The rush to be together was something she could understand; there had been so much secrecy between them before, so many hurried moments where they should have been able to take their time. But Letha was getting comfortable in the circus, comfortable enough to start indulging in the things she had worried about never having. Curling up in Marco's arms every night had seemed impossible a year before it happened, just like privacy without fear of being caught or being together in public.
There it was, though, and patience and the cooler nature of her allowed Letha to slow down. She could feel the heat rolling off her lover, the way that the beast inside him egged his passion on. It was heady stuff, wonderful and erotic – but still, she kept her own head, refusing to get too caught up to savor what it was like to be with him like this. Without rushing or hiding, without any sort of fear.
Her head tipped back at the path his lips took, opening the curve of her throat for him even as she chuckled warmly, adoringly at his words. "You've been reading poetry books again," she teased him – but it was gentle and loving, and she had no doubt that he knew that she tucked every one of those words away in her heart. It seemed to flutter and skip for his touch, even now, to stutter when his fingers were brushing her skirt aside and stroking over her thigh. His fingers always seemed to know just how she wanted to be touched; it was almost unfair that he should be so good at giving her just what she needed.
Aside from the two of them, the tent was empty and quiet, only their breathing breaking the silence. Honestly, though, Letha wouldn't have cared if someone had been there in the dark with them, watching them. There was no one in the circus that they had to hide from, after all. She shifted up from her back when he pulled, her arms sliding around his shoulders, her thighs parted around his.