The Sunspire [m] carved teeth

Her fangs flash—her tongue snakes out in a demanding kiss as her hips roll—the analogy was more than accurate. He was a moth, and she the flame. The kisses he rained now upon the back of her nape and the curve of her slim shoulder was not feathered like lovers in the past—they were his own demand and his own punishment doled to her—a nip cast here and there, the graze of his teeth before his lips and tongue would seek to soothe flesh.

This was not a union of gentle lovers and whispered sweet nothings into the night—this was a devouring ache—barely tempered emotions as he ensured she quaked beneath him—that whatever scars he had left upon her in their battles—whether by word or physical—were far from memorable in comparison to this very moment between them.