Shit, [ she draws in a hiss of breath, struck by his words, their potential and the mental image they evoke, as well as the graze of his teeth against her breast. One knee tightens against his hip, the other tilting open. Oh, how she’d like him to, but— ]

Another day. In a bed. Those piles of furs. [ Truly, what better way than body heat to stay warm on a chilly Kirkwall morning, with these bedrooms and towers all made of cold forbidding stone? Even now, half out of the water, Gannicus’ body radiates tantalising heat: his warm mouth at her nipple, his warm flesh beneath her hand. Two can be a tease, and so she runs a finger along his cock before giving another exploratory stroke, sedate for the moment despite her words about hurrying. Impishly: ]

A feast implies a while. I think your mouth deserves a chance to take its time, for that.