with a burning violin

He tries so desperately to hold onto his facade, his poker face, while she taunts him. It ends with a clench to his jaw, huffs of sounds leaving him that have him burning and burning, an edge close that if he were to truly want her in his lap, he wouldn’t last long. So he considers her words carefully, the smirk crossing his face as his fingers continue to remain tight in her hair, a tilt of his head that has one spiraled horn clicking against the wood of the headboard as he looks down at her, rolls his hips to press his length more against her tongue.

“[say]I won’t last long if you come up here now, so I suppose I’ll have to.[/say]” His voice is a husky rumble, a considering look that crosses his face with the hand that she keeps pinned, lifting his fingers up to stroke against the inside of her wrist with blunt nails. “[say]Because I absolutely do want to fuck you. Properly.[/say]” His gaze drifts to his wrist that’s trapped by her hand and lightning magic. “[say]And I’m pretty sure the work up will keep you slick.[/say]” This is said with a hint of a teasing tone, a whisper that leaves his lips, gaze sharpening as he looks back at her — noticing the way she shifts her hips in the sheets, the way she tries to find friction wherever she can.