After that lazy and gentle brush of lips, she falls into a quiet slumber. My initial concern that I had drank too much abated, by the soft smile gracing her lips and the arm around me that tightens occasionally as she dreams.
But even as Ava sleeps I feel myself drawn to her, like the moon pulling the tide, I want to wash over her. I'm unable to stop my gaze from lingering, and my fingers from caressing; I want so much to taste her again, to feel her against my lips, my tongue, my teeth. But I refrain, thinking it would cross a line, some boundary of trust given to me as she lay in my arms. So I content myself with the light brush of fingertips against creamy flesh, committing to memory, every dip and curve, every freckle and mole, trying to capture the uniqueness of her.
It's as my hand smooths over the lean muscle of her shoulder and down the sweep of her spine that I feel it. An abrasion. Rough and raised under my wandering fingertips. I quickly push myself up with my forearm to see it better. I find scars, cruel lines crisscrossing down half of her back, that in my earlier haste I'd neglected to notice. I feel all at once protective and possessive, as anger curls heavy in my belly and compassion fills my breast, that someone other than me has left their mark on her. I want to wrap her in my arms and hold her close, and simultaneously I wish to bare my claws for whoever caused these wounds, to rip their throats and tear theirs limbs.
The sudden movement must have woken her, she stirs and stretches, as a sound akin to a purr rumbles from her chest. A lazy smile lifts her mouth before noticing my dark expression and frowning.
Her hands come up to cup my cheeks tenderly, concern etched across her face. "What's wrong?" Her voice still rough from sleeping.
"Who left these marks on you?" I ask, low and dangerous.
She raises a hand distractedly, and starts to fidget with her hair. "When the people of my village discovered I was having visions they... They dragged me into the street and..." She looks away with a shaky sigh, biting her lip. Though her voice didn't tremble as she spoke, her blue eyes had begun filling with tears, like the spring frost melting.
A few moments pass, with just the sounds of the fire crackling beneath the hearth filling the room. I find myself at a loss, I'm not used to trying soothe or relieve pain, being more adept at causing it, and I am unsure of how to console her.
"Turn over." I say, breaking the silence. I try to keep my voice soft, but the anger I feel towards her abusers seeps through my clenched teeth. Her brows knit together in confusion, but she still moves to comply with my request and turns to lay on her stomach, her hands placed under head. I swiftly straddle her thighs and look down at her bared flesh, fighting the urge to leave my own marks, to claim her for myself. Instead I brace my hands beside her, leaning down to kiss the length of each and every scar, and when I'm finished I begin the trail of kisses anew.
She turns her head to watch me and I suddenly have a deep, overwhelming urge to feel her everywhere, craving every inch of her skin on mine. So with frantic urgency I start to remove my suffocating clothing, lifting my shirt hurriedly and throwing it carelessly across the fire lit room. Seeing my desire she quickly moves to help, sitting up to unbuckle my belt as I hastily remove my boots so we can push off my trousers and underclothes.
Finally I'm as naked as she, our heated,aching flesh coming together in a fierce intensity. Capturing her mouth with mine, tongues sliding and seeking, we sink back down into the sheets, a mess of tangled limbs, active with passion and need. Arousal pools hot in my belly as wetness flows from my center, her fingers dig with excruciating pleasure at my back, before scratching upwards to clutch desperately at my shoulders. I nudge open her knees and settle between her thighs, pressing down intimately. She breaks the kiss with a loud moan, back arching at the first intimate contact, wrapping her legs around my hips as I begin to rock against her in earnest. Breasts and bellies slick with concupiscent sweat, sliding together, her heart pounding at my chest, every thrust punctuated with panted gasps and the wooden clap of the bed against the wall.
