Aurex's mouth found her neck.
His lips pressed to the exact spot where her pulse lived loudest and his teeth sank in—measured, precise, enough to sting bright and immediate—and the reaction was instantaneous.
Her blood surged like something had grabbed it by the current and yanked, a violent rush that swept from that single point outward through every vein simultaneously, sweet and sharp and overwhelming, a wave that hit the back of her skull and curled her toes and made her pull so hard against the cord that the bedpost creaked.
The sound she made was embarrassing.
She was past caring.
Hyrin's fingers worked against her in a rhythm that was specifically, deliberately designed to take her exactly to the edge and stop there—again, and again, and again—never quite landing, always pulling back at the precise moment her body gathered itself toward something, leaving her hovering in a space that had no floor and no ceiling and no mercy whatsoever.
