I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Ohhhh, she doesn’t know what kind of fire she’s playing with. He’s so far from a fucking monk it’s laughable. And that one little ‘okay’ is all he needs. Hell, most of the time he doesn’t even need that. (I mean, we have already established what a bastard he is.) But he’d given her that one small chance, slim as it was. And she hadn’t taken it.
She’s his now.
And holy fuuuuck, the way her teeth scrape across the sensitive skin just at the hollow of his throat. So much better than any yes anyway. She’s so fucked, in all the ways that count.
A low growl escapes his throat as he pushes abruptly against her, dark eyes gleaming with devilish intent. He could be dangerous, if he wanted to. Fucking deadly. But she’d enjoy every damned one of his touches. Danger is so fucking seductive, and she is learning first hand just how much so.
His teeth grip her crest, pulling her roughly against him before her releases her. Kisses soothe the abused skin, brushing gently, tantalizingly across that dark satin. They look so fucking delicious together, black against white, broad, hard masculinity against delicate feminism. Fucking perfection.
He presses hard against her, trapping one of her delicate wings between them. His lips and teeth tease her skin with hungry certainty, following the elegant slope of her spine, nipping along the downy curve of her wing. His teeth and tongue are everywhere, tasting and touching, an erotic dance designed to drive her wild. When he finally took her, he wanted her savage and mindless.
He wanted every bit of her to match each of his harsh, demanding instincts. His perfect counterpart in this uncivilized dance.
