Geralt chuckled, because he knew that Nina was becoming frustrated, could smell it on her. Knew that she was serious and she was saying she was about done with hearing his consistent requests for reassurance. She wanted him, badly. He wanted to give himself to her.

"Shhh," he murmured. "I won't interrupt."

He pressed his long, straight nose against the mound between her legs and breathed in, hands beginning to shake unsteadily against her, holding himself back. Geralt darted his tongue out, hot as his skin, and licked along the split of her, before slipping his tongue in. The motion was gentle at first, curious and thoughtful, as he memorized the smell and taste of her.

Then he found the center of her and folded his tongue around, moving against her with more and more pressure, more and more roughly, but patiently, restrainedly slow.

He was, as promised, utterly silent.