She turns to him, and though he has looked upon her for the last hour Tunnel still savors the sight of her movement. He has looked at many women but he sees Bardot differently. He does not know why that is, other women have had beautiful necks and that narrow dip along their spines that he could kiss his way down if he had chosen. He has never chosen. Now he would, but she faces him and challenges his frustration with yet more words, more denials of his long held reality.
He does not know what she saw in his face that night, only what was in his head. She is angry with him for sparing her. Tunnel draws a deep breath, exhales it heavily again. What if he just told her? Described exactly what had crawled out of his mind and intruded on his already savage desires? She would not believe he could have done it. A muscle twitches in his jaw. Bardot presses a kiss to his neck, he breathes her in. She is more than her brightness, yes, but how far from her brightness can he take her before she hates him.
I don't belong to you… nips punctuate the words, working along the strong line of his shoulder. His eyes narrow the smallest fraction.. but she keeps talking, words spilling from her dark lips, lips he would rather feel against his skin but the things she says keep him engaged. For a man who so often takes what he wants he is surprised by the desire that follows her promise to be his when he finds her. He almost kisses her then but is arrested by the look in her eyes, seduction this may be but he knows a threat when he hears one. A growl rises and dies in his throat as his grey eyes consider her fiery gold ones.
He kisses her then, drops his head to capture her mouth and bruise her lips with his insistence. Anger is burning off for something that, when Bardot is involved, rages far hotter. When he breaks with her, pressing her to his broad chest, his voice is a rumble she will feel in her own breast. "I don't think I should agree to those terms, but this isn't a negotiation, is it Bardot?" The stallion kisses her jaw, nips the spot, and returns his muzzle to hers so he can feel her breaths falling against his skin, listening to the cadence of them.
"...And what if I find you every day? If I make you scream in this river, and the meadow beyond, if I find you in your taiga and push you up against a redwood and have you again and again. Will your oath still stand when you no longer can?" Heat rolls off his body in scorching waves, his frame coiled tight. Sweat and water cord his mane, his forelock falling into his grey eyes.
@Bardot
