And the flirting—the smiles, the warmth, the casual "unravel you… explore you to every inch either with my hand, or mouth and tongue or just my cock or maybe all three…"—was all bait.
Designed to make her believe she already held the perfect weapon: his cock, his hunger, his teenage inability to think straight when a beautiful woman pressed close.
That his desire was a wide-open door she could simply step through.
That the soul-binding rune would slide into place as easily as her hand slid down his zipper.
He was handing her the illusion of total control.
While, behind the easy grins and filthy promises, he quietly, patiently wove his own trap around hers.
Clever fucking boy.
Where they stood, Cassiopeia chuckled.
The sound started warm in her throat and ended darker—lower—between her thighs where her cunt was already slick and swollen, aching under the thin midnight silk that clung to her like a second, wet skin.
