A/N: Dedicated to NSRforevermore, the first and only to read all my Teen Titans stories and review them. And we have some stuff in common. Plus, I don't even know her.

The first time, she was terrified beyond words. Her pulse seemed to be throbbing throughout her entire body, fast and frightened. Her breathing was short and yet seemed to come in deep gasps, and the terror that filled her paralyzed her so much all she could do was feel him touch her. And she never wanted it to end.

She'd been asleep, when suddenly she woke, startled and not knowing why. She felt fright, but there was no reason behind it. The thunder outside could have been the reason, but that was something she was used to. A flash of lightning illuminated her room for a split-second, and she saw him there – standing not two feet from her bed, one hand outstretched, his long fingers curled around air as if he'd been touching her hair, his head cocked like he was confused. She sat up hurriedly, jerking away from the proximity of his hand, from the hungry power radiating off of him. She could feel the smirk on his lips, and suddenly felt impudent and childish for moving away so quickly.

"Touchy?" he asked, arrogant. She felt uncertain, and ignored his attitude while trying to place him. He was familiar – but yet entirely different than anyone she knew. The cape was tattered, the armor shining steel – and she knew him, somehow. His words scared her for some reason, the familiarity bothered her.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her words more an awe-filled plea than a question.

"Don't you remember?" She felt the cockiness flowing off him in waves, the enjoyment of teasing her. "You know me."

Maybe it was the way he moved – the swaggering confidence of his graceful, slinking steps that brought him closer to her. Her mind told her he was dangerous, but the rest of her could only be entranced by the way he moved, as if it was some kind of predator's weapon, used to captivate her and leave her limp as she took in the beautiful elegance with which he moved. And his form – slim yet toned and defined, sleek yet muscular. It was perfect – he was perfect. All except for the panicked voice in her head that screamed of his deceiving charm and treacherous grace. But she was frozen. The softness of his mesmerizing voice kept her from moving.

"You've known me for a while. But you've never really understood me." He was coming closer to her, slowly rounding her bed so that he was nearer to her. She could only gaze at him, the dread inside her mounting when he extended a hand to brush her cheek. The heat from it almost burned, and the thrill she felt deep in her stomach made her eyes flutter. The electric spark that raced up her spine increased the speed of her heart; she was certain he could hear it, frantic and wild as it pulsed in her. But her emotions bubbled up and she discovered it was harder to push them back when she was distracted with a simple graze of his fingers. And at the same time, the contact seemed to remind her – he could kill her at any moment. And that didn't bother her so much as that he could've done it effortlessly, with nothing to fight against. She'd become an easy target.

He seemed pleased by her reaction. "Most girls don't get so excited when I touch their faces," he said, sounding content.

She attempted to stop him. If not for her safety, then for her pride. "S-stop," she murmured, her eyes looking anywhere but at his, afraid to fall into the trap after making such a fragile escape.

He just laughed at her, the soft chuckle less threatening than she expected it to be. "Do you really want me to stop?" he demanded, brushing a strand of hair off her face. The touch seemed to ignite another set of fireworks in her, bright and powerful. A gasp fell from her lips and her eyelids seemed heavy, and this time it was harder to push away the feelings she could hardly control.

She could feel his eyes on her now, examining her face as if curious. She guessed what he was going to do before it happened, and felt relief before alarm set in and broke the peace. "Don't ki–"

But it was too late. Eager hands fervently cupped her face as they pulled her mouth up to his, and before she could object her logic fled her as she felt herself sink into the pleasurable touch. His lips were hard against hers, not violent, simply demanding and possessive. The ecstasy was so much more intense this time: her pulse seemed to beat a million times a minute; her limbs lay useless as her stomach flipped and a tremor quivered up her spine. He deepened the kiss, his heated body pressing against her, arousing more instincts within her. She never thought she could feel this good.

He broke the kiss, and they both gasped for air. She pressed more against him with every breath, and her dazed mind sharpening to that wonderful feeling of her body touching his. Aggressively, he crushed her against him, and she couldn't keep herself from gasping again before he pulled her mouth towards his again, one hand tangled in her hair and the other around her waist, curving on her hips. She was lost in the feeling of his body against hers, but panic began to build inside her, fighting against the deep burning that was growing in her.

Frantically, she pushed him away. He staggered backwards, somehow still retained the beauty of his grace and power his form commanded. He looked at her cockily, smirking again, but made no move towards her. She scrambled away, breathing hard. His smirk widened, enjoying her fear.

"That's an interesting reaction," he commented, sauntering forward slowly.

"N-no," she gasped, sliding away, the smooth silk of the dark sheets rustling softly. "I-I'll scream." She had completely abandoned the idea of defending herself against him single-handedly.

"So stop me," he said, slowly crawling towards her on the bed. She was so paralyzed with want and terror that she could hardly breathe. "No," she whispered softly. He was nearly on her now, and his face was suddenly serious. "Tell me to stop," he said quietly, staring at her wide eyes, one hand caressing her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered, and her breath came short. "Make me stop," he murmured against her heated skin before kissing her neck delicately, but she couldn't move to stop him. His lips were inches from hers, his eyes boring into hers.

Ignoring all the instincts that screamed she should be no where near this man and his dangerous beauty, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him. She could feel the shock on his face, and she rolled them over so that she was on top of him, so that she could press her body against his and delight in the feeling. She sensed his shock fade away and felt his hands sliding possessively up her thighs to pull her hips down to his roughly. Her back arched and her eyes rolled back as he pulled her clothing off, kissing the skin he exposed.

The first night they spent together, she was asleep when he left. The second night, her clothes were off in the first two minutes. His visits intoxicated her, making her desperate to touch him. Night after night he came to her, and it didn't take her long to realize why she'd made that decision the first night.

It was because he wanted her as much as she wanted him. He was eager to touch her; he seemed to crave her like she craved him. His touches melted her into nothing and everything and he wanted her.

He was different from the others, he didn't cringe if her magic got the better of her; he didn't tell her she was weird. He made her feel accepted—the way his eyes moved lustfully down her body, the way he didn't mind the pale gray of her skin, or the violet hue of her eyes—he liked that about her.

So now, months after, she lay next to him, nestled against his bare chest, the sheets wrapped around their waists, and thought of how she didn't know his real name, didn't think about the familiarity of his voice, or what he was doing in her room all those nights ago. She accepted him as he had accepted her.

A/N: Did you like it?