"Wart," she said, his name half a warning, half a plea. Her hips shifted, pressing up against him, and the friction sent a shudder through his spine. He leaned down, lips brushing the hollow of her throat, tasting salt and warmth. Her pulse jumped under his mouth, and he lingered there, letting his teeth graze just enough to make her gasp.
"You like that?" he murmured against her skin, his voice rough, almost a growl. He didn't wait for an answer—his lips moved lower, kissing a slow path down her collarbone, then lower still, to the edge of her breast where the tunic had ridden up. Her skin was soft, impossibly soft, and when his tongue flicked out, tracing the curve, she arched into him, a soft moan slipping from her lips.
"Gods, you're unfair," she breathed, but her hands, now free, were in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make his scalp tingle. She pulled him back up, her lips crashing into his, hungry, demanding. The kiss was messy, all teeth and tongue, her nails digging into his shoulders as she pressed herself closer. He could feel every inch of her—her thighs against his, her hips rocking just enough to drive him half-mad.
Jace's hand slid lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of Nia's trousers, the rough fabric catching slightly against his calluses. He tugged slowly, deliberately, exposing the smooth curve of her hip.
The sight sent a jolt through him, raw and urgent, his pulse hammering in his ears. He paused, his eyes flicking up to hers, searching for any hesitation. Her gaze was dark, pupils blown wide, swallowing the amber of her irises, but there was a softness there too—a quiet trust that made his chest ache with something deeper than lust.
"This okay?" he asked, his voice low, gravel-rough, each word scraped from somewhere primal.
Nia's nod was quick, her breath catching in a sharp hitch that made her lips part. "Don't stop," she whispered, the words half-plea, half-command, her voice trembling with want.
He didn't. His fingers slid lower, tracing the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate, feeling the heat radiating from her skin, fever-hot under his touch. Her muscles tensed, then softened, yielding to the gentle pressure of his fingertips. The texture of her skin was intoxicating; smooth, taut, with a faint sheen of sweat that caught the starlight. He let his fingers drift higher, teasing, brushing just shy of where she wanted him, and her soft curse—"Fuck"—slipped out, breathy and raw, as her hips lifted, chasing his hand with a need that made his own control fray.
"Patience," Jace teased, though his voice was strained, cracking at the edges as her scent filled his senses. He leaned down, lips finding the sensitive spot just below her ear, where her pulse thrummed wildly. He sucked lightly, tongue flicking against the tender skin, and she squirmed beneath him, a low whimper escaping her throat. Her hands gripped his back, nails biting into his flesh, sharp enough to sting, each crescent-shaped mark a spark that lit his nerves on fire.
"Wart, you bastard," she gasped, but her voice was laced with laughter, bright and unguarded, her body arching closer. She retaliated, her hand sliding down his stomach, fingers skimming the taut muscle there, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
Her touch dipped lower, just below his waistband, brushing against him through the fabric of his trousers. The sensation was sharp, electric, a jolt that made his breath catch hard in his throat, his hips jerking involuntarily. "Fuck," he groaned, low and rough, his forehead dropping to hers, their breaths mingling, hot and uneven.
"You're gonna kill me," he muttered, his hand finally slipping where she wanted, fingers moving with slow, deliberate precision.
He explored her, learning every shudder, every hitch of her breath, the way her thighs trembled under his touch. Her gasp was sharp, her body arching into his hand, her skin slick and molten. He watched her face; eyes fluttering shut, lashes dark against her flushed cheeks, lips parted in a silent moan, the flush creeping up her neck like a tide. It was intoxicating, the way she unraveled for him, every sound and shiver a hook sinking deeper into his core.
Nia wasn't passive, she never was. Her hands were everywhere, tugging at his trousers with a fierce urgency, fingers fumbling with the ties until they loosened, her touch bold and unyielding. She palmed him through the fabric, her grip firm, teasing, until he hissed, the pressure almost unbearable, a sweet ache that made his vision blur.
"Fair's fair," she whispered, her voice wicked, dripping with challenge. When her fingers wrapped around his cock, warm and sure, stroking with a rhythm that matched the pounding of his heart, he nearly lost it, a low growl tearing from his throat as his hips bucked into her hand.
They moved like that for what felt like an eternity, hands and lips and whispered curses.
The river's song blended with their ragged breaths, the cool pebbles beneath them a sharp contrast to the fire building between their bodies. It was slow, then urgent, then slow again—teasing, testing, pushing each other to the edge but never quite over.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make his scalp tingle, while his lips traced the curve of her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. Her skin was slick with sweat now, her hair sticking to her neck in dark, damp strands, and when she pulled him down for another kiss, it was softer, almost tender, her hands framing his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones with a gentleness that made his heart stutter.