( a long-suffering sigh puffs out of her, powder-soft. not exactly contentment, but a shade of its spoiled, high-maintenance cousin. the sound of feline superiority from a pampered housecat, enduring attention that isn't on its own time and terms. built to be worshipped, bought to be spoiled, always dangling on the edge of boredom. her head lolls back with a languid roll, like tolerating his invasive petting is beneath her, but — acceptable, for now. reserving her bite for the moment it becomes too much. )

God. ( around a mouthful of creamy sugar, she scoffs a slick laugh, disbelieving. this is the shit he dragged her out of ash's bed for — narcissus wanting to drown in the pool of his own image. the spoon waves with an exaggerated motion. ) You are so fuckin' obsessed with yourself, you narcissist. You beat off to your own reflection, too?

( the rest is just ash, ash, ash. all of them launched and lodged in his fucking orbit. the only reason her name is memorable in anyone's mouths anymore. she snorts, rolling her eyes so far back in her skull that it grinds in the sockets. digs her spoon in with a harsher clang, diamond-sharp and deliberately loud, a sweetness gone curdled. if it ever existed at all, in the presence of embry moore. she refrains, by a fraction of willpower, from saying this is why no one fucking likes you. )

Don't flatter yourself, honey. We were busy putting better things in our mouths.