It was a game that would never end. Not with them. Neither would ever be the first to flinch, neither would ever be the first to give an inch. Not really, anyway. She’d never admit that she enjoys being tucked beneath his neck just as much as she enjoys prowling around him, nipping as he remains blinded by the raven’s wings.
Then you shall get no respect from me, Queen Raven.
She wants no respect. She wants him, wants every inch. She wants to press into the warmth of flesh, wants to feel the way her skin tingles where they touch, wants to live inside the radiating desire that crawls through her. Wants to press the thorns into her side, to feel them prick against her skin, because they are as much a part of him as the ravens and the feathers on her head are apart of her.
But because she is who she is, and because he is who he is, she will tell him none of this.
She laughs at his question instead, placing a nip on his neck. “I grew up inside a dark, misty pine forest. I do not fear a little wild plant life.” No, she revels in it, in the same way she revels in him. The forest is her home, Weed her equal. There was no other place like the pine forest, and there was no one quite like him. Sure, she had filled the Chamber with those that sought power and greatness for their home. But Weed had that little extra spark that made him better than the rest.
She doesn’t flinch at the bite on her own neck, though she feels it more than a nibble. She lets him though, the pain making her feel alive. No one else tested her quite as he did, and it was high time someone did. “The Chamber is nice all year. But it seems we have something in common, because it has been altogether too quiet for my taste as well.”
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission