[There. That absolute peak of need, making her completely open to him. Tinged with the fear of knowing what he was, but being unable to resist the addiction - it was perfect. He released her throat and straightened to pull her close to him, sliding his hand onto her back and pressing her close up against him, skin flush against skin, a contrast of his scars against her smooth, flawless flesh - he could mark her, he thought, a quick flash of an image. He had, bruising the skin of her neck with his mouth, a darkness blossoming there. He wanted to see more of that, to give her little painful, thrilling reminders of what it was to be touched by him... mm, he would. Later.]

Very good, Ivy. Such beautiful hunger - I want to sate it, feel it grow again, oh, yes. I want to fuck you, hard, just as you want me to. You're ready, aren't you? You want it, don't you? [He still wanted to hear her say it, make her say it, so he pauses to let her say whatever she can before pulling his fingers out, stroking along the inside of her thighs softly, wetly. He leaves another pause, enough to make her feel empty and needful again, to crave fulfillment, before he uses his now free hand, still slick with her, to guide himself into her, just sliding in the head and gasping at the warmth around him, wanting more - but waiting. Always making her want it, first, to feel her need. Delicious.]