He could feel the beginning of the end as she started to unravel. The way she ground into his touch, the close, breathless pant of her soft moans falling against his lips, the languishing adoration of her affection. The way her fingertips braced along his back, the way her sere nails bit at the skin there in rhapsody of her virulent flame of impassioned bliss. Elation. Sublime, and, pure, and entirely wrought by his own caress. She reclined, parting the warmth of his frame in favor of light distance, the dark lines of her seemingly endless lashes closed, her hair fanning like a dark halo to frame the flushed, heated expression that marked her features. She breathed in, deeply, and exhaled a sultry purr, a lascivious calling of simply his name. Yet it was more than that, it was beckoning, inquiring, wanting.

He would drift from her, habitually kicking free of his boots before coming to a stand, keeping his back to her for a moment as his hands unbuckled his belt. A slight pause drifting through sinew as he slowly withdrew it from the loops of his pants, folding it within his hands, a sudden sense of sheepish hesitation seizing him as he cast her a slight glance. He was still brimstone and fire, engulfed, devoured entirely by the seething coals, a relief briefly chased by undoing the button of his trousers. Pressing them down with a muffled hiss, settling back onto the edge of the bed, trying to reign in, to maintain that sense of control. Patience. Patience. A mantra, a near constant reminder that whispered within the back of his mind.

He wanted to savor this, to take his time. To relish in her outlandish beauty, a thing he had never dreamed he would be permitted. A curse, he'd thought in the beginning, the very same that ensnared his own creation. The seeds of hatred planted, not even by his own hand. An affliction, a weight that would seek to drown him, and yet now such vehement inclinations seemed so far away. So very unreal in comparison to this benign malady that sought to destroy him - to plunge the order and strict vow into oblivion. In truth, it already had, and she had permitted it, encouraged it.

But what would this mean on the morrow in the face of her most sought after freedom? Would she deign it a flaw, a mistake, this time spent with him. Would it become a regret in and of itself, one blamed strictly upon her drink? Could he simply turn away from both confessions uttered before the hedonistic pyre was lit? However, he had requested to be selfish, and she the same, and this was to be her askance.

Once more he would lean over her, the gentle warmth of his mouth tracing over the darkening mar upon the swan curve of her neck from earlier. The motion was tender, silently apologetic as his knee settled betwixt her thighs, parting them in anticipation for his lean hips. "If you don't want this, tell me now." his vocals were low, rough, raw with the weight of tension settled on his tongue. The final remnants of restraint. 

 
He could feel the avaricious possession of her hungry gaze upon his flesh, and had the wanton fever not so possessed him, he most certainly would have shied away or perhaps even scorned her unabashed witnessing. His cheeks burned, from the knowledge of her watchful attention, or the ruthlessly razing pyres she had lit within him, he knew not. He was little better, if not worse than she, smoldering gaze raking the heaving lines of her barren bodice, disheveled, panting, heaving for he and he alone in this moment. His bruising mouth remained slightly parted, unveiled awe, appreciation lavished with the slight lapse of tongue over flushed lips.

Her outstretched fingertips were met with the roughened grasp of his own, pinning her searching touch to the pillow above her head. The first quickly followed by the hand tracing through his hair, a touch that was far too much. He couldn’t stand it, not with his blood burning as hot as it was, with the last of his restraint teetering upon a dangerous precipice, the flames licking ravenously at the remaining supports. "Please," the word was hungry, yearning, a pillowed demand he had no intent of denying. "I need you."

He felt like a drawn bow string, the sensation only building as her lithe legs wrapped around his waist. Lean hips leaned forward at her beckon, into her welcome embrace, teeth gritting heavily where he lay his forehead softly against the crook of her neck. Smoldering adoration giving way to the more base of instinct, a transition that was slow in coming and yet  growing more and more rushed within the heat of her want,  fueling his own with an unrestrained fury. One there no longer could be any denial of, the hand that did not hold her devious touch captive traced the lithesome curves of her bodice: trailing calloused fingertips over the swell of her breasts, down the length of her side to catch hold of her hip. His grasp would tilt her upwards, towards him, against him as he rumbled lowly against her porcelain throat with the sensation. His grasp tightened but didn't entirely halt as he finally ensnared her thigh in full.

Crown would finally rise, mouth hungry, possessive as it claimed her own. In the same breath, his hips rolled forward, a slight shiver rolling down the length of his spine at the feel of such intimate flesh. His grip intensified further upon her leg, pulling her closer still as a somewhat rougher thrust allowed him to fully sheath himself within the engulfing warmth of her temple walls. His. The word nearly echoed in the low growl that reverberated in the depths of his chest, as his tongue swept the interior of her mouth in ravenous, carnal desire. Mine.

 

She robbed the air from his lungs in a low, guttural groan that fled his lips in answer to her own girlish sigh of pleasure. His fingers tightened around her own slightly, the dull ache of the debilitating injury searing up the length of his forearm in bitter reminder to the affliction. A stark reminder that he could have lost her. An unpleasant memory, important perhaps only for this realization to strike home. A thing from Rophuin that he would much rather forget, along with the irrational paranoia that had followed with the knowledge that he could become a wanted man in a land where none even knew of him. Only by a simple moniker, and he could be ensnared again.

She could have been caught in the crossfire yet again. This time with intent rather than simple madness in a crowd. To never see her bright smile again, to witness the flourish and pure happiness of her dance again would have been a fate far more cruel than death or anything else their captors could divulge. That's why he had implored her to come with him, to flee the dangers of her own home in favor of what he thought could be a better life. His return had been secret, discreet, but regardless he was certain she would be more secure here than there. Yet the reaches of the arms of strife were long indeed and greed would only beget greed in return.

In the end, no where was safe for her. Nowhere but here. With him. Always, he would keep her safe, a silent promise and vow he had already taken. Her legs clenched around him, holding him in place, and he stilled, dull nails biting against the tender skin of her thigh. It was enamoring, the way she cradled him, the warmth of her barren skin, the sight of her flushed bodice. The scent of her skin, of the wine that slicked her tongue and wet her lips, and the slight burn that accompanied the sweep of her tongue that mentioned the presence of alcohol as well. She was perfection, all consuming. His grasp loosened, trailing from her leg up to the curve of her waist just above her hip as her own clasp loosened.

He met the grind of her hips with his own, a rough exhale planted against the plush curve of her mouth. Slow was his withdraw, fingers squeezing against her side and her own dulcet hands as he thrust once more back against her. The roll of virile hips was slow, thorough as he savored the intoxication of her velvet walls.

 She had wanted freedom. He had, in the beginning, no wish to leash her - and even now to say that was his intent would be a lie. Despite his adoration of her, of her features and each and every dulecet line he would commit to memory, it was inevitably the love she held for independence that made her burn so brightly. To chain her would be to dull the vivid fervor she held in life, the allure of her coaxing flame. She would become the sour imagery of a caged bird, singing softly to appease the ears of those who claimed it, yet unable to taste the wind of open skies. They oft forgot the sensation, their voices would grow rasp with sadness and rife with grief and loss until it eventually claimed them. He would not see her become the same, and yet he could not deny the way his own bodice formed a cage around her, the way he pulled her close. The way he held her there. The way he claimed her as his own and she him.

Another breathless pant abandoned his lips, flush against the heavy presence of her pulse pounding like gales of thunder and rain trapped within her skin. Heavy hand would trace the veins of the storm, trailing from the curve of her hip, pressing over her abdomen, catching slightly upon her navel, calloused fingers sprawling slowly over the plush of her heaving breast. His clasp was not harsh, but so too was gentleness vaguely lost in the way he kneaded the sensitive skin in tandem with each of his thrusts. He leaned ravenously into the lavish of her frame, each and every breath, every minute movement, the flutter of her heart, he wanted it. He wanted to feel it.

His own quickened, craven in realization. Desire, a foreign thing, yearning that was strange and before unprecedented. Abandoned as unnecessary and now insatiable, unable to deny the growing tides of strange euphoria that bled into his veins. Never before had he experienced such a thing, other than in the poison of adrenaline that snared like a toxin in the heat of battle. An enigma, a wanton inquiry that danced perilously upon the tip of his tongue, threatening to slice with a single misstep. Yet it was a blade he was wholly unaccustomed to, one he had no way of wielding with steady grip like the iron he was so fond of. She had just as much control as he, another oddity in the schism of things. An askew view of a twisted reality he was now privy to. Perhaps even more. He would raise his head,  lips brushing against her jaw, roaming hand gently cupping the opposite as he brushed his thumb tenderly over the porcelain curvature of her cheek.

What would he not do for her?

Despite himself, he couldn't help feeling cheated as she bit her lip in an attempt to cage the sound so fervently fighting to free itself from her lungs. He answered with a graveled sigh of his own, a pleasured groan against the curve of her ear like a fervid secret. She turned her head towards him, her lips pleading - no commanding - in their intensity and savagery. A depravity that he matched in equal turn. The flames were further fueled by the tremble of her dulcet thighs, the clench and relish of her silken walls, that bid his head to tilt, rolling as teeth grit, another exhale searing with molten heat through his lips.

He shifted, raising his weight from above her, unwilling to part from her intimate embrace, instead pulling her flush against the virile slam of his hips. "You're beautiful." The tenor of his vocals would gravel roughly, pale stare razing her blushing skin, the contours of her feminine curves, of her immaculate features. Perfection, a difficult thing to fathom, an unrealistic reality. Perilous Aphrodite made flesh and bone, or perhaps rather Artemis - the avid huntress with her impeccable aim. Piercing easily through the repertoire of his armor, the head of her venomous arrow burrowing until it was wholly embedded within him in permanency. A secret poison that was now far too late to combat, woven into each and every fiber of his being. Until every bit of him burned like a pyre.

He would grasp her ankle lightly, raising her leg until her calf rested against the breadth of his shoulder, glissading touch scathing a trail down to the sensitive bundle of nerves betwixt her thighs. His ravishing pace continued, unrelenting. He would see her come undone, an unabashed wish, a monstrous, ravenous greed. Teeth and lips nipped and adorned affections upon the curve of her calf, but his vision would remain riveted to her, to the salacious part of her lips, to the crimson sheen of her proud cheeks, to the draw of her knitted brow. The fan of her wild locks was like that of a burning halo spread over the canvas of her pillowed throne.