"Nay."
His fingers hooked the gusset of her underclothes aside and the morning air hit her cunt cool and indecently. He looked at her once before he bent to taste her, and the look itself nearly undid her. Full daylight. Her thighs spread. His mouth lowering to her sex with the walkway still visible at the edge of the frame.
When his tongue touched her, all thought went ragged.
The first stroke was broad, deliberate, from the entrance of her cunt to the clit already aching for pressure. She jerked hard enough that the table legs knocked. He held her steady with both hands, palms hot on her thighs, oil from his fingers leaving faint slick prints high along the inside where the skin was too tender to forget anything quickly.
"Mavrek--"
He made a sound against her that vibrated straight through her and then went back to licking her with the same ruthless patience he brought to everything else. No hurried devouring. Just steady deliberate skill until she was panting with her head thrown back and one hand over her own mouth because the bright glass stayed there, indifferent and impossible.
He looked up while his mouth was still on her and saw that hand.
Then he pulled her wrist away.
Not gently. Not cruelly either. Simply took it and held it flat against the table, his oil-slick palm closing around both her wrists while he kept licking her. The position bared her throat, her chest under the fallen blouse, the whole line of her body tothe morning light. Shame hit so hard it blurred instantly into something hotter.
The brush of his tusk against her clit made her curse out loud.
He smiled against her.
She wanted to kick him away and grind herself harder onto his mouth at the same time. She did neither. She came instead, sudden and helpless, thighs shaking around his shoulders while the walkway outside the glass remained bright and horribly ordinary.
When the orgasm broke, it broke all through her. Her cunt clenched around nothing. Her back arched. Her wrists jerked against his grip and would have been embarrassing if embarrassment had not already dissolved into pleasure so sharp it almost hurt.
He rose only after she'd fallen boneless against the table edge, dazed and wet and breathing like a woman who had misplaced her self-command somewhere near his mouth.
Her wrists wore amber streaks where his hands had held them.
He saw her see them.
"You can still walk away," he said, voice wrecked now, less steady than before. "Go to the scaffold with that and nothing more."
He should not have given her another choice. It made the next thing hers too plainly.
Iva slid from the table and went to him on shaking legs. She dropped to her knees, yanked his trousers loose, and took his cock into her hand. Daylight made honesty unavoidable. Thick, hot, already slick. She licked him because she wanted to hear the sound he made when she did it. His hand came to the back of her head and stayed there, not forcing. Just weight.
She took him deeper until spit and precome and the faint resin trace made a mess of her hand and chin. Then, rough-voiced, he said, "Up. Now, Iva."
She stood because her knees had already begun to soften and because she wanted, with a kind of furious honesty, to feel him inside her again before reason reassembled.
He turned her toward the table, not fully bent over it, just enough that her palms braced on the scarred wood and the bright panes filled her peripheral vision once more. Morning beyond. Walkway rail. A woman in green carrying a bucket pausing at the far turn, too distant to read expression, then moving on. Iva's whole body clenched around the sight.
Mavrek came up behind her and saw the same thing.
"Aye," he said, mouth at her ear, knowing exactly why she was shaking.
His oil-wet hand slid down the front of her body, over belly, between her thighs. Two fingers pushed into her at once, easy after what his mouth had done, and the little sound she made was half outrage at the open room and half pure bodily surrender.
He lined his cock up with one hand and pushed in with one hard slow thrust that drove the breath from her.
Standing took him differently. Deeper somehow, the angle turning her legs to water at once. Her forehead hit the table edge. He steadied her with a broad oil-slick hand across the back of her neck, leaving another smear there, and began to move.
No measured easing beyond what the body demanded. She was already open, already clenching for him, already beyond the point of pretending what she wanted. He fucked her in daylight with the bright panes at her side and his hand on her neck and his cock driving in from behind until the whole workshop seemed to narrow to wood, glass, skin, and the wet brutal sound of it.
Iva bit the inside of her cheek and failed to stay quiet anyway.
Every thrust jolted the table. Every thrust reminded her she would walk out afterward with his oil on her wrists and neck and forearms. The knowledge should have brought her back under control. Instead it sent her closer.