What big eyes you have. Sometimes they're electric blue like police car sirens and adrenaline spiking in your veins, and sometimes they're red like lifeblood and forever. But right now they're pale green like sea-foam and whispered promises made in the early hours of the morning. All the better to see you with, he says, his eyes a slow drag down your body, heavy like a touch. You shiver.
What big ears you have. Sometimes they're pointed and keen, attuned for danger. But they're soft and round and human now, as he pushes you back, sucking kisses into your throat. All the better to hear you with, he says pressing one ear to your chest and palming you through your jeans in time to your heartbeat.
What big claws you have. Sometimes they're like knives at his fingertips, sharp with anticipation. Right now, though, his fingers are soft and blunt and human and warm warm warm as they push up inside you. All the better to feel you with, he says as he crooks them, a wicked glint in his eye. You whimper.
What big teeth you have. Sometimes they're like daggers in his mouth and they taste like ripping and tearing and blood. But right now they're blunt and round and human as they scrape up your thigh, rough tongue soothing the sting. All the better to taste you with, he says. You don't know what he tastes like right this second, but you're sure he tastes like you.
What a big heart you have. Sometimes it's armoured and cold, survival instinct outweighing any desire for companionship. But right now it's soft and warm and liquid in your hands. All the better to love you with, he says, covering your mouth with his, swallowing your moans like he's starving for them. I love you too, you say, and the late afternoon sun glinting off his smile is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.