Fickle Flame | OT7

Kisses Like Candy, Poison In Disguise

As soon as she agrees, Jimin presses back against her. His mouth meeting hers, lips working slowly. His hands snake into her hair, a soft whine muffles against her mouth.

"Mmm," she protests against his lips trying to pull away. "Wait, please," she manages to puff out.

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry," Jimin pants, his forehead pressed against hers. "What is it?"

"Can I have a moment?"

"A moment? You want a moment?" He groans in frustration. "Okay, a moment." He relinquishes his hold on her, dropping down onto the platform of blankets and pillows.

Shayne walks a few steps away, her back to him. Her thoughts are wild. Should she really be willingly bedding down with a vampire? A killer? A blood-hungry death machine? Did she really have a choice? She glances back at Jimin, he's tugged off his shirt and is watching her. His chest is toned, muscles contracting across his abdomen as he breathes shallowly. She notices the small twitch of his hand over his crotch, can tell he's struggling not to palm himself through his pants.

No, there really isn't a choice. Unless she wants to be shocked again, or maybe worse. Though, is it worse? Would death really be worse than this? Her eyes drift to the framed artwork before her, she takes in the shapes and lines of the bright colors, realizing it's the outline of a nude woman. The rustle of fabric behind her brings her attention back to Jimin. He's pushed down his jeans, hand gripping his erection through his boxers.

Shayne is a little surprised at his wanton nature. She takes a deep breath, taking in the sudden scent of orange peels. Odd that, but not unpleasant. She swallows hard, her eyes lingering on his hand. Would it really hurt? Would it really be so bad to maybe try and enjoy her situation here? They are attractive men, after all. What's a little blood? A little sex? If it means survival?

She turns once more to study the framed artwork. Perhaps, just maybe... Warren would understand. Her last thought is fleeting as she takes another deep inhale, the sweet citrus scent seeping in, and turns to approach the platform. Jimin's eyes light up with triumph, his free hand extending out to her.

Shayne takes his hand and allows him to pull her onto the platform. She kneels in the soft blankets beside him. "Are you sure?" he asks, breathily. "You can say no." Though his tone says otherwise.

"I'm sure."

Jimin groans. "I'm going to make you feel so good, I swear," he babbles as he pulls her into his lap. Her knees go to either side of his hips. As soon as she is fully seated in his lap he wraps his arms around her, pulling her in to his lips.

This time, she does kiss him back just as fiercely as he kisses her. The citrus scent intensifies, like a steady stream of fragrance being fed into her senses. He tastes faintly like the tangy sauce in one of the dishes from lunch, but there is an underlying current of oranges on his lips.

His hands roam her body, pinching and kneading. A sharp pinch to her left nipple makes her gasp, her lips parting against his. He groans in response as his tongue slips between her open lips. His tongue is cool, contrasting to the heated way he licks into her mouth. His lips are soft, a pleasant surprise considering the stone-like feeling of his body.

Shayne trails her hands down his bare torso, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles till they stop just at the band of his boxers. "Let me," she breathes between kisses, fingering the band.

Jimin just nods, his mouth capturing hers again. His hands fall to her hips, shifting her back. She can feel herself being slid backward across his prominent bulge until she's straddling his thighs, leaving his lap exposed.

There is a hard object pressing into the underside of her left thigh. An idea forms in her min. Her hands go lower, grazing along the taught fabric of his boxers. He grunts as her fingers ghost over him, his hands tightening their grip on her hips. Keeping her right hand caressing his length, her left slips a little lower until she comes into contact with her own thigh.