Not unlike the way a venus fly trap will not snap closed immediately, but instead wait until its prey is suitably positioned, so too does his palm remain open and inviting as her fingers trickle up the lines of pulsing purple like curious prey. Certainly, there is something which can be said to snap and bite, but it was not his fingers. Those, not unlike tendrils, cradled her wrist. The touch, sensual yet purposeful, sought not just the softness of her skin but the very essence beneath. Each movement was a measured exploration, an intimate examination of the frailty of bone beneath the soft surface of her flesh.
"Tell me how it feels." He commanded in a lurid whisper. The invitation, draped in dark sensuality, sought not just the physical sensations but the metaphysical dissonance that echoed within her as well. He would hear from her low lips how heavy and archaic her body felt; how utterly unconnected and adrift her mind must feel compared to the cosmic vastness of what she had just been. What they had just been.
"Tell me how it feels." He commanded in a lurid whisper. The invitation, draped in dark sensuality, sought not just the physical sensations but the metaphysical dissonance that echoed within her as well. He would hear from her low lips how heavy and archaic her body felt; how utterly unconnected and adrift her mind must feel compared to the cosmic vastness of what she had just been. What they had just been.
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
But we had names more intimate
