Ryvarn’s eyes locked with mine as he stepped closer, hands sliding under my thighs. With one swift, possessive tug, he pulled me down to the edge of the bed. My breath caught in my throat as he knelt between my legs, palms braced on either side of my hips.
“Open for me,” he murmured.
His voice was low, almost reverent. I parted my thighs slowly, my skin already flushed, my breath uneven. He looked at me like he was seeing art. His fingers traced the outside of my thighs before brushing in.
He leaned forward, mouth so close I could feel the heat of his breath. His thumb came up and gently pressed into me, exploring, learning. When it brushed over the most sensitive part of me, I gasped.
“Ryvarn…”
He glanced up, his eyes darker now. “You’re shaking.”
“I’ve never… I mean—”
“I know,” he
