She doesn't consider the potential consequences of what she - they - have done (and she won't for many more months to come). This is about what they, no she wants. This is not about what will might happen later.
If she knew how to beg, she would.
She would grovel, she would plead for him to pin her down and mark her neck with bites and kisses both, she would beg for it - harder, faster, more, always more until she can't even breathe for the feel of it.
But Djinni doesn't beg; she doesn't even know how. She takes and beguiles. She has always been good at that. They are more similar than either of them know (than Djinni would ever want to admit).
Her black eyes are still devoid of emotion, but there is a crooked smile on her lips as she looks back at him over her shoulder, as she reaches up. Stillwater tells her that it's not enough and she laughs, too drunk on his touch to be perturbed.
"Not enough?" She asks, pressing her muzzle to the underside of his jaw, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat. Her teeth nip at it, softly once, then a bit harder. She has no reason to be suspicious of whatever it he is holding back; she might not know what he is but she is certainly not afraid.
The white teeth she uses to nip again at his throat are serrated, far sharper than the flat ones she most often wears. She opens her jaw wider - wider like a beak and not a muzzle - and holds the soft skin of his throat between between them and feels his heart on her tongue for just a moment before she's pulling away. She is not gentle when she does, closing her teeth sooner than she might have and raking furrows into his skin.
"Why do you get to decide what's enough?" She says softly as she presses her muzzle to the bleeding wounds and wishing the pain of them away in an instant (she can't really want to hurt him; that is simply not her nature).
There's not enough enough time for him to answer before she's grabbing his neck in her elongated jaws and wishing him momentarily light enough to pull over her her shoulder and fling him into the rippling water in front of her with a tremendous splash. Djinni might have ruined the mood - for the moment - but she waits to see his reaction when he surfaces. The urge to change him to something that she can press into the silt beneath the water and take him the way he had taken her in the cave remains, but her predatory nature is not so overpowering as to let her force him when he might be, even now, doing his best to get as far from her (and her glinting teeth) as possible.
"What if enough for you is not enough for me?" She asks with oil spill black eyes: fish eyes, dead eyes. "Or what if it's too much?" Djinni smiles, her pretty mouth at odds with her sharp teeth and flat eyes. Hiding behind appearances has always been her strong suit; she'd rather react than act. Djinni might look like a predator - and act like one at times - but her only truly base instinct is her insatiable search for amusement, for something to occupy herself with.
If she knew how to beg, she would.
She would grovel, she would plead for him to pin her down and mark her neck with bites and kisses both, she would beg for it - harder, faster, more, always more until she can't even breathe for the feel of it.
But Djinni doesn't beg; she doesn't even know how. She takes and beguiles. She has always been good at that. They are more similar than either of them know (than Djinni would ever want to admit).
Her black eyes are still devoid of emotion, but there is a crooked smile on her lips as she looks back at him over her shoulder, as she reaches up. Stillwater tells her that it's not enough and she laughs, too drunk on his touch to be perturbed.
"Not enough?" She asks, pressing her muzzle to the underside of his jaw, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat. Her teeth nip at it, softly once, then a bit harder. She has no reason to be suspicious of whatever it he is holding back; she might not know what he is but she is certainly not afraid.
The white teeth she uses to nip again at his throat are serrated, far sharper than the flat ones she most often wears. She opens her jaw wider - wider like a beak and not a muzzle - and holds the soft skin of his throat between between them and feels his heart on her tongue for just a moment before she's pulling away. She is not gentle when she does, closing her teeth sooner than she might have and raking furrows into his skin.
"Why do you get to decide what's enough?" She says softly as she presses her muzzle to the bleeding wounds and wishing the pain of them away in an instant (she can't really want to hurt him; that is simply not her nature).
There's not enough enough time for him to answer before she's grabbing his neck in her elongated jaws and wishing him momentarily light enough to pull over her her shoulder and fling him into the rippling water in front of her with a tremendous splash. Djinni might have ruined the mood - for the moment - but she waits to see his reaction when he surfaces. The urge to change him to something that she can press into the silt beneath the water and take him the way he had taken her in the cave remains, but her predatory nature is not so overpowering as to let her force him when he might be, even now, doing his best to get as far from her (and her glinting teeth) as possible.
"What if enough for you is not enough for me?" She asks with oil spill black eyes: fish eyes, dead eyes. "Or what if it's too much?" Djinni smiles, her pretty mouth at odds with her sharp teeth and flat eyes. Hiding behind appearances has always been her strong suit; she'd rather react than act. Djinni might look like a predator - and act like one at times - but her only truly base instinct is her insatiable search for amusement, for something to occupy herself with.
D J I N N I
genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster