Silver dollar, golden flame
Dirty water, poison rain
Perfect murder, take your aim
Dirty water, poison rain
Perfect murder, take your aim
Through the turmoil clouding her every thought and vision, Thal feels more than watches as Vesper lowers a knee between her legs, pushing past one of her external defenses without an ounce of effort. She'd thought she was already turned on, the simmering throughout her body screaming of the war for control against him, yet as his form looms over her and the shadows tighten more, every sense seems to heighten further, relishing in the way he makes her feel powerless and powerful at the same time. It begs her to give in, to bask in the pleasure, yet her stubborn mind persists, urging her to fight, to win the game.
All the while, she stares up at him through hungry, blazing eyes, keeping her head and body carefully still to see where he might touch first. She expects another teasing finger, maybe a hand against her breast or another shadow lingering above her pant line - but suddenly he's everywhere, consuming her every thought and feeling in a flood of contact. Her breathing is fast and thready, teeth clenching it to a low hiss as she is immediately drowning in the touch. She thinks she can rally some semblance of resistance with the thin threads of control floating around her mind, and she reaches for them -
And then his hips roll.
Thal curses him in her mind, wanting to blame him for the way her body thirsts after the contact, her spine arching as her hips press into the hard rock beneath, tail flicking sharply. Those threads of control slip away in the current, leaving her stranded with nothing but the burning desire and the feeling of his cock through their clothes. It makes her want to wrap them in flames just to strip away that last layer between them, even though it feels like her blood should be more than enough, boiling just beneath the surface. She is the fire.
Without his needing to, her head pulls back further as if trying to gasp a breath between the tidal waves of suffocating lust, the smoke of her own yearning heat. But she finds no relief. When Vesper finally kisses her, she wants to growl against the delicate, gentle movements that drag her further under the surface, away from the control and teasing, towards something deeper and primal. The racing of her pulse pounds against the firm pressure of her throat, proving to both of them that she's losing the battle. Her resolve is slipping away, a low groan of frustration escaping her as her lips move in time with his - no longer following her own commands - and her traitorous body arches to press further into him - as close to begging as she's ever come.
All the while, she stares up at him through hungry, blazing eyes, keeping her head and body carefully still to see where he might touch first. She expects another teasing finger, maybe a hand against her breast or another shadow lingering above her pant line - but suddenly he's everywhere, consuming her every thought and feeling in a flood of contact. Her breathing is fast and thready, teeth clenching it to a low hiss as she is immediately drowning in the touch. She thinks she can rally some semblance of resistance with the thin threads of control floating around her mind, and she reaches for them -
And then his hips roll.
Thal curses him in her mind, wanting to blame him for the way her body thirsts after the contact, her spine arching as her hips press into the hard rock beneath, tail flicking sharply. Those threads of control slip away in the current, leaving her stranded with nothing but the burning desire and the feeling of his cock through their clothes. It makes her want to wrap them in flames just to strip away that last layer between them, even though it feels like her blood should be more than enough, boiling just beneath the surface. She is the fire.
Without his needing to, her head pulls back further as if trying to gasp a breath between the tidal waves of suffocating lust, the smoke of her own yearning heat. But she finds no relief. When Vesper finally kisses her, she wants to growl against the delicate, gentle movements that drag her further under the surface, away from the control and teasing, towards something deeper and primal. The racing of her pulse pounds against the firm pressure of her throat, proving to both of them that she's losing the battle. Her resolve is slipping away, a low groan of frustration escaping her as her lips move in time with his - no longer following her own commands - and her traitorous body arches to press further into him - as close to begging as she's ever come.
I don't belong to anyone,
but everybody knows my name
but everybody knows my name
Thalassa
