More pink appeared, and his eyes fell as he watched it spread across her chest.
It was pink like a pink symphony plant. One he had tried to grow before, though it did not fare well outside. Still, the leaves of the pink symphony plant were delicate, yet commanded his attention, just like her.
The sound of a sharp intake of breath caused Osiris to lift his head to where, to his horror, one of his shadows was caressing her cheek where the pink was the most focused.
Knowing his shadows would not want to listen, Osiris reached forward and tried to shoo it away, only for Eleanor to step back giving him a cross look.
“They are only being friendly,” she teased, lifting her hand to his shadow, letting it curl around her finger. “They are probably just as curious of me as we are of each other.”
Osiris let his hand hover over the shadow for a moment before he finally dropped it.
They are not just being friendly. They wish to explore you, a lady. A lady who should be offered the most respect.
“Well,” he started, “I am curious about one thing.”
Eleanor hummed, not dropping her focus from playing with his shadows.
“What is that called?” he asked, pointing to her cheeks.
“What is what called?”
“The pink that paints your cheeks, what is it called? Why does it happen?”
Eleanor lifted her hand to her face and touched her cheeks as the pink darkened. “It is called a blush. It usually happens when someone is embarrassed, self conscious, or…” her voice trailed off as she looked down his form and then back up at his eyes.
“Or?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
“Or, feeling good,” she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes.
“Feeling good?” he asked, not wanting to repeat their earlier misunderstanding.
Eleanor toyed with his shadows, averting her gaze from him.
Her vanilla scent grew stronger, sweeter, and dangerously intoxicating.
Daring another step closer, he leaned down slightly to hold her gaze. “What feels good,Eleanor,” he questioned, rasping her name, testing his theory. He watched carefully as herblushreached her ears, the soft pink curving around them.
Eleanor swallowed, peeking at him from the corner of her eyes. The shadows around her waist tightened further as the ones coiled around her legs trailed up a few inches, caressing her thighs as if seeking out that addictive scent.
“Y-your voice,” she finally whispered, holding out her arm to reveal thousands of tiny bumps dancing across her skin.
With care, he took her arm in one hand, using the other to trace his fingers over the bumps. “What are these?”
“Goosebumps. When I am cold, or something sounds nice, I get them.”
“You like the sound of my voice?”
Eleanor nodded her head.
This is dangerous. I have never felt this before, this need, this urge, this desperation…
It was her scent, it was the symphony of pink that painted her delicate features. Everything about her roused emotions in him that seemed foreign yet instinctual, all at once.
Swallowing any lingering hesitation, he chanced another question. “What else feels good, Eleanor?”
Slowly, too slow for his care, she turned her head to face him. In that moment, he felt as though his heart had stopped beatingall together. Her blush reached every visible spot on her body, all the while his shadows grew on her, surrounding her fully as her heated gaze focused only onhim.
It was a look no one had ever gifted him. A look not only absent of fear, but a look brimming with desire.
