Koa
You keep telling me to live right
So here they are: in the ocean, fully clothed, eagerly making out at a public beach with not a single care as to how absurd a tableaux it is.
Feels pretty on brand, I'd say.
Koa's feet grind into the sand, toes curling for both stabilization and in reflection of the tension sparking through his body. His grip on her has drifted downward, now more at her hips than waist; he lets his left hand slip even further, clutching the sinful curve of her ass and pressing her closer to him. A moan leaks into Flora's mouth and then his lips are moving, playing patterns at the edge of her smile, the sharp slice of her jawbone, the slope of her neck. "Flora," Koa hums against her, the name a hymn with every kiss. He licks and sucks salt water off her supple skin: not hard enough for a lasting impression, but enough for the skin to bloom faint scarlet, for her to feel how much he wants.
Feels pretty on brand, I'd say.
Koa's feet grind into the sand, toes curling for both stabilization and in reflection of the tension sparking through his body. His grip on her has drifted downward, now more at her hips than waist; he lets his left hand slip even further, clutching the sinful curve of her ass and pressing her closer to him. A moan leaks into Flora's mouth and then his lips are moving, playing patterns at the edge of her smile, the sharp slice of her jawbone, the slope of her neck. "Flora," Koa hums against her, the name a hymn with every kiss. He licks and sucks salt water off her supple skin: not hard enough for a lasting impression, but enough for the skin to bloom faint scarlet, for her to feel how much he wants.
You don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then
