...But You Like It

It's hard to think straight with Lilith this close, the woman's heady musk filling your nostrils. Somewhere in the back of your head is screaming that this is supposed to be a den of werewolves, and that they might be a whole lot more real based off the claw and bite mark scars she's sporting. There's something just a bit animal about Lilith, and after that odd distortion she doesn't seem to be wearing a costume anymore, she's living this.

At the same time, she's into you. She's pushed past your stammering awkwardness, and she's just the sort of dangerous that you've had more than a few fantasies about in your more private moments. If she's a werewolf, there's an undercurrent of just pure want from your recent dry spell that almost doesn't care, and it's winning out.

She's pressed against you, backing you up against the rough-hewn wall of the... cabin? You try to remind yourself this is just an exhibit in a haunted house, but questing, long-nailed fingers are driving doubts out of your mind, as is the gamey warmth trapping you in something you're not sure you want to escape from. Lilith's lips find yours and your eyes flutter as you kiss her back with a sudden hunger. The zipper of your hoodie parts, yanked open as you feel callused fingertips against your freckled skin. This woman isn't wasting any time, and the increasingly animal noises she's letting out as the two of you make out are only egging you on.

Your own hands are by her hips, untying her tattered flannel and letting it fall at her feet. Feeling bolder by the moment, you reach in to fumble with the fly of her jeans, momentarily confused as your fingers brush against a trail of soft hair running from her navel down into her jeans.

Your brain doesn't really get a chance to process that, as her lips part from yours and you're shocked by a sudden stabbing pain where your neck meets your shoulder.