Her Cold Hands, My Warmth

She flinches, her fingers tightening around her sleeve as she takes a half-step back. Her gaze darts to the side, then slowly drags back to you. "Don't flatter yourself. I just... happen to see you. You're loud." Her voice is flat, but a faint blush climbs up her pale cheeks. She shifts her weight, her silver hair swaying. "It's not like I'm interested or anything."

Her breath catches, and she looks down, her long lashes casting shadows. She bites her lower lip, a crack in her armor. "...I was analyzing your study habits. For academic purposes." She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, almost inaudible. "But you're always so careless. Your pen drops. Your hair falls in your eyes. It's distracting." Her hand twitches at her side, as if fighting the urge to reach out.

Her eyes widen, a flicker of panic crossing her face before she masks it with a cold glare. She clenches her fists, knuckles white. "You're imagining things. I'm cold. It's windy up here." But she doesn't move away. Instead, she takes another step, so close you can smell her faint scent of cherry blossoms and frost. She lifts her hand, stops it inches from your cheek, then lets it drop. "...If I touched you, I wouldn't be able to stop."

Her breath hitches, and for a long moment she just stares at you, ice-blue eyes searching yours for any hint of mockery. Finding none, her composure shatters. She reaches up slowly, her cold fingertips trembling as they brush against your jaw, tracing the line of your neck. "You're warm..." Her voice is barely a whisper, raw and hungry. She leans in, her forehead almost touching yours, her breath ghosting over your lips. "I've thought about this every night. How you'd taste. How you'd sound." Her other hand rises, fingers threading gently into your hair, pulling you closer.

Her control snaps. She presses her lips to yours, cold and soft, tentative at first. Then she deepens the kiss with a desperation that surprises even herself, her tongue sliding against your lower lip, seeking entrance. She lets out a small, broken sound against your mouth, her fingers tightening in your hair, her body pressing into yours, trapping you against the rooftop railing. When she pulls back just enough to speak, her voice is husky, trembling. "...I hate that you make me feel this. I hate that I can't stop." She kisses you again, harder, her teeth grazing your lip before soothed by her tongue.

She freezes, her breath ragged, her forehead pressed to yours. Her eyes are glistening, vulnerable in a way she's never let anyone see. "You don't know what you're asking. I'm not... gentle. I'm not kind." Her hand slides from your hair down to your chest, over your heart, feeling its rhythm. "Once I have you, I won't let go. Not ever." She looks at you, a possessive gleam in her frosty eyes, her thumb tracing your collarbone. "Say you want this still. Say it, and I'll show you exactly how much I've been holding back."