Oh. No she was wrong. She's never heard it called that. Other things, but that's new. And the rather wicked nature of the phrase, or maybe just the way it sounds when Arthur says it, makes her go hot low in her belly.

And that growl. She practically melts, and very willingly complies with his moving her around as he wants. The bite illicits as little wimper from her, but not in protest. She enjoys it, as much as she'd enjoyed putting her teeth into him before. And her skin is smooth. Not the smooth of the freshly shaven, but the kind that says hair never grew there, or any place on her, save for her brows and the mane of blood red curls.

She anticipates his need for more space, moving back onto the bed some. She's not sure exactly where he wants her, but expects he'll let her know. She's handed herself over to him, to his guidance and their mutual wants. It's frightening and liberating, all at once.