{closing myself into the walk-in closet, rack upon rack of neatly ordered black on black, running my hands through the leathers and muscle tees, the air in the confined space sultry with the scents of masculinity and dark, spiced possession, yet finding it strangely easier to breathe in here. Since the births, Tory has worn my oversized shirts, like this one flowing through my gloved hand now, the ones that skim her thighs at just the height to draw a male's gaze higher still and leave him wetting dry lips and aching fangs, following the shadowy patterns of my ink up her inner thighs with the promise of stolen, erotic glimpses.
She is utterly oblivious to the torture the most simple actions inflict on my traitorous body.
The sweep of dark waves over one shoulder, exposing the slender, pulsing column of her throat, the flash of emerald fire in those beautiful, seductive eyes, the feline arch of her spine when she bends to lift Khaos or Xsykhe from the crib... swallowing back a groan..and fuck, as though taunting me, those curves just snapped right back into shape, starved, diamond gaze watching the steady physical transformation as my old Tory re-emerges, but with a little extra nuance of tantalising femininity in the subconscious sway of her hips that is my fucking undoing.
What cruel fucking fates conspired to make her even more desirable... how was that even fucking possible? And the agony and the irony is that I can't bring myself to fucking touch her. Early attempts at intimacy sabotaged by the crying demands of the twins, the well-intentioned interruptions of the Chosen, who have zero concept of privacy, true.. and most of all the bone-deep exhaustion of new parenthood that leaves Tory unconscious in my arms before the shutters even come down.... exhaling into the quiet of the closet's confines.. so I hold her, I feed her when she hungers, do what I can with the young.... but she never asks for more... she stopped asking.. I stopped demanding... Impasse, stalemate, deadlock...call it what you will, it's fucking killing me.
Gloved hand clenched into a fist, teeth ground hard, tamping down the icy dread that she no longer desires me... males of my kind are bonded for life... females, not the same fucking biological deal, true...flayed raw with hunger, a snarling beast, pacing the bars of a cage of my own fucking making, because what kind of bastard would I be if I forced myself on her, true?.. but God, just the scent of her makes my breath quicken and my body heat....pausing.. head cocked curiously as my hands close around the black corset tucked discreetly away at the end of the rail.. gloved fingers stroking the glinting steel blades sheathed into the straps.. lids closing over haunted diamond eyes, the fabric fisted and crushed to my face, inhaling deep, drawing that scent down into my lungs...she is all over this fucking garment, steeped into every fibre and my cock hardens to a straining demand in the tight bondage of my leathers.... lethal blades and supple black hide and the scent of my female.. a potent, drugging cocktail that strikes a match to the volatile lust coursing through my already fevered blood.
Forehead dropping to the wall, gloved hand running down my abs on instinct to cup the aching bulge of my erection, hips grinding the hard ridge into my palm, fangs punching down on a growl, Tory's scent flooding my senses, punishing myself like the sado-fucking-masochist I am, whispering hoarsely into the empty space} fuck Tory, I miss you.. you're right here but I miss you like fuck, true...
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