“I’m not.”
“My mother would be ashamed I’m this bad at it.”
She would not. But shewouldmake you practice.
“Hafgúa.” I lift my head off Roiven’s shoulder and stare out at the ocean in the direction I can feel my familiar. “We’re having a moment. Do you mind?”
I do not mind. I, too, am having a moment. We are all having a moment.
I snort and bury my face against Roiven again. His skin is warm, warmer than the sun beating on my left shoulder. I can feel a light pulse in his neck from his heartbeat. The witch wraps both arms tight against my back, holding me to him.
His erection prods against me through the fabric of his drawers. I blink, then slowly smile, and tighten my legs around his hips to pull him closer.
“Well, it’s up to you,” I say, rocking my hips to grind myself slowly against him. “Icould get out of the water now. But if you think we’d better continue swimming lessons…”
“You’ve made good progress already,” Roiven rasps, one of his hands skimming lower down my back. “Probably best to not overdo it…”
“Nowyou say that,” I tease, and lift my head.
Roiven’s lips find mine. He tastes like salt, like the sea, and he’s just as demanding. My body floods with the way he wants me, as he cracks open the door between our emotions and lets his lust come tumbling out.
He breaks the kiss, lips still grazing against mine.
“Do you want to, beautiful?” Roiven whispers. Everywhere our bodies touch feels like lightning is crackling along it, hot and energetic. My whole body is awake and wanting.
“Yes. Please. Take me inside.”
The water sheets off us as Roiven walks us toward the rocky shallows. I try to drop to my own feet as we hit the place where the waves crash open, but he holds me tight and strides through it as the water breaks against his legs.
Since my first room burned, I have a new one, and I’m nolonger worried about losing control of my power. It doesn’t make sense for me to be high up on the mountain like the witches bonded to dragons are, not when Hafgúa cannot leave the sea.
The cove may have been the end of one staircase, but there were other paths down from the height of the Tower. One of them leads here, down to this rockier, more unprotected shore—and my new room. The wooden doors are thrown wide open to face the sea, not hidden from view like the rest of the Tower’s homes. Roiven walks up the shore, past the tide line and the rise where the sea can reach during its wildest storms, and at last into the sea-facing chamber that I’ve made my home.
The large plush bed is calling to me and my aching body. But Roiven, responsible as ever, carries me straight to the wall fountain so I can rinse the salt from my metal arm. With me still in his arms, he presses another kiss to my lips. Slow at first, then deeper, his tongue pressing into my mouth as I feel the hard length of him jut against me. I kiss him back, tangling my hands into his hair and making clear he is every bit mine, just as thoroughly as I am his.
When Roiven’s hands loosen on my thighs I let my legs slowly fall down to touch the stone floor, my muscles still aching. The fountain water splatters just next to us. I stretch my right arm out to let the water wash away all the salt and sand-grit.
Roiven finds a bar of soap and unbuttons my brassiere. With my back to him, his hands slowly lather my body. The soap rubs down my spine, and my shoulders, and my neck, as the water courses over my skin.
He presses himself closer to me and reaches around to run the soap over my stomach and my hips. And finally, slowly, with the water running from the roots of my hair down over me, the witch’s hands find my breasts. He runs the soap over each in turn, his breath catching as my nipples harden beneath his touch. And then he sets the soap down and replaces it with his hands, gently kneading. His mouth presses against my neck in a kiss, and his handsdrop lower, scraping over my stomach, my hips, back up to my shoulders…
I find the soap and turn to face him. He catches my mouth with another kiss before I can return the favor, dragging the pale bar over the sharp lines of his abdomen, across every scar I’ve left behind on his skin. He’s hot to the touch, and hard, and with every moment we drag this out I feel the ache between my legs grow unbearable. I want him desperately. I drag off his drawers, letting his heavy length swing free, and meet his eyes as I circle his erection with the soap. Roiven’s mouth parts, his jaw slack and his eyes fixed on me but distant with lust.
He pries the soap gently from my fingers and drops it on the floor. Bracketing my hips with his hands, he sinks down to his knees, hooks his fingers over the hem of my undergarment, and pulls it off of me. I step out of it quickly so he can toss it to the side. The water pours over both of us as Roiven bends lower to fit his mouth against me.
Roiven lifts one of my legs up over his shoulder. I nearly lose balance, swinging my arms back desperately until one connects with the wall. My metal hand grips the mortar of the stones as my leg tightens against Roiven’s back, and my left hand finds his hair and fists it. His mouth is demanding, wringing the pleasure from me with little build-up. I whine and clench, my fingers tightening in his hair, tugging. His tongue roughens against me and my legs shake. Another minute and I’m going to fall over.
“Please,” I whisper. It’s all I have to say. Roiven eases my leg off his shoulder, stands, and drags me back up around his waist. My legs wrap around him as he carries me two feet over, out of the fountain’s flow and against the stone wall. He presses my back to it and grinds himself against me as his hungry mouth captures mine again.
Reaching between us, I palm his length with my left hand and stroke firmly down and back up.
Through the bond, I can feel every ounce of pleasure coursingthrough him… just like he can feel mine. Our lust feeds on each other’s; doubles. There’s no hiding how badly we want this, and no guessing how the other likes a movement. When I twist my hand over the head of his shaft I can feel the overwhelming flood of pleasure that courses through Roiven’s mind, as clearly as I feel his breath panting desperately against my cheek. With one hand still beneath my thigh, holding me up, he slides the other hand between us and buries a finger into my grip. All I can do is whimper, too far gone for words.
“I need you,” Roiven somehow manages, the words tight and rasped like it was a feat of strength to get them out. I moan in answer, canting my hips toward him. He grips my legs with both hands, inching me higher so he can line himself up with me. I reach down to help guide him.
His length fills me to the hilt. My lips part in a silent moan. Roiven’s chest presses hard against mine and his fingers dig into the undersides of my thighs. The initial pleasure sends a shockwave so strong my eyes squeeze shut and I pant around the feeling. Roiven’s teeth close around the skin of my neck. He trembles against me, barely restraining himself from how hard he wants me.
Slowly he inches out and rocks back into me. We both breathe out together, a quiet moan or perhaps a prayer, as each of our pleasures mingle and flood through us both. The bond we forged together doubles what either of us would be capable of feeling on our own.
