ChaoticBULL
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Summary
“I want to taste you,” she says. Direct, unambiguous. It takes Marcille a moment to follow the implication. Once she understands, her hands fly to her face and she can feel the heat of her body through smooth fingers on soft cheeks. She grows lightheaded, her reality anchored once more to Falin alone.
“Oh, okay. Yes,” Marcille stammers; her face, her breath, even her pulse shaky in anticipation.
Falin’s mouth drops open, showing the sharp white points of her canine teeth against the warm wet red of her tongue. Her eyes are dark, focused and intent; like something hunting in the undergrowth.
“Thank you,” she rasps, near worshipful.