immortally-charming:
Someone as accustomed to desire as the incubus patting his knee in invitation to the sweet, skittish shifter knew it when he saw it. And he found the unmistakable signs in the young woman’s halting steps, in her blushing cheeks and, yes, in the clenching thighs that pressed even harder together once he’d mentioned it. He could smell desire upon her, or at the very least curiosity. Apprehension, too, and in the defense of lovesick poets a little fire and passion. Good. Those were qualities he could work with. He looked like nothing so much as the cat stalking a budgie in a cage, keen and attentive. Hell, this cat was beckoning the bird forward to its doom. He patted his knee again, harder this time. “The only tragedy in life, sweetling, is that question of ‘what if’. What if you’d sat on my knee? What if you surrendered to impulse instead of listening to the voices of doubt in your head? Come. I won’t bite. Not until you ask me to. I am an artist as well, though my canvas is a nubile body like yours. I paint it with blushes. With teeth marks and red hand prints. Occasionally with bruises when the subject is a rougher tableau, but the best art is all about chiaroscuro. Darkness and light. The purple-black of a bruise offset with a lashing of white cum. There’s art in that. What’s your name? And what are you? You’re not a human. I can tell that much.”
Despite Lottie’s better judgement, she was at least a little intrigued by the man. He seemed to ooze sensuality and it was effecting her in ways she would probably deny vehemently if questioned about. The fox inside was going wild in it’s own way, but a cautious part of her was begging for her to turn around and just leave. She was certain that he could probably see her overanalysing his words over and over. She had never heard someone talk about sex in that way and it frightened and fascinated her. Before she could stop herself she had taken that last step, carefully sitting on his knee. “I’m Charlotte... or I guess Lottie is what most people call me. Uh, I’m a shifter, a fox shifter. I’m guessing you’re not exactly h-human either? ” Her cheeks were a bright pink now and she ran her fingers through her blonde locks, trying to keep her focus elsewhere.














