Cedar Sweep romance

if he wishes violence, she'll give it to him. 

perhaps it's just the state in which she finds herself or maybe her own moral failings slamming the door on contact—damned if she'll let anyone in—

she rises and before he can touch her, she nips at his shoulder, hard enough to draw blood.

he can take it, mountain-made man that he is;

Avicus wheels and struts in a fashion that would be called coquettish in any other woman. but this savage creature dressed in the intestines of a hapless would-be enemy is no woman.

she flags her tail up, her spring perfume enveloping the both of them.

she looks at him, everything and nothing all at once whirling in her midnight-depth eyes.

if he wants her, he'll have to take her.

she's nothing left to give.