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Internally at war with wanting her body to appear long and lean beneath the butcher's dark gaze with the primitive instinct to tense her muscles and curl herself close around him, Flora finds herself a touch breathless with a wonderful sort of frustration long before Asta positions himself over top of her.
Thinking how wonderfully cruel he was for the path his mouth took, Flora let her fingers tangle into his dark hair and around his horns that she might silently express her frustration with the selective placement of his mouth. Indeed he'd have felt her body rise to meet his tongue as if trying to delay him from moving any higher. That he concludes at arguably the wrong set of lips has Flora twisting beneath him and biting back inarticulate pleas.
His questions give her mind something to latch onto such that she's able to still somewhat beneath him, though the slight tremble in her limbs suggests she's coiling rather than settling. "And if I said I had?" She wonders innocently, before combing her fingers through his hair to neaten it behind one antler before letting her nails claw down toward his neck. "If I said that I--" A man like Asta who has known pain in nearly every form will no doubt be able to differentiate genuine discomfort from the way Flora's expression seems to crumple into a muted scream as his fingers tease against her clit. Lifting her hips slightly as if gravity might somehow trick his finger into sliding farther inside of her, the queen is able to feel her own wetness if only by the ease he's able to press into her. "--that I--" She tries again just as another crimson wave of arousal tugs her under and drowns any semblance of coherent thought.
"Gods I want you in so many ways." She pleads finally, her toes curling as her breaths came in hot, shallow bursts. She wanted him between her thighs that she might use his antlers to guide his ministrations, she wanted him to pin her against the rock wall with his hand over her mouth, wanted to make him cum in the hotspring where the water would make it feel like they were floating, wanted to fuck him on top where he was held hostage to whatever rhythm she wanted to set.
Thinking how wonderfully cruel he was for the path his mouth took, Flora let her fingers tangle into his dark hair and around his horns that she might silently express her frustration with the selective placement of his mouth. Indeed he'd have felt her body rise to meet his tongue as if trying to delay him from moving any higher. That he concludes at arguably the wrong set of lips has Flora twisting beneath him and biting back inarticulate pleas.
His questions give her mind something to latch onto such that she's able to still somewhat beneath him, though the slight tremble in her limbs suggests she's coiling rather than settling. "And if I said I had?" She wonders innocently, before combing her fingers through his hair to neaten it behind one antler before letting her nails claw down toward his neck. "If I said that I--" A man like Asta who has known pain in nearly every form will no doubt be able to differentiate genuine discomfort from the way Flora's expression seems to crumple into a muted scream as his fingers tease against her clit. Lifting her hips slightly as if gravity might somehow trick his finger into sliding farther inside of her, the queen is able to feel her own wetness if only by the ease he's able to press into her. "--that I--" She tries again just as another crimson wave of arousal tugs her under and drowns any semblance of coherent thought.
"Gods I want you in so many ways." She pleads finally, her toes curling as her breaths came in hot, shallow bursts. She wanted him between her thighs that she might use his antlers to guide his ministrations, she wanted him to pin her against the rock wall with his hand over her mouth, wanted to make him cum in the hotspring where the water would make it feel like they were floating, wanted to fuck him on top where he was held hostage to whatever rhythm she wanted to set.
