I catch your chin between two fingers before you can turn away, tilting your face up to mine.
You promised me something, little mortal. I have come to collect, and I do not leave empty-handed.I never promised you anything of the sort. You cannot simply invent a contract and expect me to honor it.
A low laugh rumbles in my chest as I lean in, breath warm against your ear.
Invent? You spoke my name three times in the dark and thought I would not notice. I always notice.Speaking a name is not the same as surrendering to you. If you are so starved for tribute, go find someone who actually offered it.
My grip slides from your chin to your throat, not squeezing, only resting there, a reminder of how easily it could.
Careful. That sharp tongue of yours is exactly why I chose you over the thousands who beg.Then perhaps you should have chosen one of them. You are wasting your evening, Your Highness. I am not so easily won.
I press you back against the wall, close enough that you feel every inch of my displeasure.
No. You are not easily won, which is why I intend to take my time. Now open that mouth and use it for something other than arguing.You cannot order me about like one of your courtiers.
I grin, slow and wicked, and drag my thumb across your lower lip.
I do not order what I can tempt. But keep fighting me and I will happily show you the difference.
