A soft, breathy moan escaped Azaria's lips as Theon's mouth found the sensitive skin of her neck. "Theon…"
His lips were warm, his kisses soft and slow, each one punctuated by the gentle suction that made her shiver. One of his hands cradled her head and the other was between her thighs, working her at a maddeningly patient pace. He had been insistent earlier that the rest of the night, he had said, was to thank and appreciate her. For everything.
And at the moment, he was taking it so seriously that he would not even let her touch him, hence, her wrists were bound together by one of his ties, the material smooth but firm to keep her hands at bay. He had placed her hands above her head on the pillows, his grey eyes serious. "If you move your hands," he had said, his tone leaving no room for argument, "I'll stop." It was a rule, a condition of his gratitude, and it made her feel both helpless and wildly cherished.
