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Your skin throbs, red and sensitive where Taiga sinks his teeth in. Even though he soothes the spot by running his tongue over it, it doesn’t ease the burning sensation that prickles through your shoulder, a dizzying mix of pain and pleasure. Your vision blurs, and your heartbeat echoes through each of your shivering limbs. This foolish, reckless man doesn’t love normally, of course not, he prefers tracing your veins with his fingers to find the path to your heart, only to rip your chest open and carve himself a spot in your ribcage. He’d rather chew on your bones, eat the meat of your muscles, peel away each layer that separates him from your guts than whisper sweet nothings into your ear and barely graze your body with his hands. He dreams of turning you inside out out of devotion, of drinking your blood out of reverence, of cradling your organs to his chest out of adoration.
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