As if he could hear the inner fight I was having with my subconscious. And slowly, slowly, with the help of his hands braced beneath my wings, the muscles relaxed.
“There you go,” he said. “Not so hard.”
I didn’t speak, mostly because I didn’t have words for how good it felt to have someone else bear some of that burden. I hadn’t realized how heavy it was until the weight was lessened.
Suddenly, I was exhausted.
Raihn’s touch traveled farther up—where the limb gave way to the delicate, softer skin of the wing.
I stiffened. Right away, he withdrew his hands. “Did I hurt you?”
I was so grateful he couldn’t see my face. It felt hot.
“No. It—it’s fine.”
He hesitated. Then his hands fell back to my wings, light and gentle.
“Open for me,” he said.
I didn’t even have to tell my body to obey. They just… unfolded beneath that barely-there touch, like flower petals.
“Beautiful,” Raihn murmured, as his fingertips ran all the way up the soft, sensitive underside.
This time, the pleasure was unmistakable. No longer hidden beneath the surface, no longer ignorable. This was intense, a shiver that ran up my spine—up my inner thighs, into my core. Like his mouth had once felt on my throat or my earlobe.
Like desire incarnate, echoing in my entire being.
My exhale trembled.
Touch had become something consistently violent, consistently painful.
Not this. This was…
Fuck, it was dangerously good.
In Raihn’s sudden stillness, I knew he had realized what I was feeling.
“Good?” he asked, voice thick.
Asking for permission. Because like me, he knew that this was far more treacherous than pain. Pain was simple. Pleasure was complicated.
If I told him to stop, he would, without question. And if I was a stronger person, I would have done just that.
I wasn’t a stronger person. I was weak.
“Yes,” I said. “Don’t stop.”
He let out a tiny sound that sounded unintentional, almost a groan. His fingers continued their dance, fingernails slightly dragging against the underside of my skin, my body acutely aware of every stroke—like he knew where all of my nerve endings were and exactly how to caress them.
My breath was growing shallow, my face flushed.
He hit upon an especially sensitive spot, and I let out an involuntary, choked sound—a whimper.
He laughed softly.
“There, huh?”
Goddess. Yes. There.
He lingered in that spot, swirling around it. The pleasure rolled over my entire body, every nerve reacting to those little touches—wanting more. Begging for it. My teeth clenched, biting back whimpers. I didn’t know why I tried. Surely he could hear my heartbeat.
Smell my arousal.
When he dragged his fingernails across my skin, the almost-moan that slipped from my teeth was too sudden to control.
He made a returning sound, too, something between a growl and a groan, and suddenly I was slumped back against him, the hard muscle of his body against my back.
“I dream about that sound.” His mouth was so close to my throat. I could feel his voice vibrate on my flesh, right against the scar that he’d left. “Do you know that?”
His fingers danced along my wings again, and I barely even tried to hide my moan this time.
My breasts ached, sensitive against the fabric of my shirt. I wanted the clothing gone—mine, his. I wanted his skin. I wanted his breath. Mother, I craved that. I craved it so much that right now, I couldn’t even hate myself for wanting him so much.
And yet, I didn’t want it to go any further than this. This touch, his mouth near my throat, and his body close to mine.
“When I went into that room,” he murmured, “I thought you were dead. I thought I lost you, Oraya. I thought I lost you.”
His voice was far too raw, like an open wound, cracked and bleeding. It touched me in places I didn’t expect. Places more sensitive than his hands on my wings.
He was my enemy. He would kill me if he had the chance.
He was my enemy.
“Would be a relief for you,” I said. “A lot of problems solved.”
He went rigid. Suddenly, his hand was at my face, tilting my head back to meet his eyes. They were furious.
“Stop saying things like that.”
“Why?” I whispered.
Knowing I was taunting him.
Knowing I was, once again, asking a question I didn’t want the answer to.
His forehead lowered. Our faces were so close—I could feel his breath, shallow and quick.