09-11-2017, 02:43 PM
tantalize
I'll believe in you and trust
On the day you finally see the way you treated me
Was a far cry from love
Each scar tells a story. Every fragment of puckered skin, every slice and scab. All pieces that make him who he is today. The trail of white flesh that lines beneath the unyielding crimson void (so familiar as the dark skin that had slashed it’s way over Cross’s red). Everything about him unnerves her, leaves her hungry and aching. And what an appetite she has built up, so many years being alone. Sheltering herself from them all.
The tawny pigment of her iris’s darkens as he closes the little space that remained. The heat of him is overpowering, as if flames may whip from his skin and engulf her, but she does not withdraw. Instead she is drawn to the heat, to the memory of what it was like to burn for someone. He does not want to singe her but she longs for it, to feel the flicker of his flame caress the svelte curve of her neck. To trace along her backside. She tingles with the thought but no blush finds her cheek. Every wanton desire overriding the glimmer of fear that holds her heart.
Their eyes are locked, never breaking even as lips extend to her cheek. Feeling them even as they don’t touch. A rush of courage, a blaze in the dilated pupils of gold, thinking of brazenly pressing her lips to his. She does not, weak to the wall that had stood for years. Weak to her fear. However, she is still brash. The unwavering gaze holding him as her dark plush muzzle rises to ever so slightly brush against the charcoal chiseled jaw line. He had ignited that old spark within her, a glimpse of the fearless jaguar she had once been.
Tell me.” Still the soft words laced with a hard edge. Needing to see what lines exactly he had read between. His breath hot against her cheek, as if smoke was escaping from his lips. ”What can you know of my demons?” Almost more a question to herself as she searches him, looking. What could he have possibly discovered? ”What do you see?” She breathes, exhaling slowly as the vibrations between them rise. The need for him gripping at her belly but unwilling to let go of the little control she has in this world. Reagan still lingers in the back of her mind, far from forgotten. Girls were probably a dime a dozen to a man like him. She would not be another notch in his bedpost.