There's something beautiful about her sounds. They're like a note from an instrument to him. When his fingertips slide down her sides, she gasps, and her breathing quickens.

"I love when you breathe like that." He whispers to her. The resulting half murmured word is barely an answer. He has her in pieces. His to do with what he wishes. His hands hit her hips, and play with the waistband of her underwear. She squirms, expecting him to remove it. But he stops, and moves his hands to cup her backside. She always loves this. She always loves anything he does. His fingers dig into the flesh. She moans.

Beautiful pitch. He notes, and his lips press against hers. She kisses with a fire. A passion that wakes some instinct within him.

There's something so much more meaningful about this, something strangely pure in their touch. Something so fantastically thrilling in the way the skin feels against skin. It brings them closer, there's something about the way their eyes lock together a moment before their lips.

A delicate truth in the snow of her skin that he seeks out. Her head tilts to the side on the pillow, baring her neck to him in a way that's so trusting it should be criminal. How can she trust him? She's an angel, some how fallen to earth and into his grasp. And he's Lucifer, her corrupter. And there she is, revealing it all to him. Maybe she doesn't realise how easy it would be for him to harm her.

But then, maybe she does. Maybe she realises how he could never. Maybe she knows how much he needs to keep her safe, for himself.

His mouth brushes the exposed side of her throat, the shudders start. His sharp teeth are feather light over the almost translucent skin, her moans are insistent, pleading for some release. He'll be slow, though. He'll take his time.

He didn't know anyone could be so sensitive. She's so willing to submit, so willing. As long as she get's the touch. As long as he makes her feel. And he wants to. He wants to watch the flush rise from her chest to her cheeks. He wants to watch her red lips part as she groans his name, her eyes closed and her body writhing with the pleasure.

He wants to watch as much as she wants to feel.

He surprises her by moving so quickly, he hooks his fingers over her waistband again, and she's suddenly, gloriously, totally undressed.

She feels shy, but she's unsure why. This isn't their first time, in any way. But the way he gazes at her body, drinking in the sight, makes her blush. Yet it starts a warmth spreading through her. And it's beautiful. A hot haze of perfection.

It doesn't take much, and she's already so ready.

His boxers are kicked aside, and there's a look that's passed between them before it begins. Her legs fall apart, and wrap around his waist automatically, and they're both shaking a little. The anticipation only makes it better. Richer. He takes it slow. Her hips matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Each time, she gasps or moans. He loves it, there's such a music to it.

Her hands and nails dig into his back, his teeth are gentle yet insistent at her throat. They're all consumed by the feeling. The heaven. The pocket of perfect, sane insanity, within a world of painful breaks.

The rhythm builds, their pace quickens, her moans become quiet screams. It's sudden, she reaches a blissful peak that plateaus out into a moment of burning, breathless ecstasy. He pulls back, drinking in that beautiful, familiar expression. It sends him tumbling into the glowing dark too. When it's over, they are still for a moment. Catching their breath.

"I love you." He finally mutters,

"And I love you." She responds, the honesty in both statements thrums through them. The bliss can't end. She won't let it end. Please don't let it end.