A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 71

Gwyn focused on the gold-plated tray lying before her. A sundry of rich fruits, cheeses, and cured meats which had been quietly left on the sideboard in the adjoining room to their suite. May Mother bless that poor, most likely scarred Day court soul who had made the delivery, with a short memory.

The two of them certainly had not been quiet. Not in the bedroom or the bathing chamber. Or the time on the adjoining balcony, veiled under night and shadow and stars. Though, perhaps working for their High Lord had made them immune to such things. At least if the tales and rumors she'd heard from Nesta were true.

Yes, they had been otherwise occupied. And Azriel had indeed kept her well occupied, making it his mission to counter her point. Well, in a way.

Despite it being the shadowsinger's birthday wish, she was the one who had reached oblivion. Nearly. Left a trembling and gasping mess, palms and flushed cheek pressed against the cool sunstone. And not a minute later, a soft pillow and bunched bicep had replaced the solid wall as she lowered down onto her side.

The arm beneath her had curled around her still heaving chest, drawing her against all the heat and hard muscle pressed in behind her. Fingers swept her hair away from off her face, slipping the tresses back until she could feel his breath whispering against her ear.

Those same fingers drifted lower, leaving shivers in their wake. Lower and lower, as Azriel said, "Gwyneth?" She couldn't speak, held her breath as those fingers tickled behind her knee. "Are you listening, Gwyneth?" She nodded furiously, and his answering low chuckle rumbled at her back, charged with confidence. "While I appreciate your earlier heartwarming sentiment, I disagree." She was too focused on the way his hands roamed to answer. Rendered incapable of speech.

His lips and words brushed over her skin as he said, "We agree on one thing. Before you, sex was meaningless. Means and ends." His cheek pressed against hers. "Everything has been different with you, Gwyn. Every single godsdamn moment with you has meant more." Gently squeezing her hand, he brought it right above her breast. Over her heart. "I have used my body for many things. For war. For pain. For pleasure—but I never used this. Never until you. "

Then his mouth, open and wet, leaving a path of kisses down the column of her throat, his teeth dragging over the pulse. The seductive tease ended with a gentle kiss.

There was a snap and a rustling as his right wing spread and closed over them. Until they were surrounded, encased. Utterly just the two of them. In this mauve world of beauty and scars, only they existed. Then his hard thigh urged between hers and callused fingers curled behind, around her knee. And her leg was hooked over his and his hips shifted forward.

Slowly, torturously so, he eased himself into her, his breath hitching with every small thrust. Gods. Her eyes fluttered shut. There was no keeping them open. Impossible. There was nothing to see, but so much to feel.

"I love you, Gwyn." Those four words and his body filled her, moved her, over and over. Everything was a leisurely climb, a stroll. And when they finally reached the pinnacle, they didn't just fall. They jumped, hand in hand. He caught her. Held her through the plunge and resurface .

While exchanging breaths, kisses, and keening moans, still mostly liquid, she realized... Mother of the Cauldron, damn this obnoxious, stubborn, beautiful male. There was a difference. Not that she would ever, ever. Not for any amount of gold marks. Not for all of Prythian would she ever admit such a thing.

So as he carried her into the bathing chamber and set them under the magical spray, and he'd thought he'd proven his point, against his lips she said, "I don't know about that. I think I need a reminder of the other example. For comparison's sake."