Kiana's hand pressed gently, guiding Liend lower—beneath the hem of her skirt. Her fingers slipped into his hair, not forceful, but firm enough to hold him there.
"You can start now," she said softly.
Liend looked up—or rather, into the dim space between her thighs. It was more shadow than light, her skirt draping down like a veil around him. Her warmth surrounded his cheeks and ears, thighs brushing faintly against the sides of his face—close, enclosing.
Then her voice came again, calm, measured.
"You have to start," she said. "I won't begin counting until you do."
Liend looked up—his eyes gliding slowly—taking her in.
Kiana's scent—familiar, sweet, almost home-like—hit him stronger now. It overwhelmed his senses, dizzying, almost like a wave of nausea that made his breath hitch. His mouth opened slightly, instinctive, as he leaned in—pressing his lips against her, through the fabric.
