Disclaimer: Some mine, some SMeyer's.
"I want you."
"You can't have me."
His teeth sink into me, tender and aggressive. "You're just saying that."
"I'm just meaning that."
His hand moves down my chest, across my stomach, destination clear, pace slow but swift. "Your words and your body are contradicting."
I freeze and heat, shocked he can read my thoughts without doing so. "I don't contradict. It's useless energy."
My words are lies.
I know, and can tell he does too by the way his eyes smirk, mouth a sober line.
"So let's use that energy for... something different."
His palm is hot, fingers cold.
He stays stationary but for his lips, moving across my clavicles and anywhere he can reach.
Frustrated, I bend toward his ear, roughly bite his neck, thrill at the surprise of his breath leaving him.
"Don't tempt me. You're playing with fire." But his eyes beg me to do just that, to grab a bag of matchbooks and jump straight into the flames.
My mouth whispers across his jaw. "I like fire."
"You've never known this kind of fire."
I know he's right.
I've never even come close, not to the fire or the rest of what he emanates, gives, rouses.
That knowledge exhilarates, terrifies.
More contradictions. I hate it, them; adore.
I can clearly see the warning in his eyes, his words, his voice.
But his lips and his body tell me differently.
Arching to him is my answer, my choice of what I'm listening and heeding to.