"You wanna talk about pretty—" Reaper murmurs, and suddenly, her thumb is brushing itself across damion's bottom lip, "You seen these, Damion? How many girls have you kissed with these pretty lips?"
Damion is stunned, fucking breathless, and he has absolutely lost the ability to think, much less speak. Reaper's thumb is still on his lips, and Reaper's hooded eyes are gazing at his mouth, and the weirdest part is that he doesn't mind—he actually kind of likes it.
"You talk to much, Reaper," Damion can't help but mumble against the soft skin of his lover's neck, sucking a bruise into the perfect, porceline skin. The display of adoration leaves the purple haired beauty laughing, throwing her head back and exposing more of the smooth skin for damion to mark up as his own.