She said nothing. She didn't have to. Despite her ears falling back warily at his advance, with each faint touch he placed on her, she boldly returned them to him. She was clever, she saw the danger, but her reaction surprised him, fueled him on. His skin shuddered at her contact, foreign but so thrilling. His blood flowed quicker, breath came heavier. She entranced the beast, made the monster in his mind demand more. Foolish girl. Why aren't you running? This was meant to push her away, frighten her off.
But he didn't want her to. He wanted her to stay, he wanted to feel again. The warmth of a body, the sweetness of a caress. And damn she felt good. So soft, so delicate.
Deep within his consciousness, his true self struggled. He knew what would happen if she didn't stop it. He couldn't let it, this was not enough. It needed to be from love. But he'd awakened the beast, and that's who was in control now. It was his own doing, his own undoing. She'd have no warning of what he'd unleashed on her, and his Self silently, helplessly tumbled back into the darkness.
The monster smiled.
A sweet, wicked thing. He loved her ears pinned back, like she knew to be cautious. And yet she touched him back. She didn't truly know, did she? Or was she so strong, so bold, as to challenge a nightmare? He could teach her to fear.
The bay dun edged closer still, encouraged by her daring affection and those wary ears. He buried further into her side, pressing skin to skin all along and down their shared side. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. He no longer gave her slow warning of where he'd touch next. A lip at her neck, a firm nudge at her cheek, a gentle bite near her throat. He goaded her, prodded. Tested her limits, challenged her boldness. How much fight did she have in her? How far would she let him go before she realized the danger?
He lingered at her crest. Carefully, sweetly, he began grooming her. He calmly nibbled the dirt from the base of her mane, inhaling her heady scent. That, too, fueled him. His eyes glowed with hunger, with silent threat. But he held it in check. Deliberate. His position would trap her. If she shifted too far, he would grip her and pull her back against him. Like a rabid animal hoarding its kill, she was his. His delicate prize. His temporary possession.
His gentle grooming gradually eased into a slightly stronger tug... tug at her mane. It wasn't meant to be painful, only for the fun of it. Tug. Tug. Steady and predictable. An easy rhythm. Like the knock of a criminal on the window, one that knows you are trapped inside with no where to go. Tap. Tap. Toying with her, testing her. Playing with her. Last chance, Beautiful.
Tug.
Tug.
Tug.