Lion Head Mesa Hate [m]e baby, maybe I'm a piece of art

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For a moment, fear; just a flash of it, a passing hint that spiced the moment with the small realization that he could truly hurt her if he wanted to, except —

You are Hemet. I am Mazoi.

And there was power in that, wasn't there?

She was very aware of his body against hers, the way she came alive under his touch, not faltering to her fear but turning to flame under it. I want - Melody bit her lip, arching against the heat of his desire. Order it. Her heart raced. Touch me. Show me how a Mazoi worships. Not through prayer, but the breathless tangle of warm flesh.