Tastes like every dark thought you've ever had

She's nearly forgotten what it feels like to be consumed without being the one to take the first bite; the electric shock that pulses through her veins as his muzzle finds hers causes the flesh beneath her cheeks to heat, her breath sharpens and her body feels as though she'll lose grip on the hard floor beneath them and drift.

She doesn't drift, she is her own anchor, she remains intact while others crumble at her feet and yet here she is, ready to shatter herself into a million pieces at just the mere touch of this man. His words are a passing flutter by her ears, in the distance yet right by her senses. The clip of her ear draws her in and she catches his last words. A subtle growl crawls out with the icy hot chords that fall from her lips then. "A fool, he is—but what I do is not limited by his command, try as he might." A subtle reminder, to herself mostly—that she is controlled by none other than herself.

Her reminder is as present as the sun that reigns over in the night sky in this moment as his body connects with hers and leaves her caught under him—under his touch, his command. His question is one she nearly let's slip as his weight—his near perfectly chiseled body—melts into her from above. "Possesing what is not yours is still considered a theft—is that what you aim to do, steal me—" her words are now breathy as her heart hammers and the fire that blazes in her core now rivals that of the flames in the hearth. Her paws flex, digging in to the furs beneath them as she subtly presses herself into his underbelly. If it were possible to do, she would force every ounce of the intensity she feels coursing through ever fiber of her being in this moment into this man, force him to witness just what their bodys touching alone is capable of making her feel—them feel. "—to be in possession of you and you alone, Vikari Omiros?" She twists her head slowly, her muzzle tracing the side of his as jowls part, her breath trailing along his fur until she reaches the crick of space between the bottom of his jaw line and upper end his neck. She inhales him softly before she let's the tips of her fangs dance with the surface of his skin. Who would relent first? She was so sure she would win this game but in doing so she realizes her own restraint has become a challenge in an of itself—a dangerously thrilling notion as she wages war with herself and this man with temptation.