He is coming undone, and she doesn’t have to reach into his mind to know it. She can feel it in the hum of his body as it steps alongside hers, can almost taste the way it pulsates through his veins. Even with her gift, she had had no idea what she was walking into, but she isn’t entirely sure if it would have mattered. Would she have turned away if she had known what sinister thoughts the currents of his mind would bring her? It was doubtful. Foolishness was bred into her. She was designed to break things, and to be broken — a terrible combination of something destructive and something fragile.
She was made for this and she didn’t even realize it.
She cannot explain the flicker of heat that flashes across her skin at the way he says unravel; something akin to a white-hot desire, and a keen satisfaction in knowing she was getting somewhere. Under his skin. Into his mind. Nestled there like a barb that would only dig deeper should he struggle. “I’m always doing things I shouldn’t be doing. It’s kind of my thing.” If he only knew the half of it.
She is mindful of the space she keeps between as they walk; hardly a few inches, and nearly every other step her glowing side brushes against his. But her attention is carefully diverted elsewhere, refusing to give him the satisfaction that she notices every time their skin meets. An acquired flavor, he says, and it incites another laugh from between her sterling lips. “I guess we will see about that.”
She can feel his breath as it plays across her skin when he reaches closer, and she moves to sidestep away, but not before his teeth make contact with her delicate skin. There is alarm, though it is brief and fleeting across her face. So far, none had been so bold as to reach out and touch her in such a way, even though she often invited it. It causes her forward motion to suddenly cease, as she spins abruptly to face him. Whatever imaginary boundary she had set between them dissolves, her chest nearly touching his as she reaches to her let her lips hover just above his skin. “Let me ask you this, Whitter,” Her voice is low, the words nearly lost in the threads of his tangled mane, as she angles her head upwards to let her mouth rest near his ear, “Do you want to unravel?” She would love nothing more than to see how far he spiraled.
@[Whitter]
