The rest of the day blurred into a haze of heat as Theon kept her in isolation. It was their last full day in the cabin, and Theon spent it with a relentless, singular focus.
After breakfast, the kitchen island became a hard bed where he had placed her after he cleaned up the dishes. Azaria sat on the cold marble, her fingers gripping the edge of the stone so hard her knuckles hurt. The contrast of the cool stone counter against her bare thighs and the intense, unyielding warmth of his mouth between her legs made her breath hitch. She reached down and her hands instinctively searched for his shoulders. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt as she tried to pull him closer.
She really wanted to give him something back, to touch him the way he was touching her, but the moment her hands slid down toward the hem of his shirt, his grip on her thighs tightened. He didn't break contact, but his fingers pressed into her skin with unyielding pressure that kept her in place.
