He was torn between thinking this was an altogether genius idea and a very stupid one. The words were out of his mouth before he could strap them down to his tongue, and now he was standing – or, rather, half-kneeling – on the ground in the Warden's tent with his hands bound tightly behind his back. He should have known she would jump at the idea; she'd struck him as just that sort of woman from the moment he saw her.
And then he felt her lips on his shoulder blade. They were soft and warm and teased his skin just so before moving upwards, the very tip of her tongue trailing along the muscles. He could feel her all over him despite her singular area of concentration. Every time she drew a breath, he could feel her breasts against his back, and his fingers flexed in their restraints, nails barely grazing over her toned stomach.
Ah, yes, Zevran mused to himself, Genius.
He could feel her shift onto her knees behind him, her mouth leaving the curve of his shoulders. Every time her lips pressed flush against his skin, her tongue rolling and flicking against taut muscle, the heat that pulsed deep in his belly grew. It grew and grew as she made her way up from his back, up over the cord of his neck, the tender patch of skin just below his jaw.
As she continued her ascent, her hands slipped around his torso, nimble fingers teasing at his nipples before drifting downwards. The brush of her calloused palms over his abs, dragging over his stomach, massaging the sensitive skin – it was all more than he'd expected when making the offhanded comment back at camp. Now she was all but embracing him, her long arms curled around him as she held herself close, arching her back until she was pressed flush against him.
By the time her mouth reached the fine point of his ear, she could feel his first rumbling purr throughout her limbs. This only egged her on, pulling her agile tongue from between her teeth to drag along the cartilage. But he wasn't alone in his pleasure; even with his hands bound, the assassin found a way.
Sanya gave a quiet, half-hearted murmur of protest when she felt his fingertips shift against the heat between her legs, and yet her deceptive hips arched forward. Even with a barrier between her and his hands, nothing more than a fleeting touch was all the movement he required to have her breath catch in her throat, released in a dewy sigh against his ear.
This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to cease his fidgeting and let her have her way with him. She nearly scoffed at the thought of him ever doing such a thing, but it wasn't useless to dream, was it?
Still, in an attempt to distract him away from his current goal, her fingers dipped downwards into his smallclothes, murmuring breathily against the back of his neck. The moment her hand wrapped around his length, she felt him further advance his own pursuit, shoulders flexing as he shifted his arms enough to gain entrance to her as she did him.
"No," she groaned, forcing her hips backwards no matter how badly she wanted more. She could only pull so far away with his hands still stuck into her smallclothes, and she repressed a shudder when she felt his fingers slide along her, teasing the cleft between her legs.
"Your body does not seem to agree with you, my sweet."
Any other no doubt clever responses were silenced before they reached his lips in favor of a low groan. She wouldn't bend to him that easily, and she certainly wouldn't allow herself to give up. The feeling of his hips sliding forward, moving with her as her palm glided along his shaft, pulled a smile from her bitten lips. Even the movement of his fingers slowed to a near-stop.
It was clearly written in her technique that this was not the first time she'd done this. Had she not been pumping away at his manhood, he'd have wondered how many times she'd gotten her fellow forest-dwellers on their knees.
The one thing Sanya enjoyed most about these little trysts with Zevran was how willingly he reacted beneath her hands. Most men bit back their pleasure, stifling it, keeping as quiet as was possible. But when they were together, it was something else entirely. Between throaty growls as she slowed and soft rumbles of pleasure when she picked up speed again, he often murmured in Antivan. She didn't know any of the words, but they were so beautiful it hardly mattered.
Her tongue teased the back of his neck as she arched forward, her hand alternating between quick, light strokes to the slower ones that seemed to pull moans from his very core.
The moment his knuckles brushed against her, she gave an involuntary buck forward. It was the only encouragement he needed. Hardly more than a heartbeat later, she could feel his hands guiding her thighs farther apart, back arched both in reaction to her increased tempo and in a ploy to better his angle. The movement pushed his fingertips even closer to her, and she growled against his skin, shutting her eyes as she pressed her forehead into the base of his neck.
His breath was ragged by now, and she could tell that he was struggling to keep himself steady, his lip clamped between his teeth and his brows furrowed in concentration. Her heightened arousal only intensified the feeling of the sensitive bud being rolled between his thumb and index, punctuated by a languishing circle around it. If he continued with this, it wouldn't be long until she joined him on the precipice.
As she should have expected, he continued his gentle assault on her sex. With every measured stroke, he conjured forth another husky plea for him to continue, to pick up speed. Anything she could have, she wanted him to give it to her. And he did, as best as he was able given his current position.
Her lips sucked hard on the skin of his neck, and he tilted his head back to rest against her shoulder; his chest rose and fell with each labored breath, rich, caramel skin shining with sweat. Just as the skin between her knees began to prickle in anticipation of her finish, she felt his own thrusts into her palm lose their grace. Each arc decreased in length, his movements jerky, breath catching in his throat.
For so many years, Sanya's body did its job well enough. She was a fierce warrior and an even fiercer lover. She was strong and swift and adept at nearly everything she set her mind to. But of course her body would betray her now to the first man who'd ever protested the idea of allowing the female to have full control.
She gave a yelp as his fingers pulled her over the edge, and her strident response sent a bolt straight through him. Her thighs clamped down around his hands as her body shook against him. Throughout this, she didn't allow her pace to slow. She bit down on her lip and rode it out, the muscles of her sex twitching as he continued stroking her even as the aftershocks rolled through her.
A moment later, she felt his manhood jerk in her palm. He got his release, and the overwhelming sensation of relief tore a deep groan from the pit of his stomach.
She released him without a word, her hands trailing up his stomach before wrapping him up in a genuine embrace. While she wasn't the sort to stick around, this was her tent and would willingly entertain him if he didn't wish to leave quite yet. He didn't move. His hesitance was mostly born out of curiosity. He wished to see how the Warden would react, and she did so by placing a barrage of slow, almost lazy kisses along his shoulders and neck.
Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if he strayed here for a little while longer.
"Next time, the bit of rope will be mine to use as I see fit, yes?" he asked, still the slightest bit breathless.
"Who said there would be a next time?"
The only answer she received was a smirk.