One breath, another, and Roark readjusted on the sofa, helping me tug down his trousers. The ruddy length of his cock sprang free. I swiped my tongue over my lips, uncertain if I was bold enough.

I closed my eyes and sealed my lips around the tip.

A sort of rough cough broke from Roark’s chest. His hips bucked on instinct. With another groan, he let his head fall back, his fingers tangled in my hair, holding me in place when I took him in deeper.

I dragged my tongue along the underside of his length until he looked down at me with hooded eyes. Roark’s lips were parted; he was panting softly. What he did not speak with words, he said with touch. Every lick, every kiss, Roark would tighten his fingers in my hair, he would stroke his thumb across my cheek, my throat.

When he gently tapped my shoulder three times, then again, emotion knotted in my throat. Mine. He kept claiming me—Lyra—not the melder, but me.

And I wanted to claim him. Not the Sentry, not a brutal Draven, but Roark Ashwood.

The taste of his skin and musk pooled heat between my thighs. My tongue curled around the tip of his length. What I could not take in, I covered with my hand, stroking in tandem with my mouth.

One glance at the flush in his face, the way his body rocked with pleasure, and my core throbbed as I watched the desire written on his face. There was a wondrous power that came from knowing I brought those breaths from his lungs, that it was me he touched.

Roark thrust into my mouth deep enough I let out a strangled cough. He stilled, but I shook my head, gripping his thighs, a wordless command for him to never stop.

A moment longer and Roark frantically tapped my face, he tried to pull back.

I didn’t stop, not when his breaths were sharp and jagged. Not when he groaned and pressed his fists against his eyes, I wanted all of him and did not stop until his hot release was spent on my tongue.

When it ended, I pulled back, smiling and wiping my lips. Roark let his palms slide down his face, a heat to his skin. He cupped the back of my neck and pulled me over his exposed lap, kissing me, hard and deep.

“I want to—” Words were cut off by voices, laughter, and footsteps outside the door.

We froze for half a breath, then made quick work of untangling from each other. I shot to my feet. Roark refastened his belt and trousers, adjusted his tunic, and helped me with the sleeve of my dress.

He’d taken four swift paces away from me by the time a heavy knock pounded on the door and, without invitation, Kael strode inside.