you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Her nod is immediate, instinctive; less a decision and more a spark catching fire, her curiosity blooming with the sudden flush of gold that floods her thoughts. The illusion that clings to the ceiling hums softly in response, as if stirred by the very idea of it, and for a moment she’s back there in memory: green and gold unspooling across the walls when he'd first brought her here, silks and garnet ribbons bleeding into the air when he’d touched her, the room glowing with the echo of her orgasm, alive and blooming with the proof of how she’d wanted him.
She swallows, her throat tight for reasons that have nothing to do with pain, and when she speaks her voice is low but steady, wrapped in wonder and caution and something like trust. "Yes," she murmurs, gaze flicking up to meet his with something unguarded behind it. "I’d like to see it." There’s no teasing in her tone now, no glittering mischief to shield herself behind—only the quiet ache of wanting to know him in ways she hadn’t been allowed to before.
She swallows, her throat tight for reasons that have nothing to do with pain, and when she speaks her voice is low but steady, wrapped in wonder and caution and something like trust. "Yes," she murmurs, gaze flicking up to meet his with something unguarded behind it. "I’d like to see it." There’s no teasing in her tone now, no glittering mischief to shield herself behind—only the quiet ache of wanting to know him in ways she hadn’t been allowed to before.
