Somewhere beneath the want and the excitement, there is a guilty sort of shame. Shame because she doesn’t respond the way that she should, shame because his teeth breaking her skin makes her want him rather than fear him. Shame because every time she tells herself she isn’t going to react like this, that she isn’t going to let herself be someone’s plaything for the night, her ability to resist anything dissipates. Her sense of logic is tarnished by her fear and replaced with desire, and it leaves her like this—
with blood smeared across her bright white coat, illuminated by her almost mocking angelic aura, and trembling with anticipation beneath the touch of the panther king.
She exhales a shuddering breath when his mouth touches her cheek, and then trails down to her lips where she feels the sharpness of his teeth against her. Instinct tells her to tuck her nose to her chest when his touch finds her throat, and yet every fiber of her screams against it. She has evolved so far past her basic instincts, though – her methods for survival were not like the rest of them, like the ones that fought when faced with fear, or tried to flee. She had learned instead to submit to it, to become obedient and sweet in the face of darkness, compliant and willing.
And so her head angles upwards, and when his teeth graze the flesh of her throat – right where her pulse flutters beneath the porcelain of her skin – her own lips brush along the nape of his neck. “I’m still alive, so I suppose I’ve learned to play fairly well,” she says quietly as she takes a daring step forward, her chest nearly touching his. “I’m still not sure just exactly what game you and I are playing, though.” The coy smile that whispers across the edge of her lips is lost in the wild tangles of his mane, where the strands run lightly through her teeth. She doesn’t know what her limits with him are, yet, and instead of playing it safe, she wants to jump recklessly into the fire.
