She was unfolding prettily tonight. They'd left the summer outside for this somewhat controlled temperature, but the mixture of their heats was becoming oppressive on their own. It was good, though. She would usually find clever ways to dance herself out of his advances, or say something to make him remember her image of him was askew. Her laughter made him forget. She was perfectly agreeable, for the moment. Her leg helped lock them together. It was easy to fall into the illusion that their smooth embrace was normal.<br/><br/>But he didn't know what she was. He knew what she drew out of him, and how frustrating it was. Her addictive eyes, her breath compromised. She was better when she wasn't collected. He prided himself in having lulled her, with wine's help, into this pliable state. He meant to kiss her, to usher her further into this playful mood so he could bring their games to her sheets, but even as he parted his lips and touched them to hers, he saw the meaning in her eyes change. It made him sigh hotly, but retreat without closing the intimacy.<br/><br/>Somewhat swayed by her touch, he scanned her face again. In so many ways, the gentle rise and ebb of emotions were infuriating. What games? He wanted to tear her apart, and he wanted to advance slow for her. Her loving calm and her eager curves. It seemed unfair, in the end. And what was worse, was that she was ignorant to it. "How about I tell you?" he suggested with a meaning smile. He pushed her harder against the wall, some of his temper flaring. Not the passion in the common sense, not worship. The way his hips pushed firmly to part her legs further, and marry their shapes, suggested intent to hurt.<br/><br/>It wasn't malicious, only an expression of self. Their faces were almost joined now. He could have had that kiss with a deep inhale. But they were still courting for that. He didn't know why things were so difficult between them. Certainly he'd had his way through less obvious situations. With her, nothing was easy. "Come closer then." it was not possible. it would mean she'd have to take the liplock herself. He slid them along the wall toward her chambers. It was his body that insisted, and Roan was becoming too primal to let his pride argue.<br/><br/>Despite deeply rooted conflict - she was only that to him, whether it be her kindness or infuriating mysteries, or her loud, wordless draw for him to do heedless sins with her inviting body - he was still addicted to something he'd never truly sampled, and let them both ease down the wall. Soon she was seated on his folded legs, her back still resting against the wall while he pushed her dress up, rolling it to become a belt around her waist. His hand, like his hunger, was automatic, and his exhales were ragged.