A soft little noise caught in the back of his throat, and Nathan, Nimue, was, as always, completely undone by her. By him. His fingers were shaky in Enfys' hair and Nathan pushed her lightly back against the wall. They were finding their angles, now, settling into a comfortable press of bodies and lips and tongues.
This is wrong. The voice in his head was trying to break through, but Nimue banished it with an irritated wave and all that was left was the sensations, the memories, both colliding and overwhelming Nathan with a whirl of color and taste and sound.
"Oh, Christ," he murmured shakily before their lips met again, this time more demanding, Nathan's good hand dropping to cup her jaw.