MELITA
The way he bucked up against her, like a chase into things they already had, wound through her senses and semblances as a coiled, contorted promise. A demand low in her belly threatened to scorch and maim and have without regrets, and she didn’t bother hiding it, insistent as her teeth pinched over his skin, lips raised across his neck in feverish kisses, marking, imploring.The murmur, the notions of a list, made her laugh though; a light giggle that couldn’t quite conquer the hooded haze of lust and love, her mind conjuring a thousand things all in one prospering dominion. “What would be at the top?” she snagged out of her mercurial whimsy, a joke laden on the prospects of their wanton indulgence, aiming to hear what he’d want before –
Then he teased and toyed and all she could exhibit first was a loud gasp and a high keen, a whine, as he rolled his grasp along her thigh. Much too light and not nearly enough and purposefully orchestrating his own path, her features turned into a mulish pinch of nose and mouth as she uttered, growled, something along the lines of “Shithead.” Hardly her best, but her skin and body and mind were so taut with arousal that it scarcely mattered; hips striving to turn towards the insistent plunge and movement of his fingers. Then she was a shuddering, moaning mess, little harsh intakes of breath urgent for more, as her head settled somewhere in between his neck and shoulder.
Just before enacting her own revenge.
Two could play at that game, she supposed in her already rattled, addled thoughts. One hand reached down for his cock, fully intending to run her fingers lightly over its smooth, silken flesh, just a touch, just a trace, to gain reactions and upheavals.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight








