That whimper is witchcraft. Falling from her mouth into his around the slip of his tongue past her lips, it tumbles down to overtake his heart. It beats for this irresistible woman who brands him with her touch over his racing pulse in his neck. He covers her hand with his, permitting and encouraging with gesture with a groan rumbled low in his heaving chest. How desperately he has longed for a wanting, needing touch free from hostility, and his little mortal grants it so eagerly.
If she knew the power those words held. Selling her soul to the silver-tongued trickster holding her to his chest with his hand stretched across her back. To look into her eyes and see the want stirring within, he does not feel a powerful god in this moment. Just a man in need of his woman.
"You need your nourishment," he sighs, frustration grating on the words spoken into the tender skin just beneath her ear. If she is not to sleep this night, she shall be well fed at the very least. "And then we will go to my apartment. You may have your Loki there."
His parted lips trace the edge of her jaw, his hand curls over her ribs, and then he forces himself to leave her side and sit across from her once more. A wicked wink precedes another flash of green light about them, signifying his illusion shattering.
"You have hardly touched your food, little one," he frowns, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Are you feeling well?"
Placing his hand on hers reassures Lily that he wants her touch as much as she craves his. Emboldened by his action, her other hand comes up to cup his face, holding him close.
"You need your nourishment," he sighs, frustration grating on the words spoken into the tender skin just beneath her ear. If she is not to sleep this night, she shall be well fed at the very least. "And then we will go to my apartment. You may have your Loki there."
Still trying to catch her breath, which he doesn’t make an easier with the way he’s touching her, she nods, anxious for them to finish and go home.
A quiet gasp from her when he touches her intimately and he forcibly extracts himself from her side and returns to his seat.
A wicked wink precedes another flash of green light about them, signifying his illusion shattering.
"You have hardly touched your food, little one," he frowns, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Are you feeling well?"
Staring at him, mouth agape, she sees the frown, but the look in his eyes that she quickly catches on to be his tell-tale sign of mischief has her frowning playfully. “I’m feeling perfectly fine, but it seems like someone doesn’t play fair.”
Shaking her head in amusement, she takes another bite of food, already formulating ideas on how to get back at him for his little trick.
