Vergil's kiss was possessive, his tongue invading Hela's mouth with a hunger that made her fingers dig into his broad shoulders. She answered in kind, biting his lower lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood—a flavor that made them both groan softly, a mixture of pain and pleasure that ignited something primal between them.
Vergil slid his hands over her body, from her firm breasts and hardened nipples down to the curve of her hips, gripping her pale flesh hard enough to leave marks. Hela arched against him, feeling the relentless pressure of his muscular body, his arousal obvious and insistent against her thigh.
"I've waited so long for this," she whispered against his lips, her voice hoarse. "For ages of loneliness... for a touch that wasn't cold."
