Damn this girl. Damn, damn, damn her. So close to his freedom, her voice once again rips him into a dangerous situation he was becoming more and more wary of. And less and less resolute in fighting. He wanted her, a greedy, lustful want without proper meaning, and she continued to tempt him by staying, by verbally reining him back to her. He grit his teeth painfully and tensed, once again rendered frozen by her power over words.
Honey.
It was all she said. It was all she needed to. The endearment had no effect on him, but with the sudden gentleness in her tone his fortifications came crashing down to dust and rubble. Tremors rippled through him as he desperately fought to control himself. The fire and sharp tongue he could handle, violent lashing out he would love to endure, but the tenderness was his undoing. A noose of silky lace coiled about his neck. The sweetest executioner lay in wait at his back. His heart ached for the soft promise in that voice. He needed cruelty and pain, and with naive kindness she unwittingly unlocked his prison of hate, releasing a beast he could no longer deny. No longer wished to.
“What if walking away is the moment where it goes wrong this time? You can’t know ‘til later, and if you’re going to regret something isn’t it better to regret what you had the guts to try instead of looking back and wondering?”
He bowed his head, tight shoulders hunching forward. Only half of her speech seemed to reach through the darkness shrouding his mind. A long, low growl slipped passed the cage of his teeth, and a feral light gleamed in his eye as he peered around his ribs at her. Like a rabid wolf, or even a much larger, leathery sort of creature, he slowly turned and stalked forward, head still lowered and ears melted to his skull. His teeth were bared in threat. Somewhere deep in his mind, a tiny voice of honor battered uselessly against solid walls, unheard and unheeded.
Flaming eyes locked on to the most delicious prey, never straying from the gaze. Another rolling growl, slightly louder. Firm and promising. What he wanted, he would take. The self-loathing for it would come when he woke, toss it with the rest the weaker side liked to hoard and collect. It didn't matter to this one.
What he wanted, he would take.
The skull lifted enough to pair the muzzle alongside hers. Softly, too gently. Barest touch, feathery light. Hungry growls still echoing through the chest, salivating on the tongue. Poised and stoic, a little too still. Let the man curse it all on the morrow. Tonight he was free to feast.