bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze
if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
He can feel the heat of her beneath his fingertips, her pulse racing erratically, and his own rising to match it—so similar to that day on the island when she had dragged him into the inferno of her mind. He has struggled to free himself from the tangles of that moment ever since, enamored by the wildness of it, by the chaos, by the emotions that had flooded through him when trapped in the gaze of her wide eyes.
She says his name and although he should stop, should slow down, it only urges him on further, especially when she leans forward, closing the distance between them again. She presses a cool hand to his face and he flicks his gaze upward, meeting her own with a challenge. “Careful,” is all he says, his voice a low growl deep in his throat. The rest of the bar seemingly melts away as he looks at her, as she leans forward, her lips pressing against the scruff of his own, murmuring her own truths against him.
His mouth quirks into a humorless smile as he drops her wrist in his hand and rests a large, rough palm against her lower back, pulling her off the barstool and against him.
“Let me remind you.”
The fingers on his other hand snap and the bar dissolves completely. Within seconds they are outside and her back is against the building, snow beginning to fall although the temperature mysteriously not falling with it. His chest bleeds more openly, staining his dark shirt, but he doesn’t pay attention to it. His hand skims up her side, thumb trailing the curve of her jaw and then burying in the dark mess of her curls.
He dips his head down and claims her mouth, one hand resting on the building beside her and the other still tangled in her hair. The kiss is not gentle. Nothing about him ever truly is and he lets himself step off into the madness she has stoked within him. His teeth catch her bottom lip and bite before he deepens the kiss, his hand loosening his grip on her hair to fall to her shoulder and then trail down her back, pulling her into his chest. His mouth leaves hers, whispering across her cheek so that he can breathe into her air.
“Come alive for me, Wallace.”
woolf
I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste
