03-05-2017, 03:32 PM
-Raeg'n-
He stared at her and time froze. That laugh again, the one that haunted her. It thundered around in her chest, desperate to escape though it came from him and not her, rumbling and echoing and pounding against her. She held her breath and watched him, wary. Afraid. He was the only thing she was afraid of. He played dirty, fought her in ways she had no training for. She was a warrior, a champion, a fighter and a tracker. He didn't challenge the knight, he battled the woman. And this woman knew nothing about being anything but a guardian.
The solid black of his body came toward her, and though she stood so strongly, deep in her chest her heart wilted. He would win this. He always did. No matter how she tried to turn this into a fight, he always spun his trap just the way he wanted it. She didn't know what to expect, never knew what he would do, and so she startled when his strong nose stroked the line of her thigh. She tensed, jerked her eyes away and closed them, swallowed.
His body was a vessel of limitless power as he pressed so firmly against her. He did things that made her pulse soar wild and erratic, and she strangled an uncertain whimper as she bit down on her lip and pinched her eyes shut. He knew her purity, knew she was as innocent in this as he had left her the last time when he'd cradled her in the iron-tight grip of his dragon-wing arms and drank from her delicate neck. A foreign warmth spread in her belly, and he laughed again, nipped her skin with a sharp little sting.
Miss me, did you, sex kitten? And before she could think to take offense, to say anything at all, her mind flooded with his vision. She gasped, her eyes shot wide but she saw nothing else no matter how she tried blinking it away. She felt nothing, but the vivid picture came in such harsh clarity, the image of her beneath his thick body, gasping, screaming, wincing from the strength of him. She moaned helplessly, an agonizing sound of sad distress. He always plays so dirty. Be strong, be strong, he'll get bored of this game.
He pressed a hot kiss to tender flesh, and she lost her breath again. I intend to start a war, he said so evenly, and she thought these words should mean something, thought they were important in some way. But she was so lost in this haze she couldn't swim out of, didn't know how to withstand or fight back. She finally turned to look at him with thick, foggy eyes, and it was a mistake. Such a big mistake.
Their eyes met, and more wicked images assaulted her. Her slender legs trembled, threatened to buckle, and she heard another groan leave her, not at all as distraught as it should have been. He was winning, he always wins this game. She was swallowed by an ache she'd never felt before, and her heart raced faster than it ever had, gasping for breath as though she were normal and could grow fatigued from pushing herself to gallop mighty speeds. But her magic always healed it, always corrected the pulse and the ragged breathing before it was even there.
Her magic did nothing here.
Maybe she was dying. Maybe he could kill her this way, where her magic refused to come to her aid. He was speaking again, his voice so distant and muffled by the roar in her ears. The boy Kilter, the mute Rocinante. She memorized it, but didn't register what it meant. Wasn't aware that he had come around to face her, his eyes so very serious. She should listen to this part, she thought, struggling to focus on him, on his molten voice, on those deep, dark eyes of brimstone and death. He is the tool. But I will not lay a finger on him. I can swear you that.
Her boy. She wore a delicate frown as she fought to pull herself together. She had to steady, had to protect him, had to save herself from this bastard first. His black lips cracked into a dark smile and he stepped closer to her, and she did the only thing she knew how to do. She learned, she adapted, she fought back. She didn't need his images now, only had to think of the way he kissed her before, standing behind her and rubbing along her thighs.
She swallowed, grit her teeth in determination and purpose as her eyes lit with a burning flame, filled her mind with the loud image of her returning that to him. Of her lips on him, her tongue against his solid flesh. Her heart was sick, disgusted with this game she must play, but she plastered a desperate face on the navy blue in her mind, eager and wanting. It felt like she drove a blade into him, while driving a blade even deeper into her. A necessary sacrifice. A battle she must learn to fight, desperately needed to learn to win even as she still fought to breathe.
The solid black of his body came toward her, and though she stood so strongly, deep in her chest her heart wilted. He would win this. He always did. No matter how she tried to turn this into a fight, he always spun his trap just the way he wanted it. She didn't know what to expect, never knew what he would do, and so she startled when his strong nose stroked the line of her thigh. She tensed, jerked her eyes away and closed them, swallowed.
His body was a vessel of limitless power as he pressed so firmly against her. He did things that made her pulse soar wild and erratic, and she strangled an uncertain whimper as she bit down on her lip and pinched her eyes shut. He knew her purity, knew she was as innocent in this as he had left her the last time when he'd cradled her in the iron-tight grip of his dragon-wing arms and drank from her delicate neck. A foreign warmth spread in her belly, and he laughed again, nipped her skin with a sharp little sting.
Miss me, did you, sex kitten? And before she could think to take offense, to say anything at all, her mind flooded with his vision. She gasped, her eyes shot wide but she saw nothing else no matter how she tried blinking it away. She felt nothing, but the vivid picture came in such harsh clarity, the image of her beneath his thick body, gasping, screaming, wincing from the strength of him. She moaned helplessly, an agonizing sound of sad distress. He always plays so dirty. Be strong, be strong, he'll get bored of this game.
He pressed a hot kiss to tender flesh, and she lost her breath again. I intend to start a war, he said so evenly, and she thought these words should mean something, thought they were important in some way. But she was so lost in this haze she couldn't swim out of, didn't know how to withstand or fight back. She finally turned to look at him with thick, foggy eyes, and it was a mistake. Such a big mistake.
Their eyes met, and more wicked images assaulted her. Her slender legs trembled, threatened to buckle, and she heard another groan leave her, not at all as distraught as it should have been. He was winning, he always wins this game. She was swallowed by an ache she'd never felt before, and her heart raced faster than it ever had, gasping for breath as though she were normal and could grow fatigued from pushing herself to gallop mighty speeds. But her magic always healed it, always corrected the pulse and the ragged breathing before it was even there.
Her magic did nothing here.
Maybe she was dying. Maybe he could kill her this way, where her magic refused to come to her aid. He was speaking again, his voice so distant and muffled by the roar in her ears. The boy Kilter, the mute Rocinante. She memorized it, but didn't register what it meant. Wasn't aware that he had come around to face her, his eyes so very serious. She should listen to this part, she thought, struggling to focus on him, on his molten voice, on those deep, dark eyes of brimstone and death. He is the tool. But I will not lay a finger on him. I can swear you that.
Her boy. She wore a delicate frown as she fought to pull herself together. She had to steady, had to protect him, had to save herself from this bastard first. His black lips cracked into a dark smile and he stepped closer to her, and she did the only thing she knew how to do. She learned, she adapted, she fought back. She didn't need his images now, only had to think of the way he kissed her before, standing behind her and rubbing along her thighs.
She swallowed, grit her teeth in determination and purpose as her eyes lit with a burning flame, filled her mind with the loud image of her returning that to him. Of her lips on him, her tongue against his solid flesh. Her heart was sick, disgusted with this game she must play, but she plastered a desperate face on the navy blue in her mind, eager and wanting. It felt like she drove a blade into him, while driving a blade even deeper into her. A necessary sacrifice. A battle she must learn to fight, desperately needed to learn to win even as she still fought to breathe.