She started unbuttoning her shirt again. Was it Madeleine’s imagination, or were her hands shaking now? Madeleine’s certainly were. She sat up, tugged off her torn sweater, and then her shirt. And then she held her breath as she removed her plain, white bra.

Hæra slid off her shirt, revealing she wore no bra at all. She could get away with it. Her torso was lean, with small breasts. They were as pale as the rest of her, tipped with light brown nipples. They were perfect. So was the rest of her.

Firelight gilded the muscles of her long arms and broad shoulders. Her torso tapered down to a narrow waist. Like this, she looked elemental, primal, strength in her every line. And yet no outsider could guess at the true power of her frame.

Madeleine opened her mouth to whisper a compliment—not that she knew where to start—when she saw that Hæra was staring fixedly at Madeleine’s breasts too. Her mouth was open slightly, her eyes glazed.

There were about two seconds to figure out what was happening before Hæra pushed her back down to the floor. Madeleine lost her breath with the impact, and also lost any desire to protest, because then Hæra bent her head and took Madeleine’s right breast into her mouth.

Madeleine’s hips bucked up. A sob tore its way out of her throat. Hæra’s mouth was hot, her tongue rough as she licked Madeleine’s nipple eagerly. Then the licking became sucking, harsh and hard, enough that it ought to hurt—it did hurt—pain and pleasure, once again⁠—

And once again, Madeleine moaned, “More.”

There was more. So much more. Madeleine hadn’t known there could be so much of anything under heaven. Hæra’s mouth was everywhere: Madeleine’s breasts, and then back to her neck, sucking another mark to life. Then she kissed her way down Madeleine’s belly, pausing occasionally to bite and lick that too, moaning over every dip and rise of skin.

The whole time, Madeleine could do nothing but dig her hands into Hæra’s strong shoulders and hold on. Was this more of Hæra’s magic: the ability to paralyze her with pleasure, to destroy her mind? She should act—touch Hæra in return, demand her own rights. She should run her hands over Hæra’s long body, make Hæra melt too, make Hæra’s body surge against hers and⁠—

Even as the thought made her moan again, Hæra unzipped Madeleine’s jeans.

Madeleine’s heart stopped. So did her breath, when Hæra slid her hand beneath her zipper, beneath…beneath her underwear…

Hæra’s fingertips brushed the soft hair between Madeleine’s legs, and then her lips. There wasn’t much room. Hæra’s hand was pressed tightly against Madeleine’s aching flesh.