Now, Dean knew the score: clearly he had the devilish girl outmatched – between his handsomeness, his smooth talking skills, and his generous manmeat, he’d clearly woven the sort of poetry that had finally melted her core and made her his. Conquest was Dean’s middle name – he lighted the fight, liked even more when he won and the spoils were worth the effort. Having successfully wrestled and outmaneuvered Aza with his superior awesomeness, he couldn’t help but flash her a white, white smile and murmur against her lips, “Of course, my darling.”<br/><br/>“I must say,” he said, arching his hips against her supple softness, then sliding down her body as supple as an eel, “I’ve never played with myself in this way before. It’s an amazing experience.” As he made his way across her velvet, shadow-imbued flesh, the man left a trail of feather light kisses – tongue peeking past his lips more and more with each motion, the slight stubble on his chin contrasting with his delicate, superbly timed ministrations. Then, at last, he came to her pelvis.<br/><br/>Now his breath was a hot coil of living dragon’s breath, his teeth and tongue and lips a majestic couplet, a serenade to Aza’s womanhood, nuzzling around her core as if he intended to take forever, as if devouring her might be the most fulfilling experience of his life. Yet Dean knew all too well that the power inside Aza *probably* wouldn’t last forever. Being him cost energy, energy that he drew from Donovan. Now, he certainly *did* know that his power could create real and permanent effects – but he doubted that Aza would be transformed permanently and forever. Perhaps adjusted? Perhaps given some new abilities? He couldn’t know.<br/><br/>Regardless, he wasn’t about to take *too* much time working her up when he needed both of her legs free to truly enjoy what might happen betwixt them. Thus, he let his attention and hands wander lower, found the clasp that held her ankle against the bedpost and, instead of removing the cuff – simply reached down and tugged at the post itself. The wood flexed and bent, flowed like melting wax and, eventually – after maybe three beats – gave way, releasing the other end of the cuff.<br/><br/>“An elegant solution, I’d say,” he said, so very proud of himself, so certain and eager of the delights to come. And, as normal, never thinking once of Donovan or the General, except perhaps to wonder what might happen if the duo joined in.<br/>