God, he couldn't help it.
He'd tried. He swore he tried to keep a distance between them. But, damn, that flicker of hurt and confusion in her eyes when he told her to stay where she was nearly speared straight through his chest. Not to mention the stupid, constant pull he felt caged around him trying to tug him closer and closer to her. And then that look in her eyes just before he kissed her. He was helpless but to fall into her, sink his lips into her world of quiet, silver twilight. Bathe himself in this impossible feeling he didn't deserve, this place he didn't belong but dearly wished to. Stealing. He was stealing again, taking what he shouldn't.
When he finally released her perfect lips, -gently, reluctantly- and stared into her eyes, his heart burned fierce and wild. Painful, so painful. An entire forest of unimaginable dreams were set ablaze inside him. All the wonderful things she represented, could offer. Things he would never have. The flames of his deepest desires reflected as though a real fire danced before her in the wild uncertainty in her eyes, flickering and wavering like a thing brought to life by the breath of their kiss.
Only to feel it all scorch and die a slow death within him.
He swallowed, knowing he shouldn't have done that, but unable to stop pushing more, giving more, trailing a slow line of kisses across her face. Just a name. Just his name, he breathed into her neck.
But he shouldn't have done that either.
His eyes slowly closed over the immediate certainty of it as she pulled carefully back to peer at him. He could feel her eyes tracing him, studying a face he kept precisely blank and unreadable. The truth was there as she spoke his name. He shouldn't have given his name, not to this one, and the proof was in how it sang to his soul to hear it on her lips. The impossible satisfaction was a double-edged blade as it cut into him. So perfect that it hurt.
He could never have this.
She was too good, too right, too much. She was everything.
He could never have this.
Her scent grew stronger, surrounded him in its temptation as she brushed the hair from his face. Still, he did not move, did not open his eyes to show her the pain of her perfection, see more of it in her face. She repeated his name, and he could swear he heard a deep want hidden in the gentle chime of her voice.
Waiting. He was waiting. With a silent question seared in his mind, he was waiting. What do you want repeated over and over and over again on an endless cycle. What do you want. She'd kissed him back, leaned into him as he'd matched his lips with hers. She'd been breathless as they parted, and now, as she folded into his chest again, her heart raced against him. Where did they stand? Did she want this? Did she want more? Was it a one-time kiss never to be had again?
Her next words answered those questions.
"I'm tired, Dovev." He couldn't move, or he would have nodded mutely, his eyes still closed or possibly on the ground -it didn't matter which, he saw nothing regardless. Everything in him snuffed out. She drew the line and stayed on her side of it. He understood. She loved her man. And he? ...He was just him. Murderer, thief, vicious weapon with an expert master he heeded without hesitation. He was nothing. She was everything.
He could practically feel the careful wall she wanted erected in the quiet of her voice, and with his soul bleeding over bare hands he helped her build it, helped her lock him out while his heart remained naked and raw and burning, spilling helplessly at his feet. He kept his silence, kept his distance. Didn't move. Even if he'd wanted to, he was instantly locked in place as she stepped back and brushed across his neck, down to his shoulder to the skin she knew was so, so very sensitive.
A dark storm of confusion came to life in him, swirling and lost in its impossible blackness. She wanted space, didn't she? Didn't want more, didn't want what he'd started by kissing her like that. But she knew what this did to him. She knew how it felt. Had he read her wrong? Did she want this?
He didn't have time to contemplate it as the heat of her tongue met his flesh, and with a single stroke she pulled the breath from his lungs. Black eyes focused blindly on the ground at his feet, his mouth suddenly dry and panting quietly. Fuck, that felt so good. She knew how this affected him. A shiver of pleasure vibrated down his spine, through his legs, his every bone. He would swear his hair stood on end, grasping in its own sensitivity for more of her touch.
"I can't help it either," he barely heard her breathy voice. When it finally registered, he moaned in urgent, growing need. Fuck, why was she doing this. A tease, a taunt. She wanted to kill him with everything he could never have. His heart bled and a silent tear slid down his face as she fed more pleasure into him, turned his body into a furnace that ached to consume her. With every touch, every pass of that delightful tongue, she coaxed quiet gasps, keening moans, needing whimpers from him. Damn, that felt so fucking amazing. Killing him so gently, so sweetly. He wanted to die at her hands.
"It's hard to see you suffer, harder when I can help." Fuck, hard was right. And his wordless praise for the maddening sensations continued, encouraging her as her attention slid further down his body, pushed his pulse to roar in his ears and rush through him, tears of his loss occasionally trickling down his face. All of this that he could never have. Or was this what she wanted after all? Had he misunderstood the distance before? Did she want him? Damn, please want him.
There was a brief silence as she rounded him and pressed her cheek to his neck. God, when had he broken into a sweat? "Dovev," she spoke so softly, lining her lips along his jaw and to his mouth. His breath was stolen away again, wild hope flaring to roaring life within him. This was it. She was going to say she wanted him too. They were going to pass the line he thought she'd drawn between them. "Come lay with me." Fuck, what did she mean? What did she mean - what did she mean. Did she want him to lay her? She'd done so much to turn him on for her.
But she'd said she was tired. She was tired.
Fuck..
FUCK.
God, he was an idiot. Of course she wanted rest. But then why had she-? Dammit, he was so confused. What did she want from him? He didn't understand what was going on, what she was doing, what she wanted. Why would she do that to him, then? No, she was tired. God, what the hell. Fuck.
Her mouth lingered in the corner of his and he watched her without comment, his expression deliberately unreadable and breath still coming quick and uneven. Whatever this was, she was in control and he felt helpless. Powerless. Whatever it was, he was just her pawn to move as she pleased. He was always the pawn, the tool. He was her faithful servant, submitting to her every wish. Whatever she wanted was his to give.
Then those perfect lips melded with his -god, as though they were made for them, made for him- and his eyes fell shut again. He pressed back gently, kissed her back as tempered as he could despite the instant heat lighting up his veins. He was yanked back and forth, his mind spinning with his confusion. She wanted him - no, she didn't want him - she wanted him. Back and forth, around and around. He was so lost, drowning. But still he submitted to her will, whatever it was.
Her kiss stoked his desire. He let her lead, let her guide them as she gently coaxed his lips apart and invaded his mouth with her sweetness to meet his tongue with hers. He moaned again, strained and helpless, and broke away with a gasp. His heart hammered in his chest and he avoided her eyes. Her faithful servant, whatever she wanted. His goddess.
He lifted his gaze only when she turned away, watching her back in silence. His face was impassive, stoic and still, as she glanced over her shoulder at him then disappeared into the darkness of home. He'd meant to remain where he was, to not immediately follow her inside to the unknown and wild confusion, but he stumbled forward a step as though physically tied to her. Then followed obediently, slipping into the dark as quiet and constant as her shadow.
He halted inside and watched her patiently without a word, his body relaxed, his eyes soft and waiting, still warm with the heat of his desire. Every line told of his absolute compliance. Whatever she wanted was his to give. He would die at her hands, and he would love it.
Couldn't stop if I tried, hard to fight my design
This body was built to love you
