A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 39

Whisked through whipping shadow and darkness, they arrived in his room.

Make sure no one fucking comes in here or hears a damn thing, he ordered his shadows.

Before Azriel's feet even touched the solid floor, his mouth was on hers. His body surged forward with hers wrapped around him like a second skin. Gwyn's full mouth tasting, her hips driving against his in silent demand, made it impossible for him to focus.

But if Gwyn wanted that. He kept her up with his forearm, freeing his hand to give her perfect ass a satisfying thwack. And to his astonishment, she begged for another one. Gods, this girl was going to be the damn death of him.

When they tore apart to breathe, both sharing panting gasps, she glanced at the bed. Fuck the bed. He wasn't in the mood for soft mattresses and satin sheets. From her eyes, neither was she.

Azriel's lips crashed into hers again as he carried her over, plunking her rear unceremoniously onto the corner of his desk, not caring if she was on top of important reports or not.

He broke out of the kiss long enough to seek if this was all right, gripping her chin between his fingers.

"Yes," Gwyn replied, nodding her head for emphasis, her tone breathy. "Gods, yes."

Az smiled wickedly, standing a few paces back to look at her. Those ample breasts rose and fell beneath the bulky sweater. Legs spread, dangling off the desk. Despite her lack of leathers or a robe, in his fantasy, godsdamn, she was still perfect.

"Fuck, Berdara."

Gwyn moaned her reply, her legs shifting together, seeking friction. His cock and wings twitched in return.

He prowled forward, fingers drifting over the top of her thighs and under, curling into her flesh. In one fluid motion, papers went flying as he yanked her forward to the edge.

With no preamble, his mouth settled on hers, a clash of tongue and teeth. Not a single thing was sweet. His frustration backed the kiss and was rougher than he'd normally give. But Azriel would not lie to her. He wanted Gwyn to be with him. To hold him however he came. Even when anguish and pain backed his actions. And mostly he needed Gwyn to know; despite all the shit, she made everything better.

She made him better.

The fierceness made both their lips swollen and wet. Sweet Mother, his girl, was always up for the challenge. Gwyn kissed Az back and met him press for press. Stroke for stroke. She was as ravenous and as needy for him as he was for her.

His hand coasted up her body, locating the edge of the cream wool sweater that needed to go. This time, she didn't need him to yank on the bottom. With a gasp, Gwyn hurled the shirt off so fast he couldn't blink.

A bra of azure lace was all that remained. Not what he wished to see. Azriel desired soft alabaster skin with a zodiac of freckles. He wanted to see dusky, pretty peaks tight with pleasure.

With a grunt, the shadowsinger leaned over, dragging his nose up and down between the valley of her chest as his fingers freed her gloriously full breasts from the frilly confines. Pushing the cups over until her pebbled nipples sprang. Gwyn's heart thudded heavily behind her ribs, his mouth peppering her supple skin with soft brushes of his lips. As his hands pinched and kneaded. Her body jolted, palms squeaking across the wooden surface, when his tongue laved over the turgid tips, leaving them glistening.

"You're about to make my private library fantasy come true, Gwyneth."

"Is that so?" Her throat bobbed as she watched, eyes widening as his nose grazed down her body, only stopping to dip his tongue into her navel. Azriel slowly knelt between her and spread her legs with the width of his shoulders.