Two Eyes Cenote [M] A call from Olympus, ringing off the hook

The man found himself ensnared in the woman's quicksand gaze, the drumming of her heart against his own—the calm to her storm. Drawn into her depths like a moth to flame, he allowed himself to be held captive for as long as his resolve could endure. He allowed himself to think of what should happen if they continued their game, of what might come of it.

Never.

She whispered, her voice a seductive melody of clove and adrenaline. Despite the cautionary whispers echoing in his mind, he chose to place his trust in her; if she vowed never, then never it would be.

A soft exhale escaped him as tension melted away, leaving a gentle smile on his lips.

Then, Machiavelli began, lowering himself to plant a tender kiss on the spot between her brows, your first time should not be with me. He stole a final gaze at her, his expression ineligible. Was it disappointment that flickered in his eyes? Or something else entirely?

He left her, reassuming the position she had found him in upon her arrival, reclined on the soft bedfur in the corner of his room. It is late, my love. Perhaps... sleep would be for the best. He lifted a foreleg, holding it in invitation, beckoning her to draw close once more. There is a tale my mother told me when I was a pup that I believe you would enjoy, should you care to hear it.