There are moments and ways to set magic. Rituals for the people who function under the need, and acts for those with a wilder magic. Sex is one of those acts, and while the list is long, it's one of the least destructive when used with good intent. Tonight, with the naming, there's no doubt that is a part of making it real. Her name will stick, and they will both be able to walk away no more bound by the magic of the naming than by what their emotions leave them to. She is not a succubus, nor is she any of the fae equivalents. Freely given, freely taken.

The sense of coiled muscle and barely contained control is far more intoxicating than the scrape of his fangs against her skin ever could be. Tonight is not a night for blood,and it is his choice to be careful and slow that is so sharply sweet she can't help but gasp like laughter, a very different sound from what she made during the fight. Every movement of her hips in his hands, her legs curled around him for leverage, her hand that range over his skin, invites him in and welcomes him to the next touch. She offers no threat to him.

The very fact of her head falling back, drawing all their hair over her shoulders and exposing all the skin from her throat to her breasts to him as he kisses down is an act of trust. The way he rewards her skin has her moving more deeply against him with just he barest hint of increased speed. Enough to make the friction where their bodies join sing along her nerves. Muscles she's never quite had cause to use before play over his body, tightening and responding to her instincts, surprising her with the ease of response.