Monsters Of His Past

He kissed her like the kiss was all there was, sufficient to itself, no rush or hurry or greater goal to it. His mouth moved deliberately, leisurely. He made a low noise as though he tasted something delicious; then she felt his thumb beneath her mouth, stroking her skin, as though to burn her skin altogether. 

He stole all the air from her body, from her lungs and left her dizzy as he kept stroking her inside of her mouth with his tongue. She forgot they were in the open and could be seen by any passing maid. But when she heard the sound, she tried to pull

A strange noise left his mouth, a protest, a complaint when she tried to move away but His grip gentled: she could pull away if she liked. But his knuckles brushed down her cheek, reluctant to leave her; then farther down yet, a quick skim of warmth along her throat, a lazy pressure along her collarbone. Not pushing, not grabbing. Only coaxing. Asking, begging for more.