That touch was enough to make her back arch, to drag that needy little whimper from Elia's lips. She relished the hot press of his mouth, the little burns that healed almost immediately, shadows flickering across them to soothe the seared flesh. Elia could give him that – she didn't know when to stop; she never had. "Stopping seems overrated," she breathed – a faint smirk flickered across her lips at his next comment.
Yes, she supposed she had changed gears rather smoothly, hadn't she? But things between them were always thus – volatile, changing on a dime. Filled with promise. And then sometimes with incredible heat.