Astaroth
// but if you think I'm misery,
She succeeds in that endeavor, in the one that makes it so that the butcher’s skin rises with the flush and pebbling goosebumps all from the mere action of her lips on him. It’s a calculated move, given that the butcher has gone for many years without letting a single person leave marks of any kind. Since awakening, it appears to be happening more often than not, and so long as there was mutual pleasure there, well, how could Astaroth complain?
He isn’t in the slightest, not as his lips meet her neck, as she stands a bit taller with how she presses against him, the slip of silk from beneath the discarded gown not more than a whisper beneath his warm hand. She succeeds in how his fingertips clutch at the hem of it, how it dives below to rise up against the curve of her ass and small of her back, skin to skin. He bends when she stands a bit taller, his lips drawing that mark to the surface that’s met with her shaky moan. Astaroth gains some deep satisfaction in the fact that it feels almost effortless to have her react like this under simply his touch and attention, though this is nothing that he voices.
Instead, he straightens, almost intending for that to be the end of it before she’s surging toward him and her lips collide with his, taking him by surprise in that he huffs a soft sound into her mouth before pressing back into the kiss not nearly even with the same desire Flora presses against him with. It isn’t her fault, though, not as Astaroth is able to actually keep himself reserved this time. He’ll indulge her, of course, enough so that as the kiss deepens and the two of them are more than aware of his too sharp teeth, he walks her back toward the mirror on the wall, a hardened surface to press her against.
Bracing himself, one hand leaves her to rise to her jaw, withdrawing from the kiss with soft huffs of trying to catch his breath. “I won’t do more than this, darling.” He says in a huskier tone, wondering if she would agree given that he was not at all prepared, neither in bloodlustor muzzles. Even as the words leave his lips, his thumb lifts to rest against her full bottom lip, running gently across the soft, plump surface, still pressing against her and invading her space.
He isn’t in the slightest, not as his lips meet her neck, as she stands a bit taller with how she presses against him, the slip of silk from beneath the discarded gown not more than a whisper beneath his warm hand. She succeeds in how his fingertips clutch at the hem of it, how it dives below to rise up against the curve of her ass and small of her back, skin to skin. He bends when she stands a bit taller, his lips drawing that mark to the surface that’s met with her shaky moan. Astaroth gains some deep satisfaction in the fact that it feels almost effortless to have her react like this under simply his touch and attention, though this is nothing that he voices.
Instead, he straightens, almost intending for that to be the end of it before she’s surging toward him and her lips collide with his, taking him by surprise in that he huffs a soft sound into her mouth before pressing back into the kiss not nearly even with the same desire Flora presses against him with. It isn’t her fault, though, not as Astaroth is able to actually keep himself reserved this time. He’ll indulge her, of course, enough so that as the kiss deepens and the two of them are more than aware of his too sharp teeth, he walks her back toward the mirror on the wall, a hardened surface to press her against.
Bracing himself, one hand leaves her to rise to her jaw, withdrawing from the kiss with soft huffs of trying to catch his breath. “I won’t do more than this, darling.” He says in a huskier tone, wondering if she would agree given that he was not at all prepared, neither in bloodlust
then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //
it never leaves me alone, no //
