Page 102 of Sunder

More particularly when he delved for the ties at her throat. When he took looking to mean atherrather than the bond between them.

Her throat ached, and she was nervous, but she did not stop him. Not when he was looking at her, as if she was the most precious thing in all the world.

As if he could not quite believe the turn of the night.

That she could captivate him so entirely with a nightdress and a simple string of ties, which he plucked at with fingers that shook ever so slightly as he undid them one by one.

He couldn’t see the threads that tangled there. The glow. They were beautiful, shimmering and all alight when he touched them. It was enough to leave her breathless, refusing to close her eyes to the sensation even though the reflex was there. To savour, to revel. To let him work and trust his exploration would bring her nothing but pleasure.

But she wanted to see the threads. Wanted to see what he would do next as he parted the fabric of her nightdress and looked at her more intimately than ever before.

She was far from perfect. He’d see that, too.

And she supposed that’s what she was truly waiting for. When his touches would grow more hesitant. When he’d notice the intermittent scars that punctuated softer flesh.

Some healed well, all silvery and smooth. Others were knotted and sore, a constant reminder of their origins.

Her chest had healed poorly. The skin was too taut; the wound stretching with every breath. It didn’t matter how many salves they’d put, how faithfully she’d been instructed to massage the tissue as it healed so it might flatten and quiet.

Orma waited.

Watched him.

Did not expect for him to place a hand between her breasts. Did not expect for him to press lightly downward, urging her to lie back.

She obliged, her heart racing beneath his palm.

He followed, covering her. Not with the blanket as he might if they were going to sleep, but hovering above her. He was careful of his weight as his hand retreated to its place where she’d set it against her breast, and his head dropped to press a kiss on the scar. On the bond. Which fluttered and pulsed and almostdrove her to distraction. She had known she was sensitive there, but hadn’t realised what it might mean for moments like this. When she wanted to squirm away and press closer all at once. When the nerves she’d cursed had brought nothing but pains that ranged from prickling to sharp daggers in her chest.

A sound caught in her throat as his mouth opened. Not to talk to her, but to press another open-mouthed kiss to the tangled flesh, which nestled him against the cords binding them together. His affection was genuine, and if there was a sorrow about it, it was not punctuated with a complaint. He did not find her wanting.

He was pleased with his mate. Pleased with her acceptance of him.

His fingers moved against her breast, pressing. Gripping lightly. Then a bit more firmly when the sparks of sensation turned from an odd sort of pressure to flickers of something more. Something tantalising.

Should she be doing something? Probably. She’d meant this as a seduction, after all, and she was being a rather passive participant at the moment. Not that Athan seemed to mind, as he was busy moving his attentions from the scars themselves to press kisses to softer flesh, to determining what it felt like to press a kiss to the small nipple he found there.

Then, to her great mortification, he licked it.

Then blew gently over the wetness. And that wasn’t fair, because she’d just been about to tell him that he should keep his tongue to himself, but how was she meant to do that when it felt likethat?

He was rewarded with pebbled skin and a glower from his mate, but he wasn’t looking at her, just teasing new sensations from her.

Which was good. Was what she wanted.

The bond sent a little thrill, finally satisfied with their join purpose. But Orma felt a niggling sense of... something.

She reached for him. Buried her hands in his hair and held him to her while he placed long kisses on her, and was rewarded with his hum.

That was all. Much better. She needed to touch, to not lie there like she was being subjected to something, but move and urge and distract him with little pleasures, too.

She ran her fingertips lightly behind his ears, where his hair met the skin of his neck, and his kisses wavered. His eyes were closed and how many nights had he spent doing much the same to her, all while hoping their roles might be reversed?

She really must pay better attention. Make sure he was taken care of in all the ways she could offer.

“You’re going to put me to sleep if you keep doing that,” Athan warned, propping his chin on her sternum and looking up at her. “Is that your aim?”

She curled her fingers about his ear and felt more affection for him than she thought possible. “No,” she soothed, just in case he was worried she’d changed her mind already about their aim. “I just so happen to like touching you.” She canted her head, certain of the answer but wanting to hear it from him. “Is that bad?”

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