The sound of her husband's own name proved to be a more effective catalyst than any other word Hermi might have conceived. The syllables seemed to physically strike him, shattering the predatory display he had enforced upon her.
Cassian finally looked up from between her thighs. His lips glistened with her moisture and his face was flushed with a dark heat. There was no mockery held in his eyes now, nor did any pride show on his features for forcing the plea from her throat.
Instead, Hermi found her husband in a state of visible shock, his expression suggestively raw. It was as if the sound of her voice, stripped of courtly artifice, had driven him toward a more feverish need to be buried inside her.
Her back hit the bed again in a fall so sudden that every nerve jumped in protest, yet Cassian remained deliberate in his movements. He put her down as she requested, but his labor over her aching core was far from finished.
