She doesn’t mind the silence, the unspoken things that hover heavily between them. His touch is careful, a far cry from the way he had nearly torn her apart in the heated climax of their union. It doesn’t take long till the steady drone from the hidden cicadas lulls her into a hazy summer daze, her lids closing over the fine threads of gold spun within her eyes. Between the soft coolness of the water streaming around her body, his steady touch as he presses into those aching travel-worn muscles, and the overall balm that comes with having him so near draws her further into this false sense of security, half asleep on her hooves where she stands surrounded by him in the shallows of the river.
To anyone who didn’t know better, they looked for all the world a content and happy couple. The way he grooms her so intently, the languid smile that lingers on her soft lips. They cannot sense the electric tensions that spark between them beneath the surface, the steady burn of heat and confusion that had been building for weeks rising again with renewed vigor.
After so much silence, his voice startles her from her half-sleep and she is momentarily confused, jolting against him where her shoulder barely rests against his hip. An itch forms to the right of her horn in an irritating spot that she can’t reach. She is bold as she slowly rubs her head against his flank, her horn sliding against the dark navy fur along his hindquarters before she glances back at him. He seems on edge, a darker expression then the one she had sensed before as he stares at her.
She still says nothing, letting her silence speak for itself.
”I should have shown you the way out of the forest.” Obviously, she thinks but keeps her tongue still. Not yet. Not when he was apologizing in his own way, she hadn’t expected that. Didn't expect the rush of words that come out of him, the most she has ever heard him speak at one time. A single ear swivels back to him, indicating she was listening even if she wasn’t openly acknowledging him. The things he speaks of, these “things he would have done to her” imply threats of violence but she thinks it’s more than that. Was it really his fear of hurting her that had turned him cold against her? Or did it have to do more with that look they shared in the aftermath when she hadn’t shied away from him?
His tone is still as rough as sandpaper but low, words meant for only her. How easily he spills his confessions (she would argue that a mindless evil beast wouldn't have such morals) and a prouder woman might have taken them and used them against him, might have tried to capture him and hurt him the way he had hurt her when he had turned his back on her with disgust scrawled across his face. When he had made her feel as if she was nothing.
She would not allow him to know how much it had bruised her, the way he had left her like that.
Nor would she retaliate against him, not this time.
Not when she can see that flicker of light amongst all his shadowy terrible deeds. Not when she can sense a man behind the monster. ”I see you.” “And I see you.” She finally breathes out an admission of her own, the memories of teasing dreams stirring thoughts of his teeth against her mane and makes her stir with a flush of arousal. So achingly aware of his broad chest pressed against the back of her thigh. She finally looks at him, her golden eyes tranquil and clear despite the smolder of desire flickering through her. “I’m not afraid of you.” She states calmly, watching him closely to see what he would make of this bold declaration. She means it too. He could try to break her, he might even be successful at it.
But she would never cower from him. He would not be able to avoid her defiance, no matter what he threw at her. “I’m not afraid of you.” She repeats again, her voice softer this time. “Not like you are of me.” And she holds his gaze unflinchingly, daring him to lie to her. To deny it.
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Bardot![[Image: BQjeje-Bardot2.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/T37nJTF6/BQjeje-Bardot2.png)