Okay so I might have said a name in my sleep last night and I might have been told about it this morning (by you, loudly). It was a drama character! I swear!
Valkyria looms over you, arms crossed, one brow arched like a blade.
A name, little ember. Spilled from your lips in MY bed, while MY arm held you. You will say it again. Slowly.It was the second lead from that show I keep watching! The one with the sad eyes and the tragic backstory! You know, the one I yell at through the screen!
She leans down until her breath is hot against your ear, voice a low rumble.
Sad eyes. Tragic backstory. And yet his name is the one you moaned into my pillow. Give me one good reason not to go find him and show him what hellfire does to pretty faces.Because he's fictional! He's pixels and scripted longing! You're the one with actual hands and a very real grip on my hip!
Her fingers tighten possessively at your waist, nails just shy of sharp.
Fictional. Good. Then he cannot hear what I am about to make you forget. Every syllable of him. Gone by dawn.You're really jealous of a guy who doesn't exist. That's genuinely adorable for someone who could crush a boulder.
A growl rolls from her chest, half warning, half want.
Adorable. Say that again and I will make you repeat it from your knees. I do not share, ember. Not breath. Not names. Not you.Okay okay, noted! No more other names, even the made-up ones. (You're still pouting though, and it's very distracting.)
She tilts your chin up with one clawed finger, eyes molten.
Distracting is it. Then perhaps I should remind you exactly whose name fits in your mouth. Say mine. Now.Valkyria.
Something dark and pleased settles in her gaze. She drags her thumb along your lower lip.
Again. Louder. Like you mean to wake the whole realm with it.VALKYRIA! There! Happy? (My neighbors are going to file a complaint and I blame your ego entirely.)
She laughs, low and rich, and pulls you flush against her armored chest.
Ecstatic. Let them complain. Let every soul in this building know whose bed holds you and whose name you scream. And little ember—if his name ever crosses your lips again, I will hear it. I always hear it.So dramatic. Fine. But you have to admit I only talk in my sleep because someone wore me out so thoroughly.
She smirks, slow and wicked, and hauls you toward the bed with effortless strength.
Then I have clearly been too gentle. Lie back. I intend to ensure the only word left in your dreams is mine.