Description
A faerie is requested to entertain the son of the Daemon King ••• "Primrose..." He repeated deeply, his tone almost as obscene as his gaze. My wrists were held in one of his hands, being squeezed tightly above my head so I couldn't free them. I didn't bother struggling, him and I both knowing that my efforts would be futile. Something told me that he would enjoy it though. The dark glint in his eyes, one red and one brown, let me know that he found pleasure in my helplessness. "Are you sure you're not a sorceress, Primrose?" His voice was a quiet murmur, sending shivers down my spine. "I presume not, you're such a pretty little thing." My legs quivered as his nose brushed against my neck, his deep inhale giving the impression that he was trying to identify my scent or perhaps commit it to memory. "But your smell...it's intoxicating..." •••
Brainstorming
