A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 33

A line from one of her favorite Sellyn Drake novels recited in her head.

She didn't know it was possible to drown in fire, but she was burning in a sea of passion...

Gwyn always adored the quote, even though she never quite understood its meaning—until the moment Azriel tugged her into his lap and kissed her. This, Gwyn thought. This was what Gwyn imagined only possible in books. Where the character described being consumed, devoured by their partner. So immersed in each other, nothing existed beyond the now. Beyond the steam and want.

She didn't know it was possible to drown in fire, but she was burning in a sea of passion...

And, Mother above, Gwyn would willingly let the passion drown her.

Gwyn hadn't yet faced this version of her shadowsinger in bed. The one he struggled to conceal from her. This was Azriel, not being careful. Wasn't treating Gwyn like frail, breakable glass in his grip.

No. This was a male who needed his female. And was making damn certain she accepted it. And Gwyn was loving every raw and sultry second of it—and she wasn't afraid. Never of Azriel, who still hadn't sung for her but drove away her shadows nonetheless.

Her shadows of dread. Shadows of uncertainty. Shadows of shame.

Gwyn fully reclined into his cradling arm, letting him hold her as his mouth claimed hers feverishly. Her fingers burrowed into his silky hair as he angled her head the way he preferred, deepening the kiss. She opened for him, forcing him close with a hand on the back of his neck. His tongue leisurely flicked over hers, teasing her to play. And she satisfied with her own, tasting him. A startled groan emerged from him when her teeth gently nibbled his lower lip as she pulled back.

Azriel's free hand coasted lower to her waist. She shivered, his mouth capturing her muffled gasp as his thumb swept over her hipbone. Her essentially bare waist, Gwyn realized through the fog of lust.

The same attention must have crossed Azriel's mind. Too soon, he lifted his head, glimpsing at her midriff. To where Gwyn's deep red sweater dress had ridden up past her stomach when he'd towed her into his lap. How her exposed thigh pushed up against the hardness beneath his soft black pants.

"Gwyn," Azriel murmured, throat bobbing, his anxious hazel eyes searching hers. And damn, the fact that he would break to check on her pierced her heart like an arrow.

She grinned. "It's all right." Her answer didn't seem to placate. She tried again. "I'm all right, honestly," Gwyn reassured, her fingers playing with the short ebony strands at his nape.

Shadows floated to his ear, and he nodded. Gwyn rolled her eyes.

"Do you not trust me, or are you getting evidence from your little lie-detecting shadowy minions?"

Az smiled timidly as his amused shadows twirled as he mumbled to them. When they implied a bow and slid under the threshold, it was clear the shadowsinger had dispatched them from the room.

"Sorry. I just need to be positive," the shadowsinger sighed.

Though his next kiss was soft, the hold on her hip was not. Azriel brought his callused hand up to rest just below her breast. There was no eluding the heat of his palm through the tight-knitted fabric. And yet Gwyn knew Azriel would let go, move away if she requested. But she didn't want him to go anywhere.

"So what happens next in this book scene, Berdara?"

Gwyn's eyebrows shot up. "You want to know what actually happens in the scene?"