The air hummed with heat, lust, and the faint coppery tang of blood. Sabrina straddled Finn like she owned him, her dark hair spilling over her pale shoulders in wild waves. She leaned down, fangs grazing his neck with teasing pressure, not quite breaking the skin.
"You taste like trouble," she purred, her voice low and silky. Her nails dragged slowly down his chest, leaving thin red lines that healed almost instantly. "And I've always had a weakness for trouble."
Finn's smirk was pure cocky sin as he stared up at her. "Funny. You taste like danger wrapped in temptation." His hands slid down her back and gripped her hips hard, possessive and hungry. "Exactly my type."
Sabrina threw her head back and laughed, a rich, throaty sound that sent sparks straight through him. "Keep flattering me, Welles. It won't make me gentle with you."
