My Fox Husband, Don't Play with Fire

When his fingertips brushed over my burning earlobe,

rain tapped against the window outside, like a heartbeat.

I backed into a corner, my back pressed against the cold tile,

but he kept closing in, his breath carrying the scent of cedar.

“What are you hiding from?”

His lips were barely half an inch from mine,

and his fingers had already undone the top button of my shirt.

A sudden heat flared at my collarbone,

as he held it between his lips, his bite neither light nor hard.

As the rain grew heavier,

he pinned my hand above my head,

while his other hand slid down along my waist.

He nipped the corner of my mouth and chuckled,

“Scared now?”

“Weren’t you so brave when you tugged on my tie just now?”

A corner of the curtain lifted in the wind,

and moonlight spilled in, revealing his reddened eyes.

My hand gripping his back suddenly tightened.

He let out a low gasp and kissed me even harder,

as if he meant to pour every ounce of restraint into this humid night.