Itharine's trembling moan when she felt Vergil's tongue against her nipple seemed to snap the last thread of restraint hanging in the air.
The sound, mingled with Qliphoth's soft and satisfied snoring as she slept, created a symphony of temptation impossible to ignore.
Vergil tasted the salt on Itharine's skin and felt desire bubbling anew through his veins, still unsatisfied despite the animal fury with which he had taken Qliphoth.
This was different.
Itharine offered herself with a mixture of determined submission and awkward urgency that, in its own way, was just as intoxicating as the Tree's ravenous hunger.
He gently pulled away from her breast and held her face between his hands. Her violet eyes were glassy, her pupils dilated as they reflected the shifting lights of the Bifröst above.
"Are you certain?" His voice came out rougher than he intended, still carrying the remnants of what had happened before.
Itharine answered not with words, but with action.
