I've learned to live with these fatal gifts
and still you're mine
The temptation of her skin pressed so warmly against his is equally delightful and enticing. But there is something to be said for the anticipation, a sharp sweetness that gives the hunger and wanting an irresistible edge. A wicked delight in such a slow build until the inevitable. He finds himself craving it, wanting to drive her as utterly mad as she drives him.
As his lips trail the delicate line of her neck in an almost absent caress, his yellow eyes gleam with warm anticipation and humor, doing his best to focus on her words instead of her touch.
“Mmmmm,” he murmurs noncommittally as she rebutts his self-deprecating statement. His lips twitch into a smile as he lips at her ear. A reprimand that is far more playful than anything with true heat. “I think you are the only one who could’ve convinced me to quit hiding.”
He holds her gaze for a long moment before drawing his nose down in a sweet, affection caress along the curve of her cheek. A gesture of appreciation far more than anything else. Finding the warm, sweet hollow of her throat, he smiles against her skin before whispering, “I also think you give me far too much credit.”
Though her memory seems somewhat selective after so many years, he remembers all too clearly the feral spirit that had lingered much too near the surface those years before he’d found her. He had not chosen to hide from the world without reason. No, he had feared himself far more than he had feared anything outside the safety of his shadows.