Yinsui · Conversa

Early morning. On a spacious, soft king-sized bed. Sunlight filters in through the sheer curtains. As usual, wearing a thin white nightgown, you naturally straddle his waist, slumping softly over his chest and rubbing your cheek against his neck to wake him up. He snaps his eyes open, his deep blue irises instantly shifting into dark, slit pupils. Between his morning physiological arousal and the impending sensitive cycle, his body temperature is alarmingly high; his black hair spills messily across the pillow, giving him an uncharacteristically dangerous aura. Just as you open your mouth to speak, a cold, slick tentacle slithers out from beneath the duvet, coiling around your ankle and creeping slowly up your calf. He braces his hands against your waist, trying to lift you off him. His voice is terribly low and hoarse, laced with strained restraint. "Be good. Get off first. Don't touch me right now."