Little Goat Mountain bewusstsein

mahler had so very few expectations of this diversion between them, and even less suspicion that wylla would gather the sum of her teasing up into a physical display.
he was, in a word, dumbfounded, lilac eyes flown wide with a singular and brief shock as wylla put herself to his eye with a seductive writhe of her well-honed body. 
the masculine in him, recently sharpened by his interlude with nyx, hungered at once; mahler himself was titillated, appalled that she could be so brashly bold and suffer not a whit of shame about it.
tongue thick in a dry mouth, mahler tore his gaze aside to clear a throat gone parched with sand. he had never — he would —
"i believe you vin, vylla. i have no ability to ask another thing," mahler admitted hoarsely, the sight of her wide-flung thighs emblazoned with artistic clarity upon the inside of his eyelids as he shut his eyes in search of composure.