"Can a weak woman like me have a chance to reject a beast like you?"
Her words, and those eyes looking toward him in a tender yet vulnerable way, made Javrian halt.
His initial softness was instantly replaced by the realization that it was just him projecting his own emotions onto her. He blinked, slowly retreating, realizing he might have overstepped some boundary.
But suddenly, to his confusion, he saw Luna become angry, clenching her jaw as both her hands grabbed his hair—slightly confusing him—before she yelled,
"My no means yes, you beast head!"
And pressed her lips on his.
It took him a moment—caught off guard—but soon his hand on her cheek slid, pulling back her crimson hair from beside her ear, which, even though wet, seemed to be warming up.
He held her hair softly before losing his own control when her lips sucked on his upper one roughly, as if she didn't care for him.
He aimed for her lower lip and started to suck—both inexperienced, but instinctively wanting to tell each other something without words.
The coldness of her lips was unlike anything Javrian had imagined on his warm ones—soft yet steady, not timid, not yielding entirely either, but fighting beneath his own.
Each tiny shift carried her breath against him as they both struggled to claim each other's lips as the priority. He could feel the faint tremor of her hands in his hair, clenching tightly to pull him back like a leash.
It was as if whenever he was winning and melting her lips, she cheated by pulling his hair, making him flinch, then rushed back to gain victory.
The kiss was not urgent; it lingered, as if time had slowed—both their eyes open, looking into each other's as though trying to read what was in the other's mind at that moment.
Unlike her, who was busy holding the beast's leash... the beast felt the urge to take more.
His hand, guided by an instinct he hadn't bothered to name, slipped along her side.
The wet cling of fabric gave way as his fingers found the loosened edge of her dress and slid higher.
He moved slowly—more slowly than he ever had in any moment of desire—because this was her, and he could not risk alarming her.
He wanted to sneak like he had last night, unaware that she had been under a mind fog at the time.
'!'
Her eyes widened sharply, sending him the signal that he was caught red-handed.
"Haa... haa... you..." Then the pull on his hair from her made him retreat. Her lips parted in gasps, as if asking him for clarity.
He gave it by repeating her own declaration, pulling himself forward as if his soul had separated from his body and craved to return—her lips simply calling him in.
"Mmmhhhh."
Again sealing the matter, and especially now that he could feel she wasn't protesting, he became slightly bolder.
The pads of his fingers brushed the bare curve of her shoulder, later finding the gentle rise of her chest through the fabric.
He paused—not from indecision, but from something far rarer for him—hesitation born from touching something strangely soft and delicately drowning.
His knuckles were placed on her upper right breast in such a way that, for a moment, he forgot what it was. To test what this soft sensation could be, his palm settled over her breast, fingers spread enough to feel her shape and hold its subtle weight.
The sensation startled him—not because it was strange, but because right now he was holding something warm and cotton-soft, fitting perfectly in his hand, as if it had always been meant for him.
It was the softest thing he had ever touched.
In his life, battle had given him only cold steel, the unyielding weight of weapons, the slickness of blood.
This… this felt like holding something the world should never bruise.
He parted his hold slightly, his thumb curving beneath the underside as though to lift and frame it, careful not to exert too much pressure—afraid that even his strength might crush the fragility in his hand. He felt a bud he had tasted last night in the dark, but had not seen clearly.
With thumb and forefinger, he held it, measuring a small portion whose name he didn't yet speak.
Her breath hitched audibly, breaking the rhythm of the kiss.
Slowly, she pulled back just enough to open her eyes. They found his, and in that narrow space between them the soft pulse of her breathing lifted her chest against his palm.
"…What are you doing?" she asked—not sharply, but with an undercurrent of something half-bewildered, half-breathless.
She followed his gaze downward—saw where his eyes rested.
Not on her face, nor her lips, but on the single breast he held, now bare where her dress had slipped and pooled low.
The sunlight caught her skin, drawing a pale gleam across it—a perfect curve nestled against the contrast of his scarred, battle-roughened hand.
To him, it was the first time he had seen it this close and clearly in daylight—milky-white skin with a strange color to that small bud, a color that matched his lips.
It reflected in that small point atop the handful he was holding, as if he were lifting and lessening the burden it caused on her chest, or maybe testing how full it was.
Inhumanly perfect in form, and more exquisite because it was hers—alive beneath his touch, rising and falling with each uneven breath she took.
He drew in his own breath before speaking, his voice low, almost unsure if he should say the truth aloud. But he did—lifting his silvery eyes to hers, widened and blinking in awe, his lips trembling.
"I have never seen something as beautiful as this."
'!'
Badump
Her lashes fluttered—the faintest tremor in her eyes as her heart skipped a beat.
And badly enough, even he felt that skip as he held her in his hand, his gaze settling so clearly on her that she wanted to avert her eyes—but still, she wanted to see his reaction… though she didn't know why.
Before either could retreat from the fragile thread between them, he lowered his head, as if the thing he held was calling him—making him want to find out why it was so soft.
Maybe the sweetness he smelled from her, tasted last night, and had even been bathed in, was stored here?
He needed to find out. And he did, parting his lips to press them to the curve his hand cradled.
"J-Javrian, th-that's..." Luna wanted to stop him, but the moment she saw his eyes intently and gently looking at the chest he held—making her feel light, as if supported—her gaze darted toward the forest. She couldn't seem to stop him.
His canines were visible, but his lips took the lead before he took a mouthful, causing her to bite her lip, gripping his hair, a flush rising to her cheeks.
Her eyes slowly opened as she felt suction on her breast—strong yet not rough—until she felt her mouth loosening.
And Javrian, who wanted to taste what nectar might come out of the fruit he was trying to suck, narrowed his eyes when he found nothing, forcing the suction a bit more and using his tongue to press against the small bud he had once thought undeserving to be there.
'!'
And finally, he got that nectar—not as taste, but as a sound, a soft voice he had never known could be this sweet.
"Ahn... Javrian, w-wait..."