Since the very beginning, he has fought to restrain himself.
He has fought to buckle down the anger and the resentment that so quickly surges in his chest—the way that he nearly hated her for the way that he so quickly responded to her. He wanted to hate her for the way that he felt instantly challenged by the glint in her eye and the way that she made him want to protect her instead; the way that she made him feel combative and enthralled in the same breath as one another.
But he doesn’t fight it now.
It is almost with a breath of relief that he relaxes into the hurricane that whips through him. The rest of it melts away and it’s just the two of them. Her chest is against his, her breath against his cheek, her teeth against his skin, and there is nothing but that in the moment. He feels violence and desire whip through him until he is nearly dizzy with the predatory need of it and he almost buckles beneath its weight.
Instead he growls, low and throaty, teeth against her jaw and skimming down the elegant curve of her neck. His nose presses against the velvet of her and moves underneath her mane to where her skin is soft and warm. “Okay,” he says to her demand, suddenly unable to deny her. “Okay.” His head spins and he feels dizzy with it, suddenly aware of the way that she is laid out before him like a feast, but he doesn’t know how to stop—doesn’t know how to temper himself. “Kensa,” he says and her voice is like honeyed poison because even now, he knows that she will be the end of him. “Kensa,” again, quieter this time.
But he doesn’t stop.
He just pulls her close, rough, taking from her what he wants and drowning in it.
BRIGADE
when I was a man I thought it ended when I knew love's perfect ache
but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake
@[Kensa]