[ Hook. Line. Sinker. The plaintive little question almost draws a contemptuous peal of laughter. She's so easy in this state. Easy to mold. Easier to crush. But that's just the surface, he knows. If he's patient, the effort and teeth-gritting torment will be worth the reward. ]
Cross my heart.
[ His right hand still cups her jaw. He sketches an X on his throat with the other -- deliberately slicing into skin. A bead of blood trickles down; a red flag. It's a cruel jibe at her thirst. It's also an invitation. Will she? Or won't she? ]
no subject
Cross my heart.
[ His right hand still cups her jaw. He sketches an X on his throat with the other -- deliberately slicing into skin. A bead of blood trickles down; a red flag. It's a cruel jibe at her thirst. It's also an invitation. Will she? Or won't she? ]