Twisted Slough You've never seen a bastard orphan [m]ore in need of a break

Gradually they wove themselves together; he, playful, she, something else. Tryphon did not notice as the bites and near-misses became kisses and holds. She pressed herself up against him on every pass, igniting his skin in a way that confused him. From time to time he'd pull back, but be urged forward by her playful antics, until all his flesh hummed with an unknowable energy. He wanted her closer — and just like that, a switch seemed to flip in his brain. Tryphon was hungry for this pale woman in a way he did not understand, in a way that transcended all that he knew of himself, and on her next pass he grappled at her. Fumbling first with one leg over her shoulder, as she slipped out from his grasp he managed to pivot her hips towards himself, and with some scrambling he had her pinned. Why he felt compelled to do this? He'd never know. Tryphon was not well versed in how things worked, and he was giving in to the more primitive side of his brain. They were not aligned yet — not properly — but it was clear the game was turning into something else.