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She's raising a claim. Every time she fixes his tie, they have an unspoken treaty.
Loyalty bought for another day.
The tie feels tighter today and has felt tighter ever since her parents passed away.
A pet on a leash to serve unconditionally.
Declawed.
Toothless.
Obedient.
He smiles at her, and she truly believes he means it.
A promise is wrenched from his lips, asking for more than he's willing to give.
If you put a collar on a stray, it'll strangle itself. If you add a bell, it'll become restless until it dies of exhaustion.
He smiles again when her fingertips brush his cheek - the flinch so quick and subtle she doesn't notice. Her fingers intertwine with his as she guides him to follow her path and the tie feels like a rope made of barbed wire.
Don't touch a feral animal; it'll bite in defense.
But he won't bare his teeth. Not yet.
He's gentle. He's soft. He's someone she can love and not regret it.
If a stray hides from you, don't force it out.
The sun is blinding, and so are her golden hair and amber eyes. There's no reflection in his charcoal irises but her. He watches her intently and moves when she does, and it's like a hunt. He's treading lightly, his prey not suspecting a thing. He'll go for her throat and make it quick, a bite to break her frail neck.
But it's just a peck, and she giggles.
Her cheeks are tinted red, but there is no blood gushing from a merciless wound.
Wild carnivores are to be avoided at all costs.
She's closing the gap between them, lips gingerly grazing against his own, testing the territory's safety.
He doesn't move back, doesn't move at all; it's no consent and no rejection. But she decides he wants it as well.
It's warm and feels like home.
Disgusting.
He can no longer roam free, for her eyes imprison him. Feeble arms to chain him down.
Nauseating.
If you get close to a stray, be careful of its will to survive.
He tastes her up, no feathers, no bone, just the sweetness of her skin on his tongue. He takes what's not his by rule, a killing hidden in play. A frail bird exposed to his true nature.
Delicate fingers undo his tie, a tamed beast of prey sampling freedom long forgotten as their clothes hit the floor.
Yet he stays with her warmth.
For his instinct to mate is more substantial than his will to self-preserve. He's aware that part of him won't return from her embrace, but he's never been whole, so what's another piece missing.
Well-manicured nails imprint his shoulder blades with her mark; she won't need a collar to reinforce her right of possession over him. For he's domesticated enough already not to bite the hand that feeds - waiting patiently to righten their natural precedence as he moves on top of her.
She mouths a name that's never truly been his, and pain spreads where nothing should grow, but she'll never understand. For he's complicit in his loss.
A feral will stay a stranger.
A gasp, shivering skin devoured piece by piece, like death throes from an animal of prey. He watches her shake, thighs spread open for him, and imagines her blushing features to turn pale. Bloodthirst saved for another day as his mouth makes her come.
She spills on his tongue, and all he can see are teeth buried in soft flesh, a different approach to intimacy, disclosed on the verge of death.
Keep calm, for a chaser will prey on your flaws.
He observes her, the swell of her breast that moves with her breath, the pulse throbbing under her skin, her scent filling his senses with murderous intent.
She lures him into another kiss, beckoning to have him nestle against her. Oblivious to what's hidden behind these brooding eyes.
And he makes her his, for it's what she desires.
A voiceless cry is stuck in her throat, her dainty body arching into his own, arms holding onto him as he thrusts inside her.
Her innocence swept like a cry at the final breath that is drawn.
An act preposterous to nature.
She's not fit to be his mate or carry his young.
But she's warm, and her touch momentarily appeases his blood lust. His claws are withdrawn and replaced by solid hands to hold her close and never let go. There are no fangs to rip her open, his lips sealing away the lingering secret behind a disarming smile, nuzzling himself into her neck. Her breathy gasps signal pleasure where he wants to sow pain. Her satisfied cries will sound different once their bond is broken, leaving him a rogue again.
But for now, she owns him, and he lets her.
A feral will consider walls a threat and strive to get out or take the territory over.
A whisper.
Three small words and all attempts to keep her at a safe distance momentarily cease.
He tilts his head, and she laughs airily, pulling him down to her lips, flustered by her confession. She's blind to the turmoil flaring inside him, and he wishes she sees.
But his mask is so perfectly crafted that he abandons himself among her caresses.
Until corruption claws and seeps through the cracks of his mind and reprimands him to retrieve his need to possess, albeit his growing weakness.
Her breath mingles with his, eyes half closed with adoration for him as he resumes his rhythm and consummates their oath given in secrecy but not honesty.
It's a betrothal in name and courtship in lies.
A stray can never be forced to settle.
But she will try.
And wishes for his tie to be replaced by a golden band - a smaller collar - as a visible commitment.
A mark to reveal his belonging.
If he's privy to this scheme, he does not let on.
There's a suspicion at the back of his mind, of course.
But his role as a servant prohibits defying her.
In the end, it won't matter.
Her trembling legs loop around his back, she's tense, and he knows she's close again.
Her hands cradle his face, thumb sweeping over his lower lip lovingly.
Careful.
Noses brush as her mouth opens to speak, but her words drown in an unexpected but welcome sigh enticed by skilled fingers tending to her arousal.
Right now, he does not wish to listen to her.
Ferals are not meant to obey the coded instructions of lovers.
A forced smile crosses his features and morphs into an open-mouthed kiss, her fingernails scratching the hairline of his nape.
Oh, how he wishes to devour her.
And in a way, he does.
It must suffice until he can shed his guise and let her know the extent of his abyss and the threat she's invited into her home and bed.
His free hand clenches the linens beside her head, and she mistakes his spite for passion.
He groans, composure wavering as her pulse throbs on his fingers.
The beast in him heaves and thrashes, pleading to be set free, begging for blood.
Her head rolls back into the pillow with a moan, exposing her throat seductively.
And he snaps.
He tastes iron, and his mind goes pleasantly void as her nails scrape his shoulders, his sweat burning in the welts left behind.
An apex predator prides itself on the wounds acquired in battle.
Surprisingly, she begins to nibble on his shoulder, her labored breath casting a fine mist over his skin; her climax's intensity equates to profanity.
Her teeth sink into flesh and muscle, exposing him; birds of a feather flock together.
He craves and caves in, the prospect of pulling out no longer permissible.
Recklessness.
Excitement.
Her lips carry the taste of his voluntary defeat.
For now, she's worth his while.
And he falls, falls from the meticulously tended hierarchy crafted to justify his actions, falls into her arms as his seed marks their covenant accepted.
She flutters kisses over his spent features, a gentle lick to the bite she left behind on the juncture between neck and shoulder. Her fingers tentatively trace the streams she's painted on his back.
He reciprocates, the beast silenced, sated, tired at the back of his mind.
Her arms will not let go of him tonight.
But he does not mind.
A feral sometimes likes to be inside.
His claws trace the wound that's undoubtedly to leave a scar in the shape of a half-moon, and he smirks.
He won't need another collar.