if you stop giving in to desire. But at the same time, it’s not likely to do you any harm if you simply explore. If you simply take what you need,” he said, in a way that turned that one word—take—into something that almost made her moan.
She had to fight to stay reasonable.
“You don’t know that. I could make such a hash of everything.”
“I promise you, you won’t. In fact, exploring what you desire, what makes you feel good—it will only deepen the connection between you and magic. It will make it second nature, the moment you understand completely whatever it is that gives you the most pleasure. All you have to do is just touch yourse—”
This time, he cut himself off. Though she knew exactly why.
She had blushed too deeply, over what he had definitely been about to suggest. Winced, just a little. And she saw the moment he caught it. His eyes widened; she heard an actual intake of breath.
She braced for the mockery that would follow.
Then didn’t know what to do with the softening in his expression.
“You’ve never made yourself come,” he said, hushed, unsettled.
It made it hard to know what to say, in response.
“Sex is just not a thing for me. I told you that.”
“Yes, you did. But I thought you just meant... I didn’t think you meant... ”
“Well, now you know I did mean those things. So you can be quiet about it.”
She kept her eyes away from his. But she could see him searching for an angle that would make her meet his. He ducked his head, tilted it—and then most wonderfully awful of all, his hand lifted. It moved too close to her face.
As if he wanted to touch her chin and urge it up.
But in the end, he couldn’t seem to do it. He confined himself to words.
“How can I be? All the possible pleasure inside you, all the ways you are so obviously ripe and eager, and now you tell me you have never once allowed yourself to explore it, or give in to it, or even grasp that it’s there. God, no wonder a dance and a bare body on a bed and a few words have you looking like this,” he whispered, and oh lord, the sincerity in his voice. It sounded soreal.
She slipped into asking about it before she could stop herself.
“Like what?” she asked, fool that she was.
Becausethiswas his answer:
“So ready for someone to have you.”
And after that, there was nothing but the beating heart between her legs.
An ache intense enough that she couldn’t hold back her intake of breath. It was honestly a miracle she managed to tell him no. “I can’t let myself do that with you,” she said, half stumbling over the words, choking on them, sure he was going to laugh at her clumsy assumption the second it was out.
However, he didn’t even give her that.
“But youcando it to yourself.”
“No. Maybe. I barely even know where to—”
“Begin? Then let me help you. Let me tell you what feels good.”
