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</div>Name: Oshiro Yami<br/>Age: 27<br/>Date/Time: Sat July 31<br/>Location: Villa - at the bar<br/>Wearing:[see picture]<br/>Tagging:<a class="username" data-user-id="6055" data-username="Dragongoddess" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/6055/">Dragongoddess</a><br/><hr class="bbc-hr"/><br/><br/>Feeling her chest brush across his to reach over for the alcohol caused very little to stir inside Yami. The look she gave him, however, would cause a brow to just quirk ever so slightly, as if to say he did not mind one bit. And he didn’t. She had full reign to touch him and do with him however she pleased. And oh did she.<br/><br/>His gaze never once wavered away from her, and the lust and fire within them did not wane. Watching her face as she shot back the subtly stinging liquid, and then the touch of the warm pink flesh of her tongue upon his lower abdomen, gliding ever upwards, coupled with the defiant glint in her eyes as she took his challenge in full force…a low rumbling growl reverberated in his chest. His eyes narrowed only slightly, following her own as they neared his face more and more by the trail of her tongue. The smirk grew on one side. Despite her best efforts of trying to hide her purpose, Yami felt every touch, every knead, every brush. She would feel a hardness growing each time she passed a hand over him. Not once did Yami flinch by any of it though, instead relishing in the attention she was giving him.<br/><br/>When she reached his mouth for the lime, Yami held her stare, not blinking once. When the juice dripped onto his tongue, he drank it without issue. As she moved to get off of him, he never looked away from her and slowly rose to a sitting position himself, letting his legs dangle off the edge of the bar counter. “You know,” he began, pulling the lime wedge out of his mouth, his tongue licking his lips of any stray drops of juice she’d sent his way. Then, he’d turn the flesh side back around to his own lips, sucking on whatever was left, tasting not just the sour pulp, but her own flavor she left there when she bit into it. Not once breaking eye contact the entire time.<br/><br/>He slid off the counter and approached her. “If you wanted to touch…” he continued, his voice low as he stalked ever closer like a predator looking to corner his prey. But when she didn’t move, he would simply invade her personal space as much as possible. His bare chest would be practically in her face, but there would still be enough room for him to be able to peer down at her comfortably. His hand reached towards her face again, fingers brushing against her jawline, coaxing her to tilt her head back to look back up at him if she wasn’t already. His face, his lips, would barely be an inch away from her own.<br/><br/>“…all you had to do was ask.” He finished the statement, his heated breath brushing across her lips, just as his other hand reached for hers. With a gentle but firm grasp of her wrist, he’d pull the hand off her hip and instead place it on his own, running it down and over his thigh just as she did before, pressing her palm into the muscle as she guided her inwards. He’d then let her go just before reaching the half-hardened package, allowing her to finish the journey there herself, or pull away. It was up to her, and his stare would dare her to do it. If being challenged is what she needed to let the wicked side of her out to play….he’d happily oblige.