your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
"No, you just sound very confident for someone talking in hypotheticals." The queen retorts, and though there's a new strip of colour banding over her nose and across her cheeks, she's still able to look haughty as she smirks at him.
As he reaches for her, Flora inhales softly. It's the second time that day he's done that, though this time there's no little voice in Flora's head telling him don't. It's quite the opposite, in fact, tempered with a spark of surprise that not only had he not scoffed at her small display of affection, but he'd encouraged it. Matched it. Or so it felt to her.
It's probably for the best that Jack's movements aren't hastened by passion, as it affords Flora the mental space to move her body slowly, shifting to side astride him with all the due care and consideration that two people who'd just had the shit beaten out of them by a giant cat, deserved. Slow streams of heat begin to course through Flora's core, as unhurried and decadent as Jack's tongue was. Softly humming an unnecessary sound of approval, the queen arches her back, fitting herself against him before fumbling to set her glass down beside his bed.
As her fingertips comb softly up the back of his neck and into the sweep of his hair, the press of her nails is as gentle as it is intentional. Knowing that this was a bad idea—neither of them had moved without wincing since they'd gotten up—Flora did her best to keep the movements of her tongue and lips slow, not allowing herself to get pulled downstream by the warm current broiling in her belly.
As he reaches for her, Flora inhales softly. It's the second time that day he's done that, though this time there's no little voice in Flora's head telling him don't. It's quite the opposite, in fact, tempered with a spark of surprise that not only had he not scoffed at her small display of affection, but he'd encouraged it. Matched it. Or so it felt to her.
It's probably for the best that Jack's movements aren't hastened by passion, as it affords Flora the mental space to move her body slowly, shifting to side astride him with all the due care and consideration that two people who'd just had the shit beaten out of them by a giant cat, deserved. Slow streams of heat begin to course through Flora's core, as unhurried and decadent as Jack's tongue was. Softly humming an unnecessary sound of approval, the queen arches her back, fitting herself against him before fumbling to set her glass down beside his bed.
As her fingertips comb softly up the back of his neck and into the sweep of his hair, the press of her nails is as gentle as it is intentional. Knowing that this was a bad idea—neither of them had moved without wincing since they'd gotten up—Flora did her best to keep the movements of her tongue and lips slow, not allowing herself to get pulled downstream by the warm current broiling in her belly.
