Hands trembling from cold and barely repressed need, Netta reached up and spanned the concave of his stomach, running up to caress the shape of his abdomen.  He felt like he was burning under her skin, and she had to remain aware of the fact that in spite of how it felt to touch him, he would not harm her from the supposed heat he exuded.

And, eagerly, she pushed beyond that barrier of fear and pain, ran her hands, possessively, over his skin.

Her skin.

He rewarded her with a heavy moan, arching his neck in rapture. In the near dark, she could see the cords of his throat as they stood out, flexed, the watched his Adam's apple as it bulged outwards.

She touched where it pleased her, hands traveling up, running past the brown circles of his aureoles, touching the gentle dusting of his chest's hair. Her mouth fell open, her hands traveled, spreading apart, fingers extended like the feathers on a bird's pair of wings.

She spanned his shoulders, having to reach up, straining to touch him.  Unable to quite get her hands to reach up to the curve of his shoulders, Netta felt as he leaned down, pressing against her. 

Her hands took the mass of his shoulders into her hands, gripped them.

He thrust his hips, the movement causing the mass of his hardened, awakened penis to rub against her thighs, then her pelvis.   Netta looked between their bodies, as if in a hazy trance, saw the shadowed outline of it that pressed against her.

The cold on her back, surrounding her where his skin was not pressed against hers bit, ached to be warmed by his consuming heat. She wanted his burn, for it to purify the yawning cold.

His smell - the quiet moments in a forest following a great fire - enveloped her as surely as his heat did. Looking up into the face of her beloved, Netta took in the vague sight of features that she had memorized. 

Forever, here, the almost delicate, furred lines of his mustache, and the soft spot of hair on his chin - the gentle sloping of his heavy, arched brows.

Her hands moved up to take hold of that face, holding the sharp angles of his face, framing them in the cradle of her hands.  Softly, Netta said, "Oh, but you are perfect."

Ash's eyes flared then - fire reacting to the blast from a powerful bellows.

His own hands reaching down, taking hold of the cold weight of Netta's breasts in his hands, thumbs grazing over the peaks of nipples.   "Say it again - wait, no."  He paused, then said, "I would know nothing of perfection, you should understand more than anyone." His voice was a gentle, growling rumble. "Foul creature that I am." He paused, then ducked his head and slid down her body.

Without missing a moment, he began to trace the outlying shape of her right breast with his tongue. It was a remembered, long-practised trip that he took. He was slow, like a snail on its unhurried journey, rolling along the jutting, swollen curve, burning where it touched. He left flesh that wanted to be consumed wholly in the wake of his tongue.

Netta bit her lip, pushing back a moan that built in the back of her throat, reverberating down her spine.

Her right nipple ached for want of the heat of his mouth, so hard that it burned in the cold as heat scorched around it.

He was cruel, genuinely taking pleasure in prolonging hers until she felt she was dying from it.

Getting hold of her mind, she slid her hands down his chest, wanting some modicum of control. Netta tried to not let the way that her body reacted to him run her thoughts amok. Nevertheless, she found her determination faltering in the focus of his.

Finally, she managed to say, "This will be remembered as nightmare when I wake."

When he stopped his ministrations, sliding up her body, her own hands journeyed south, finding purpose for her consuming, almost mindless desire.   She reached down, bold in taking the thick heft of his penis in hands that were shaking. 

Still, the heat, here, was excruciating, burning hotter even than the heat of his tongue. The weight - the sensation of his smooth, thick skin and muscle - blurred her thoughts.

The sensation, mated with the excruciating cold that surrounded her, turn her desire into an unslakable need. She starved for more, died for it.

He spoke finally, in a hush.  "No you won't.  I always play to your dreams, your desires, here.  Everything you feel is something you've wanted."

Ash rolled his hips, running the weight of his penis against her hands, rubbing against her stomach before rearing back. The movement shook her out of her reverie, made her aware of the fact that she had begun to drool.

Where Netta found the mental capacity to speak, she did not know.  "This isn't really me, is it?"  When Ash did not answer, she continued, asking, "I don't think you'll remember this when Netta awakens, either. Neither of us will..."

He spoke, his husked, smoking voice enfolding her mind. "What we feel like when we wake is not the important thing here. Here - forever - there is only my hunger for you."  He grabbed her hands then, brought them both up to press against his chest.

Underneath the sensation of the unbearable heat, she could feel the beating of his heart, his energy beating triumphantly into her hands.

He breathed in heavily, then said, in a voice that seemed to be struggling to keep the barest aspects of humanity attached to it, "My desires, my need, I cannot hide them either."  

Netta shivered, pressed her hands against his chest, then slid them round to grasp his back. The smell of his body filled her lungs and seemed to infect her. It was a cloying, rich smell that was not completely pleasant, seeming to overwhelm some darker, headier scent.  "Do you like me like this, wanting you?"

He was silent for a moment, as though in shock.  Then Ash turned Netta's face with his hand, and she could feel how he trembled.  "Of course I desire you, wanting me.  Needing me.  But if I cannot have you wanting me of your own silly Human volition..." He paused, turned away, then for a moment, showed aggravation, baring sharp, heavy teeth.  "then I'll tempt and tease you to your breaking point, and you'll want my body."

Netta felt a secret joy in her, a selfish one, and she ran her hands down his back, felt the way that the heat rose off of him like the radiating temperature of fire burning, consuming wood. "She must think you're merely an Incubus" She shuddered a soft moan, a smile forming on her lips. "I make myself believe that you are an Incubus, with all of the power that you put on..."

Ash turned to look at her, then smiled, and it was truly a savage thing.

"Easier than believing the truth. Understanding that you are endangered from the horrible likes of me - well, that could drive a Human..."

He leaned down, and Netta could feel every line of his body, every centimeter of that burning flesh as it pressed into hers.

His mouth hovered over hers, and her eyes closed.

She inhaled his breath, allowed the heady smell of flowers that had long ago gone extinct to envelop her nostrils, inside her opened mouth. His breath exuded pheromones, beckoning to come closer to those sharp teeth.

The pure, chemical reaction to the perfume made everything between her thighs quiver, burn. Her lips quivered, helpless, a streak of madness burning through her.

Even here - still - the cloying power of it seeped through her opened mouth, came through her nose, possessing her sensory organs until she was his thrall.

He spoke, and she thought that she could taste his words. "...it could drive even the strongest wills to their breaking point."  Without warning, he rushed forward, taking not only her lips, but also filled her mouth with his tongue in one quick, ungentle movement.

She cried out against the intrusion, even in her drugged haze the purest fear first where primal joy, desire soon took its place.

He tasted of burnt offerings. It was tinged with something deeper, more insidious - velvety, yet sharp, like iron.   It was the stain of sacrifices, both made in his honor and taken of his own volition.

Netta writhed, even before his hands came down to take her head in them.

Her own hands reached up to take hold of his head, fingers roughly weaving, enmeshing themselves in the thick, dark weight of his hair.

He moaned, the shuddering tremble shaking from her mouth and shooting down, down her body.  They lay like that, wrapped in each other wholly.

Finally, it was Netta who broke away, reaching up to pull his hair roughly, yanking him off of her mouth.  She pulled so quickly that his teeth nicked the inside of her mouth and she could taste the heavy salt of her own blood.

He looked down at her, one of his hands instinctively scrabbled around to grasp onto her own.

He looked down at her, his eyes glowing a violent red.

He spat his words out with deliberate venom, but joined with his mind as she was, Netta could feel the arching, mounting desire at the sensation of pain.

"Master, you're hurting me." He hissed, his eyes squeezing shut, sharp teeth bared, clenched tightly.

Netta felt her chest heaving to catch her breath.  She felt as though she had her hand wrapped in the mane of a beast she had managed to climb on the back of.  One that would dash her from Its back at any moment and devour her whole.

She felt a mad smile begin at her mouth, then she said, "I know."