10. skin
You are most aware of yourself when you're pressed cheek-to-cheek with him. Your body seems overlarge and ungainly; your tusks, primitive and violent. You are a groaning, sweating animal against the carved porcelain of a perfect pale chest. Your hands, your feet, your shoulders-they all feel far too big, and but for the passion burning you up from the inside, you feel that you'd have to stop. But it's Quinn, Quinn, Quinn, ancestors, you can't help yourself when it comes to him, and you are a furious blaze of lust. You know in the small, still-rational part of your mind that you couldn't stop yourself if you tried.
Sometimes you yearn for the gentleness of easy lovemaking, but you are a creature of passion and your yearning pushes you closer to the edge, until violent need becomes you. You are intoxicated with an effusion of lust and love, and all you can do is hold him closer and tighter. You don't want to lose this happiness of yours. You refuse to let it go. You don't want to hurt him, but your fury scares you. How do you match the love you know you feel to the physical furies-and Quinn, Quinn. You want nothing else, no one else. He is your world, narrowed down to smooth skin and laughing lips and pointed nails and a mouth and eyes and-
Sometimes you long to stroke his hair and talk ceaselessly, telling him all the precious truths you keep in your heart. He makes your world worth living in, isn't it pathetic, Quinn, that he is the reason you wake with a smile in the mornings and you settle to sleep with warmth in your heart. No matter how hard you try, you can't find the words to explain how it happened, when it happened, but you love him fiercely, endlessly, violently, fully, utterly, more than your own life, more than you know how to say. You will beg him if you need to, and you will do whatever it takes to stay with him, and you will wring yourself through and through to make him happy. You...
don't know. You lose your mind halfway through, driving into him. You don't know what else to say to an unresponsive face. You wonder if the silence was better. But you love him, and love him and love him andlovehimandlove...
Sometimes you yearn for the gentleness of easy lovemaking, but you are a creature of passion and your yearning pushes you closer to the edge, until violent need becomes you. You are intoxicated with an effusion of lust and love, and all you can do is hold him closer and tighter. You don't want to lose this happiness of yours. You refuse to let it go. You don't want to hurt him, but your fury scares you. How do you match the love you know you feel to the physical furies-and Quinn, Quinn. You want nothing else, no one else. He is your world, narrowed down to smooth skin and laughing lips and pointed nails and a mouth and eyes and-
Sometimes you long to stroke his hair and talk ceaselessly, telling him all the precious truths you keep in your heart. He makes your world worth living in, isn't it pathetic, Quinn, that he is the reason you wake with a smile in the mornings and you settle to sleep with warmth in your heart. No matter how hard you try, you can't find the words to explain how it happened, when it happened, but you love him fiercely, endlessly, violently, fully, utterly, more than your own life, more than you know how to say. You will beg him if you need to, and you will do whatever it takes to stay with him, and you will wring yourself through and through to make him happy. You...
don't know. You lose your mind halfway through, driving into him. You don't know what else to say to an unresponsive face. You wonder if the silence was better. But you love him, and love him and love him andlovehimandlove...