your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

This was the entire goal, to have her forget about her bruises and pain, to tire her out until she managed to sleep well enough, and so far it works — it drives her out of her mind and he’s thoroughly pleased with the result, prepared completely to fuck her like this without expecting anything in return, despite his own aching need for her. He’s here to please her, to worship her, her voice like a prayer to his ears.

And then she’s grabbing onto his horns, pleading, begging him to continue — and he reluctantly drags himself away from her clit, panting hot breaths against her. But he can oblige her, unsure if by the way he’s drunk on her he might get away with not giving in. And so he does, pausing against her skin and flesh to try and catch his breath a small amount. When he finally manages to get a decent amount of air, he growls against her, pressing a hungry kiss against her before dragging his tongue down, angling her hips up to slip into her again.

And he begins to curl his tongue slightly within her against the spots she’s liked, soaking her up, devouring her until all he can see or think is her. One of his hands slips back up, to press his thumb against her clit again, circling and stroking as he continues the pumping curl of his tongue — waiting, savoring the tension within her that’s begging for a release.

further away from this mistake
i'm no savior, i'm no saint