“You use your magic all the time—when you are angry, when you are aroused…” She had no trouble calling vines to ensnare him for the purpose of their pleasure, and at the thought, he let his lips trail across her shoulder, a light touch that made her shiver. “That is not magic,” she breathed. “Then what is magic?” he asked. “Magic is…” Her voice faded away as she considered what to say, finally answering. “Control.” Her response made him chuckle. Magic, in its most basic form, was wild. “Magic is not controlled. It is passionate, expressive. It reacts to emotions, no matter your level of
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