He held her there and let her ride out her orgasm, along the knife's edge that brought her hips and legs to tremble uncontrollably as she rubbed herself helplessly against him, wanting that fire to sweep through her until there was nothing left. Neria's voice was pitched just slightly higher in tone, though quiet still; even if she'd unraveled, she still held herself in check in some ways, and she cared too much for Kell's privacy to be so loud.

(Not that she'd realized, yet, that it mattered little.)

She gasped softly, the sound of her voice faint. Soft moans carried with every breath as she tried to breathe normally once more, and she reached for him again, smoothing over his hair, his neck, the tops of his shoulders. Realized, then, that he was stroking himself. Neria tipped her head to look down at him, to watch, wide-eyed and flushed and still wanting. He kissed her and she bent upward with some effort - too much effort, enough for her legs to quiver - until she could reach him again. Neria kissed his head, his brow, and tugged him up and over her once more. Her hands reached for his arms, for his chest, his sides, which she touched tenderly. She tipped her head to kiss his cheek, his jaw.