[ Her laugh drags one out of him in return, quieter, rumbling inside his breastbone. Unlike the hazy, faded visions of the future, this is crystal clear and real and (they are real) out here, it's been far too fucking long since he's felt the warmth of her skin on his.
A sharp gasp escapes him. He slides his hand over her other leg, then hoists her up. She's as light as a feather to him, and as soft as one, too. Her heart thunders between his ears. He thinks of the last time he had her like this. Against the creaky shelves of some ancient, dusty library, maybe, leather tomes tumbling around them. Him, grumbling about the inconvenience of it all afterwards, as he often does.
He is not grumbling about a damn thing now.
His hand braces against the dresser beside them. Sharpened nails extend, leaving deep gouges in the wood. Not a new development, but a new one for her. He's changed some since the last time they were together. Still no horns like she once asked, but...the fangs, yes.
She's changed, as well. In more ways than the physical. There was a time he wondered if he would ever speak to her again. And then—
Perhaps his heart has never been that steeled against her. Perhaps he never wanted it to, even when she'd hurt him the most. He can't say he regrets allowing her back in; a part of him firmly believes she won't ever make him regret it. Not now. Not anymore.
His breathing quickens. He doesn't flush easily, but he's certainly warm, heat rising to the surface. The thick scent of her arousal fills the air. It makes his head spin—equally forgetting and equally not giving a fuck that the walls are thin when he slams his palm against it. He drags his teeth lightly over her earlobe. ]
❤️
A sharp gasp escapes him. He slides his hand over her other leg, then hoists her up. She's as light as a feather to him, and as soft as one, too. Her heart thunders between his ears. He thinks of the last time he had her like this. Against the creaky shelves of some ancient, dusty library, maybe, leather tomes tumbling around them. Him, grumbling about the inconvenience of it all afterwards, as he often does.
He is not grumbling about a damn thing now.
His hand braces against the dresser beside them. Sharpened nails extend, leaving deep gouges in the wood. Not a new development, but a new one for her. He's changed some since the last time they were together. Still no horns like she once asked, but...the fangs, yes.
She's changed, as well. In more ways than the physical. There was a time he wondered if he would ever speak to her again. And then—
Perhaps his heart has never been that steeled against her. Perhaps he never wanted it to, even when she'd hurt him the most. He can't say he regrets allowing her back in; a part of him firmly believes she won't ever make him regret it. Not now. Not anymore.
His breathing quickens. He doesn't flush easily, but he's certainly warm, heat rising to the surface. The thick scent of her arousal fills the air. It makes his head spin—equally forgetting and equally not giving a fuck that the walls are thin when he slams his palm against it. He drags his teeth lightly over her earlobe. ]