Only her.
She moved her hands from the crease of his thighs up his stomach, pressing firmly as she made her way toward his chest.
“I’ve dreamt about this a million times,” she moaned. “Touching you, pressing my skin against yours… It’s intoxicating.”
“Where are we?” he slurred.
“The Devil’s Playground, love. Though howyougot here, I’m not sure.”
The world tilted, the couch shifting beside him as it absorbed her weight. Blood pounded in his ears as she straddled him, rushing like a lost river in the chasm of his mind.
He was helpless to her touch, her servant body and mind.
“More,” he pleaded.
Her fingers made their way to the bare skin of his neck, teasing and taunting. Gone was the firm pressure she had used on his belly and chest, and in their place the touch of the seductress. Her body swayed on top of his, hips still circling to the soft purr of the music. The exhilaration of her left him breathless.
With every small victory of consciousness his mind could win, every effort to clear the fog, her dance dragged him back under her spell tenfold. Her hips held him like the ticking of a metronome, their steady movement keeping him caught up in her influence.
She brought her lips to his ear, her breath teasing his neck and sending a shiver down his spine. Had he any control over his body he may have arched into her, but he had nothing.
“We have to be careful,” she breathed. “He’s watching.”
His arms were still leaden weights at his side, the blood sludging through his veins like molten lava. She traced the outer part of his ear with her tongue, made her way confidently down to the lobe and sank her teeth into it.
“Open your eyes, Brooks” she whispered, “Watch me dance for you.”
A fire rose in his stomach, willing him to open his eyes and face her. He lifted his head with an effort that seemed to drain him and, through the thin opening he managed, Brooks could see the veil of her hair hovering around his vision. The strands were impossibly soft as they stroked his cheek.
A gentle brush of her fingers skimmed his forehead that soon escalated into something more truculent.
Just as she had the night in his dreams, his Siren grabbed a handful of his raven locks and wrenched his face up to look at her. With a strangled groan, Brooks arched into her as his eyes flew open, the heat searing his skin where their bodies met.
“Good,” she praised. “Look at me, Brooks.”
He dragged his eyes down her body, the drone of red led light flashing in waves across her skin.
“Why are you here?” He asked sluggishly.
“The real question is, why are you?”
He didn’t know the answer. Or, if he did, he couldn’t reach it through his muddled mind.
His Siren was here with him, and that was all that mattered in the moment.
“I missed you,” he slurred.
She was silent for a beat before responding, “I called for you. I called for you and you didn’t answer.”
“I’m sorry,” he answered. “I’m in trouble. She’s going to kill me. I don’t know what to believe.”
Her hips stopped moving as her frame went rigid atop him.
“Who’s going to kill you, Brooks?”
“Don’t worry about it. I just wanna be here–”
Vivid scenes flashed before his eyes of his Siren in the water, the waves lapping over her delicate frame and draining her of color, each pull of the tide taking a piece of her with it. The sun denied her, a daughter of the depths doomed to reside in the veil of darkness. Though the sun turned its back, the moon opened its motherly arms and filled the woman before him with her light, so pale and transparent yet so insurmountably bold. She was like a white flame born to and molded by the moon goddess, Selene, herself.
