A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 24

Holy Mother above. Had the actual words fight or fuck really left her? Gwyn suddenly felt lightheaded. The shadows swirled around her, settling her with bursts of cool air against her cheeks.

Yes. Clear as day, those words had flown out her mouth. Over the hows and the whys, the words breaking through her endless tears. For Thea. For Shelah. Snuck by her contemplation of why she was alive . But, godsdammit, she was. Today. It was time to live again. Enjoy something good. Something all theirs. All hers.

"Which is it, Azriel?" She drew a deep breath as she gazed at the powerful bare-chested and barefooted Illyrian in his splendor, standing before her, all long and lean. Chiseled jaw and full-lipped. And as if a single feather would tap him on his ass.

His throat bobbed. "Gwyn..."

She reached behind, fingers wrapping one at a time around the cool bronze in question. Stay or go? Every emotion flickered across Azriel's handsome, tired face as he stared at her fist as if she held a lethal weapon instead of a doorknob.

With deliberate slowness, he moved for her, pulling the hand away from the door, interlacing their fingers. Breathing became difficult as she took in their united palms. Cauldron, was she really doing this?

Gwyn pushed off the wood, limping backward toward the largest bed she'd ever encountered in her life, tugging him with her. Eyes of burnished gold with specks of jade skimmed over her frame like a caress. Intense, devouring every part of her. So much so that she'd completely forgotten she was actually inside Azriel's room. Swords and daggers acted as artistry. The sole flourishes upon dark navy walls except for one portrait of three teenage Illyrian males playing in snowdrifts in a cozy winter scene complete with a cabin.

The air permeated with something dark and rich. Decadent. His scent, she realized. The instant she turned from the painting and met his passionate stare, she saw he was on board.

"Wait." Azriel steadied her as the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed. His grip remained on her forearm. He cleared his throat as they straightened. "We need to discuss this, Gwyn."

"Discuss what?" Her pulse hammered as she ran a hand along his muscular bicep, grinning smugly at his shiver. A shiver she caused.

Azriel's eyes drifted shut, his lips parting as her fingertips smoothed over the solid planes of his chest and stomach. "What are we doing?" He opened his eyes and in them was sheer desire. A fierce urge he was valiantly resisting. "We need to talk about this."

"Fine. Then let's talk." Gwyn smirked as her fingernails lightly trailed his tangled black-blue whorls from his neck to his navel. Her eyes dropped below his waistline. To the bulge growing beneath the seam of leather.

"Let's take a minute to set ground rules," he said, his words ending on a grunt as her finger played with the top of his pants.

Her mischievous smile slipped as she reflected on his words. Words mirroring what the priestess she solicited for counsel delivered on navigating future intimacy. "Take three minutes to establish boundaries with a partner. Rules. Wants. Needs." Gods, Gwyn didn't know if she could wait three more minutes. Yet Azriel had dutifully pulled back on the reins, giving her a chance to leap off.

Cauldon, she had asked him to fuck her. Not make love. Not have sex. Fuck, as in... But, was she truly ready for... Everything?

Gwyn gulped, her hand moving back up to his chest, coming to rest above his pounding heart. He put his hand over hers, his thumb stroking the side in soothing sweeps.

Three minutes.

She exhaled deeply, gathering her thoughts and courage. And she praised the gods Azriel had paused. "I'm not ready for intercourse."