Isla
No weirdness, then. It's funny, the things they tell themselves before an event that has no place in logic. Isla swears she can sense Locke's annoyance, a smile creeping across her face as she gazes up at him, ignoring the wrist he offers out. "He will only be upset that he couldn't bite you himself, I bet. Perhaps you could come to the Grounds one of these days, and I can introduce you."
But then she's leaning in, up on her toes because the man before her is so tall, her hands resting against his chest. Without any further hesitation, Isla presses her lips against the side of Locke's neck, over marks already silvering his skin. And without further ado her fangs slip into his veins, flooding the medic with heat and need and ecstasy.
Instantly her fingers flinch over Locke's chest, the Ascended simultaneously melting and stiffening against him. Suddenly it doesn't matter that they are strangers, or that they are in the middle of the Barrows; all Isla knows is the sweetness of his blood and the pleasure singing through her body.
But then she's leaning in, up on her toes because the man before her is so tall, her hands resting against his chest. Without any further hesitation, Isla presses her lips against the side of Locke's neck, over marks already silvering his skin. And without further ado her fangs slip into his veins, flooding the medic with heat and need and ecstasy.
Instantly her fingers flinch over Locke's chest, the Ascended simultaneously melting and stiffening against him. Suddenly it doesn't matter that they are strangers, or that they are in the middle of the Barrows; all Isla knows is the sweetness of his blood and the pleasure singing through her body.
sooner or later, we all have to wake
and try forgetting everything
and try forgetting everything
