"My fangs are not going to be a problem!" he snapped, and Aira swallowed, somehow understanding without him saying so that his hunger had changed.
It was not the familiar hunger that accompanied their ordinary coupling; this was sharper, more urgent—a need that sat under his skin like a coiled thing and made the air between them taste different.
Instead of rising and leaving, Aira leaned into the table, letting the solid wood steady her. She waited for him to come closer, to bridge the space with that slow, inevitable motion he favored, and she murmured to herself as she did, a thread of determination wound tight in her chest.
'It's just sex. Just until you get what you want,' she told herself, a small litany intended to keep her steady.
