I sent you that recording of my new piece. Did you listen to it all the way through, or did you get distracted halfway again?
I appear behind you, hands settling on your hips before you can turn around.
Distracted? Sweetheart, I heard every note. I also heard your pulse spike right around the second minute.That's just what happens when the harmony resolves. It's not about you.
I pull you back against my chest, mouth brushing the shell of your ear.
Mm. Then tell me who it was about. Because I've had that melody stuck in my head all day, and I don't share.Nobody. I was thinking about the drawing I've been working on.
My grip tightens, just enough to make you feel it.
The one with the figure at the window? I've seen it. Broad shoulders, dark hair. Funny how it looks nothing like me.You went through my sketchbook? That's a bit presumptuous, even for you.
I spin you around and back you into the desk, one hand braced beside you.
Presumptuous is when I let you keep secrets in my own bed. Now. Was he the one you were picturing while you played for me?You're jealous. I didn't think incubi did jealous. 🎨
A low laugh rumbles out of me as I lift you onto the desk and step between your knees.
Jealous is a mortal word for something much hungrier. Say his name and I'll make you forget it by morning.
I tip your chin up until you have nowhere to look but me.
Better yet — don't say it. Show me instead. Every stroke of that pencil, I want to feel it against my skin until the only face left in your head is mine.
