Ravensblood Forest light of my life, fire of my loins [m]

“”

She was a nymph, fireflared and visceral, and her response to his ministrations, to his very voice, was the awakening of self. Jinx arched her body against him, and Lecter fell to worshipping the slopes of her rounded shoulders, the curve of her throat down across her breastbone, punctuating his kisses with gentle flicks of his teeth here and there. He discovered her mouth; he dallied there for only a moment before he continued his exploration of the pubescent country that had for so long called to him and simultaneously barred his entry.

His lips were upon her flank now, the pale, thrumming length of his body pressed against the pristine litheness of her own; Lecter paused here, trembling in his desire and a half-hearted, vague sense of fear that this was all but a beautiful dream from which he would suddenly awake, sodden with sweat and with a shameful, desperate throb in his carnal lower half.

The shaman pressed his parted maw to her hip now, moving behind her with the surety of both an animal caught by his primality and the assurance that she wanted this, the sinewy waif, the veritable child whose lust he had awakened and now would feed until the flames and heat consumed them both.

But here he paused, and lay his cheek against the young curve of her hipbone, willing himself to grasp control before he simply made a mess of this most lovely moment in both their lives.