<div class="floatleft">[(http://i.imgur.com/JNiViON.jpg)      </div><hr/>Marie-Eve Tremblay<br/>Below Nocturne: floor H, private office<br/><hr/><br/>Marie-Eve's cheeks flush just a bit at his words, and despite her fear, her aches, and the scorching of the beast deep in her breast, she obeys.  Standing, very slowly, she slides her black leather jacket from her shoulders and lets it fall, with a whispering hush, to the sofa behind her.  Her breasts rise and fall under the flickering purple sequins of her top, and her arms, though lean and youthful, like the rest of her, are pale as though the sun can't hurt her skin, but glowing gold with the natural health of her kind, and sculpted like an olympian's in their flourish and prime of youth.  She watches him undressing in kind, and the beast lights up her eyes again... the thing in her heart has no deception, no ruse-- it is aggression, hiding in her heart, anxious, and it knows not how to hide what it wants.  And it wants him.<br/><br/>Her lips hang slightly apart, and she breathes heavily through the smooth ridges of ivory that threaten to become fangs.  She presses her pale-rose lips tight against it, and her breath hisses through her nostrils as she reasserts control.  Tobais's top buttons wide, she studies the shadowy ridges of his chest and abdomen, and seems to find a courage that swallows her modesty and impatience whole.  She lifts her shirt, revealing a trim, narrow waist that flares out to her hourglass hips, a smooth ridge between her pale abs, a shallow dark navel.  Her bra comes with it-- no, she doesn't seem to own any fancy lingerie, no lace or satin, just a simple lycra sportsbra that she tugs along with the purple sequined top.  Her breasts tug upwards with the hem of fabric, and for a moment her stretched torso is almost alien in its exquisite in its tempting sculpture, like something of ivory.  Her breasts tug up, then spring free from the hem, quivering faintly as they are freed.  Not overly endowed, there's little movement to her firm breasts, upturned at the tip and each begging to be cupped by a hand, tested for weight.  Her boots and jeans come next, and her long, sinewy legs are like a dancer's in heels, even with their soles bare on the floor.  Her underwear, simple black cotton, clings tight to her hips with a thin cord at each hip, and she seems to hesitate... the beast is off-balance, reeling and watching, and the girl is feeling, quite suddenly, shy.<br/><br/>"Everything?" she asks.