Her thumb rasped against the stubble on his jawline, making him blink and draw a hitching breath. When her fingers whispered into his hair, he shuddered, pulse pounding.

“And I’d miss this really quite breathtaking face,” she murmured.

“Hmm?” Now she’d released his hand, he was free to pull her close, press her body against his, her yielding curves and strong muscles such a sweet contradiction.

“Oh yes.” She nodded, hand trailing down his neck, over his shoulder, and planing across his chest, leaving fire in its wake, “and this glorious body.” Her hand slipped to his back, leaving nothing between them but thin layers of shirts and breeches.

Eyes dark, she smiled lazily, but her chest heaved against his, and her breaths fanned across his face, heavy and full. “And, of course, this mouth.”

With the barest tilt, her lips feathered against his and it took every inch of his self-control not to surge against her but to wait.

“How could I forget?” Her words brushed against his sensitive skin, streaking sparks through him, stoking fire low in his belly.

It wasn’t an explicit admission of how much she cared, but her touch on each part of him and her praise felt like playful worship. The kind of worship on Calan Mai’s feast days, with its floral crowns and the chasing dance through the forest at night, full of laughter and lovers and quiet clearings. She didn’t say the exact words, but her attention said he was special all the same.

At last, she angled her mouth to his in a thorough, delving kiss that made him groan and loop his other arm around her, wringing out every inch of contact he possibly could. Legs, stomachs, chests, arms, hands, mouths, tongues … It still wasn’t enough.

He grabbed her thigh, pulling it around his hips, bringing her deliciously against him.

She made a soft sound into his mouth, following his momentum and rolling on top, hands planted on his chest, fingers flexed against him. Panting, she drew away an inch. “And yes, that tongue”—she bit her lip, gaze flicking to his mouth—“so very skilful. It would be a shame if that went anywhere.”

Pride glowed through him. She certainly did enjoy his tongue. He’d given her a pillow to scream the evidence of that into on several occasions.

Grinning, he raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realise you thought I was such a great wordsmith.”

She chuckled and lowered herself against him, the gentle pressure teasing. “That wasn’t the angle I was going for.”

“Ah”—he grabbed her rear and wrenched her hard against him, his breath catching—“then—then it’s my singing?”

Cheeks a glorious shade of pink, more hot setting sun than delicate rose, she shook her head. “No, no, no.” With each word she ground against him, wrenching a groan from his throat. “I meant—”