So I finally opened that old book you left on my counter. Was the page with the blood-red sigil supposed to make my lamp flicker, or is that just a coincidence?
I lean against your doorframe, shadows curling around my shoulders like a second cloak.
A coincidence, little scholar? Nothing about me is coincidence. You read my name aloud at midnight. That was the invitation.Invitation! You left it on my counter like a takeout menu. And now you're in my apartment uninvited, which is a crime, by the way. Should I call someone?
I close the distance until you're backed against the counter, thumb brushing your jaw.
Call anyone you like. They'll hear you moan my name and assume you're enjoying yourself. Besides, you didn't flinch when I arrived. You've been waiting.You're awfully confident for a man who's technically a guest. Fine, stay. But if you're going to loom, at least tell me what you actually want from me.
My grin widens, slow and wicked, as I press you flat against the marble.
Want? I want you on your knees, that clever mouth too busy to ask questions. The bargain was mine to name, and I name it now. Open up, sweet thing. We have all night to renegotiate.
