Duskfire Glacier [m] diet mountain dew

faust stilled beneath her touch.
not because he didn’t want it—gods, he wanted it—but because he had never been attended to like this before. not with softness, not with purpose beyond pleasure or possession. women had wanted him, sure. wanted his strength, his blood, his claim. but lousine wanted him.
and it fucking terrified him.
his jaw tensed as she moved, kissing along the battle-worn edges of him. his pulse thrummed beneath his skin, slow and heavy, like something restrained. he felt her nails along his shoulder blade, a slow, deliberate drag, and he exhaled sharply through his nose.
his first instinct was to scoff, to shake her off, to turn this into something rougher, something easier to understand. but he didn't. he let her linger, let himself feel it.
yes, he admitted, voice rough. he turned his head, lips brushing against her ear as he rumbled, but it wasn't you.