Page 28

His voice came out as a low rumble. “Always, when you move like that.”

She laughed softly, a startled sound, and then she turned over in his arms to face him. In the faint green glow he could just make out her face, very close to his, her hair tangled and her eyes dark and wide. She reached up and touched his shoulder, where the gauze was wrapped. Her fingers explored it gently, feeling the place beneath where the wound had already sealed.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“No.”

“Liar.” But she was smiling a little. Her hand stayed on his shoulder. “You rescued me,” she said softly. “Again.”

He remembered the warm touch of her lips on his cheek, and the words she had said to him afterwards. She had been laughing, with the dust of the fallen slab still settling around them. You don’t get a thank-you without a rescue.

He didn’t dare move, not even to breathe.

She leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t a quick, grateful kiss, the way it had been that first time. It was slow and soft and warm, and she took her time about it. She kissed him as if she was remembering how, and then as if she wanted to learn more. He kissed her back the way she had taught him earlier, and she made a small, pleased sound against his mouth and slid her hand up into his hair.

When she drew back, she was breathing faster, and so was he.

“That was a thank-you,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said roughly. “I know.”

She stayed where she was, pressed against him, and he could feel her heart beating hard and fast against his chest. He could smell her too, the warm sweet scent of her. There was something new in it now, richer and deeper, that went straight to his head.

“Korrak,” she said, and her voice was quiet and a little unsteady. “Would you… touch me?”

He didn’t breathe at all.

“You can say no,” she said quickly. “I just… I want…” She stopped, and he felt her face grow warm where it was pressed against his throat. “I want more than a thank-you.”

He cupped her face in his hand and tipped it up so he could see her eyes.

“Show me where,” he said.

She reached for his hand, and his claws slid back into their sheaths before she even touched him. His hand swallowed hers completely, but she didn’t seem to mind. She held it in both of hers for a moment. Then she guided it down, over her throat and her collarbone, to the front of the grey covering she wore.

“There’s a zipper,” she whispered, and showed him how it worked, and he drew it down slowly while she watched his face.

Beneath the rough grey cloth she was soft and warm and smooth, softer than anything he had ever touched. He stroked the curve of her waist, and then the weight of her breast, and she gasped and arched into his hand. Her nipple tightened against his palm. He brushed his thumb over it, curious, and she made a sound that he wanted to hear again for the rest of his life.

So he did it again, and again, and when she shuddered and clutched at his back, he bent his head and took the other one into his mouth. She tasted like the dark fruit, sweet and clean and spicy. She tasted like the warm water in the pool, and he wanted to drink her down. She showed him when he needed showing, with a word or a touch or a soft, breathless laugh. But after a while she stopped needing to show him anything.

“You’re good at this,” she said faintly. “How are you good at this?”

“I listen,” he told her, and he did. He listened to every hitch in her breathing and every small sound she made, and he followed them the way he followed the currents in the river.

When her hand closed over his again and moved it lower, over the soft curve of her stomach and down beneath the loosened cloth, he thought his heart would stop. She shivered when he touched her, and she whispered his name and guided him, just for a moment, to show him where. The heat between her legs was wet and slick. Her breath came faster and faster as he found the small hard nub hidden there and stroked it until she trembled.

He was slow at first, and careful. He watched her face the entire time. He watched her eyes flutter closed and her lips part and her cheeks flush. She clutched desperately at him. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, and her body moved against his hand with a need that set his blood on fire.

“Korrak,” she moaned. “Oh God, Korrak, please…”

He carefully pushed a finger inside her, and she cried out and grabbed his wrist to hold him there. He could feel the clench of her small channel around his finger, and it sent a surge of fire through his blood. The hard ridge of his shaft pressed against his sheath, eager and throbbing, but he ignored it, concentrating on her pleasure.

She came apart in his arms with a cry that echoed softly off the stone. Her body tightened almost painfully around his finger, and she pressed her face into his throat and shook. He held her tightly until the trembling eased and her breathing slowed, and she went soft and boneless against him with a long, shuddering sigh.

For a long time she didn’t say anything. She lay with her face pressed to his chest, her heart still racing, her breath warm on his skin. Then, very slowly, she began to laugh.

He lifted his head, suddenly alarmed. “Frrankie?”