"You're a sociopath," she hisses, turning away from him and staring at the empty expanse of wall behind her. She feels trapped, herded into the small space like a mindless sheep, and the thought of him standing so close behind her makes her entire body ache in anticipation.
She wants to touch him. Dear God, Caroline wants to touch him. She can barely stand looking at him, at the feral but slightly wounded look in his eye, and she wants to do nothing more than compress herself against his chest, fold right underneath his ribcage and latch on.
She is exhausted and hungry and she wants a nice, long bubble bath and she isn't thinking clearly and obviously that is why she wants to touch him. She is irrational and not thinking and dear Lord, if he comes any closer I am going to burst, she thinks as he slinks towards her.
"You say this as if you're surprised. Isn't that why everyone keeps trying to kill me?" he shrugs, but his movement is harsh, nothing like the nonchalance he is trying to portray.
She is too focused on not touching him to respond.
"Sweet, sweet Caroline," he murmurs and his breath reverberates off of her skin, shivering down her back and tickling her spine. She wants to scream. He is standing directly behind her and she can feel him, feel the electricity between their bodies as he shifts.
His hand reaches to her hair, pushing strands away from her neck gently. His touch is too soft, too contradictory of an action for the monster she keeps trying to convince herself he is.
"So delicate," he whispers against her skin, his lips slowly descending to the curve of her flesh. "Gentle." He presses a soft kiss above her pulse point.
She is squirming.
"Lovely." His teeth graze against her skin.
She wonders if this is how it feels to be burned alive.
"Beautiful." His tongue swirls across her skin.
She isn't moving.
"It would be a shame to end such a beautiful thing." He says.
Her breath catches.
"I could break you so easily." His hands are fluttering against her waist, pulling her closer to him as he mouth traces subtle designs across her skin. He is spelling his name into her skin, burning the letters into perfect flesh.
His voice is rough, raw, and it is enough to break her. She can't stand it. She needs to touch him and if she is going to live for the next thousand years, she doesn't want to remember this moment and think about how she didn't touch him. She is tired of not touching him.
She whips around in his grasp, her hands reaching to twine around his neck and diverge into his curls, pulling his face down to hers. She smashes her mouth into his, a clash of lips and teeth and it is exactly how she imagined it to be.
It is perfect.
His hands grip tighter against her waist, leaving indents in her flesh. He presses her against the wall. She is flush against him and she can't stop the groans that escape the back of her throat.
Fuck it. Fuck everything, she thinks. If she is going to live for centuries to come, she is going to kiss him. She is not going to be harbored down with regret.
"I would've been upset if you died." She murmurs against his lips.
His entire body seems to sag in relief.
