"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
She doesn’t know whether it’s the long wait, or whether it’s just him, but she wants this more than she had ever thought possible. Every inch of her yearns for touch, so instead she presses herself closer to the rough rock. It’s both frightening and thrilling, such need. For the first time in her life she doesn’t wish to discard the emotion, but habit makes her hesitant.
She nearly shudders as the rock presses into her skin. The sharp scrap against her flesh reminds her of the way he had pressed into her. She wants nothing so much as to feel him there instead, bone that so carefully guards sensitive flesh instead of rock. But neither is she ready to give in so easily.
Her heart skips a beat when the heat in his eyes banks to a smolder, when his movements become laguid. Almost seductive. Her eyes drop to his lips, lost there for a moment before she snaps them up to meet his gaze. Her skin flashes with heated chills as confusion registers, uncertainty at the sudden shift in tactic.
She stills as he approaches, skin tingling as he brushes a soft kiss along the corner of her lips. Despite all her abilities, all her knowledge, she is blind in the face of such unexpected tenderness. She hadn’t expected it, not from him. Just as she had not expected him to display such care in the face of her grief. It is not something she had ever prepared herself to receive. And it is entirely her undoing.
She quivers beneath his touch, uncertainty stilling her as he trails his lips along her cheek, her neck, until his muzzle is buried in the dark, sleek locks of her mane. She sighs softly then, an acquiescence as her eyes close and she relaxes into his touch. Reaching out almost hesitantly, her lips seek out the curve of his neck, soft and seductive despite the unpracticed movements.
She smiles faintly into his skin, unable to help herself. “Perhaps I am,” she agrees in a soft breathy murmur. “Regardless, it is yours now.” It seems that, no matter how pliant his soft touches might make her, she cannot seem to be anything other than her brazen self.
For a moment, she gives herself over, losing herself in the soft caresses. Reveling in the way desire licks languorous waves of heat across her skin. But when he tilts his head to peer at her, muzzle barely brushing the arched curve of her neck, she is distracted. After a long moment she opens her eyes, the blue fire of hers meeting the dark, playful hunger of his.
She holds his gaze, her own eyes darkening wickedly. After a heated moment, she shifts away, slipping out from his tender touch until she stands in the entrance of the shallow cave. “I shouldn’t have to let you do anything,” she finally declares, her voice husky. “You should just be good to me.”
The challenge in her soft voice is decidedly suggestive. But it’s time he finally learned it was never really her permission he needed.
She sighed at his touch, and his pulse picked up. Of course he knew she would like it, but knowing and hearing were so very different. He watched her sweet mouth reach for him, touch his neck and chase a breathless sigh from his lips.
"Perhaps I am," she told him in a voice so damn seductive, a voice that drew him in closer to sweep soft kisses over her skin. His skin was getting hot, he was getting breathless. He wasn't going to do so well at control. She'd made him wait too damn long, and his body damn well needed this ages ago.
God, and the way she stared back at him.
She moved away, dodging his touch and stopping at the opening of the cave they bunkered in. He followed, trailing after her almost obediently, the slowest chase for what he wanted. What he'd wanted for too damn long. She was such a wicked temptress.
"I shouldn't have to let you do anything," she told him, that damn voice again making his blood run hotter. Did she have any idea how fucking hot she was? Yeah, she had to. He traced his lips over her hip, tasting her skin. "You should just be good to me."
She was so wrong this time.
"Good to you," he repeated evenly, spreading more slow kisses over the blue of her spine. "Good at you." And another step closer, his chest nearer to her flank. But she should know by now, know him better than that. "Not good for you." Not good for anyone. Ever. But he had to remind her. Just to be sure.
And he rose up, propped himself on her hips and teased against her. He'd make her ache for it, at least half as bad as he ached for her. And damn, he ached. Throbbed. He settled, watching her under him, watching her face. Then growled, and thrust roughly inside her, pinning her waist between his hips and burying deep, holding there as her body fought to accept the sudden difference.
His dark eyes were wild with need, studying her hungrily, almost coldly, and feeding on her every slightest reaction to him. To them together.
She stares at him, wild and wanting and still refusing to bend. He trails after her, promise lingering darkly in his eyes. A part of her wants to run, to flee such wicked temptation. But she has never run from anything in her life. And though this want and need (so very unlike anything she has ever experienced) is terrifying, it is equally seductive. That destructive part of her wants to stay and drink in every bit of it.
Besides, he would never let her go now. The realization sends a wanton thrill through her, a desire for mastery that is both enticing and alarming. For today, she sets it aside, instead meeting him head on. She would not run. Not today.
She steps back, making him come to her. But when his lips meet her skin, she stills, sensation bursting across her. Her lips find his skin, tracing, nipping in response to his teasing touches. Not good for you, he whispers. She nips harder, a stinging bite. “Why don’t you let me decide what is good for me?” she murmurs, voice raspy with restrained desire. She is not the only one who needs reminding of things apparently.
And then he’s pulling her against him. Her breath escapes in a rush, muscles trembling with anticipation. Her skin flashes hot and cold beneath his touch, blue eyes wicked and dark, half-lidded as she turns her gaze to him. The challenge remains, a dare. A promise.
His weight on her feels right, as though she had been waiting forever for this moment, an ache settling that can only be soothed by him. And then he thrusts roughly into her. She gasps, her skin flashing hot, sparks of fire dancing across her flesh. A bite of pain mingles with the pleasure, intensifying sensation. With a low, feminine growl, she pushes roughly back against him, heavily lidded gaze shifting to find his once more. Tempting. Challenging.
