Her voice caused him to shiver as he heard her words. The sound, the desire that he could hear in the tone, maybe sounds she did not even know she produced, they called and lit him. He reached out, running a hand to touch her cheek, her chin, a simple gesture. He stepped forward, bringing himself once again to the entrance of her body. The hand pulled back, fingertips dragging against her cheek, her neck, across her shoulder and to her spine. With a slow push to enter her his nails began down her spine.<br/><br/>Matching the speed, for every inch he took , his nails scratched down her skin. Not the demonic talons he used to shred her clothes, but the nails of a lover, of a man. He pulled against her flesh even as another part of his body pushed, once against forcing her clutching sex apart as he sought to bury himself to his root.<br/><br/>The fingers stopped right atop the separation of her beautiful rear. Four red streaks of abrasions without blood. Four straight red lines leading the full length of her spine, two trails on each side. The paleness of her skin, the freckles, and now these marks. They would fade, yet he would always see them. He was inside her, and there he paused.