Geralt bent to brush the bite of his beard against the impossibly soft skin of Nina's breast, before taking it into his mouth and wrapping his tongue around her nipple.

He could feel the tug of her hand in his hair, it was blissful. He moved. Out, slowly, and back in. A sedate pace, rocking like ocean waves, before he pressed his face into the juncture of her shoulder and neck with a growl, and thrust in deeper, harder, faster.