The only return to his answer is the catch of her breath, his teeth pinching and grazing her flesh and driving away any idea of teasing or trying him. Brigade’s lips meet hers tenderly, soft in a way that reminds her of the night they’d slept side by side in Loess. That same kiss edges toward something hungrier though and she is waiting for it, her teeth catching at his lip before she presses in again intensely. Doesn’t he know she’ll meet him at the very edge every time?
He holds something back from her but only just, and the restraint makes her ache. It is not deprivation. Even if he never says it she feels something in that, the care beneath the hunger. He knows the edge and pulls back but only just… and doesn’t stop this time. Brigade makes his way along her body and the muscles beneath her skin tremble, aftershocks, a chill at the absence of his touch. Her lips trace his shoulder, the edge of a golden wing.
A soft squeal follows the fall of his teeth against her hips, Kensa arches her neck. Pressing against him as she tucks her chin and looks back with ochre eyes gone dark gold. There is a fleeting feeling of sinking hesitation, an uncertainty she’s unaccustomed to. This matters, and she isn't ready for it to matter as much as it does, to feel the shock of him right down to her soul.
This man does not know how often such encounters have meant nothing to her, or how easily she would have once allowed him to cover her and then forgotten all about it. He does not know that she wont ever forget the way his breath falls against her hip or the rise and fall of his breathing as he waits for her word. My Brigade, but she doesn’t say it because he is not hers. He never was.
Brigade is beautiful, glorious, and he wants her despite deserving so much more.
“I want you close to me.”
—
