morgan-le-fay

He cupped her head with both hands. __ou__e full of your own kind of magic, and it__ much more rare and beautiful than all the other spells around you. They are commonplace. You are unique.

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here._ __nfortunately,_ he said as gently as he knew how, __t would appear so.

With her face tilted up to his, the subtle edge of moonlight touched along the edge of one high cheekbone, the tilted edge of one eye, and those beautiful, enticing lips. Obeying an impulse he couldn__ put into words, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

He who rides a tiger is afraid to dismount.

Lifting his head, he whispered against her wet, throbbing lips, __oo much?_ Wasn__ that sweet, Consider even. But oh, hell no. She gasped, __ot enough.

Giving her a slow, coaxing smile that turned the heat in the room up by a thousand degrees, he stroked her lips with the balls of his thumbs as he murmured, __an we get back to talking about possibly inviting that werewolf for sex?

Your music hurts, the way sunshine hurts when you__e existed for a long time in darkness.

I want you too, so much,_ she whispered. He murmured in her ear, __hen take me.

I can__ get enough of you,_ he said against her neck. __hen I walk away from you I feel like I__e cut myself off from breathing.