Silver dollar, golden flame
Dirty water, poison rain
Perfect murder, take your aim
Dirty water, poison rain
Perfect murder, take your aim
The slowly unraveling reigns of her control are slipping out of her grasp more with every touch, every second. A small piece of her remembers that there's a game to be won, but the deepening of his kiss is burying it beneath the swell of desire overwhelming her. Ever the stubborn, unyielding pirate, she clamps her fists tight to dig her nails into her palm, clinging to something her rather than the way Vesper is manipulating her every nerve fiber. It gives her enough clarity to alter the rhythm of their kiss, dragging away slightly with the tip of her fang, not enough to draw blood, but enough to remind him of the dangerous weapons she's honed, of the dangerous weapon she is. That she's only letting him do this, even if she doesn't want it to stop.
As his lips hover over hers, she has to keep herself from gasping for breath to clear her head, to reorient herself and her goal. The delightful increasing of pressure around her vulnerable throat makes it hard, but Thal thinks she does a great job of denying herself the urge to reclaim his lips or hook her leg around him. She even bites at her own lip in an attempt to regain some of the ground she's obviously losing, like a tactical regrouping of her faculties. But that sound, the way his purring voice lulls like a dark melody has her eyelashes fluttering, her efforts already beginning to fail.
And then he does that damned roll of his hips again, achingly slow to a point that makes her want to scream. The contact doesn't surprise her as much this time, and she's able to appreciate the growing bulge that presses against her, eliciting a soft intake of breath that moves straight to her core. She suddenly wishes again that she could burn both their clothes away to feel him more. Especially as his hand finally trails down to her ample chest, the fabric both adding and detracting from the sensation of his finger. It's near maddening, narrowing everything to that single bundle of nerves as he runs his thumb over it. She hisses through another sharp gasp, teeth clenching to combat the pleasure that ripples down her spine.
Her nerves are singing a song all their own, begging for his movements to add the harmony. Yet his lips hover over her, not giving them what they so desperately want. So, unwilling to confirm or deny being 'with him,' and uncertain whether her voice will come out, Thal settles for a noncommittal hum that sounds suspiciously like a moan of 'not yet.'
As his lips hover over hers, she has to keep herself from gasping for breath to clear her head, to reorient herself and her goal. The delightful increasing of pressure around her vulnerable throat makes it hard, but Thal thinks she does a great job of denying herself the urge to reclaim his lips or hook her leg around him. She even bites at her own lip in an attempt to regain some of the ground she's obviously losing, like a tactical regrouping of her faculties. But that sound, the way his purring voice lulls like a dark melody has her eyelashes fluttering, her efforts already beginning to fail.
And then he does that damned roll of his hips again, achingly slow to a point that makes her want to scream. The contact doesn't surprise her as much this time, and she's able to appreciate the growing bulge that presses against her, eliciting a soft intake of breath that moves straight to her core. She suddenly wishes again that she could burn both their clothes away to feel him more. Especially as his hand finally trails down to her ample chest, the fabric both adding and detracting from the sensation of his finger. It's near maddening, narrowing everything to that single bundle of nerves as he runs his thumb over it. She hisses through another sharp gasp, teeth clenching to combat the pleasure that ripples down her spine.
Her nerves are singing a song all their own, begging for his movements to add the harmony. Yet his lips hover over her, not giving them what they so desperately want. So, unwilling to confirm or deny being 'with him,' and uncertain whether her voice will come out, Thal settles for a noncommittal hum that sounds suspiciously like a moan of 'not yet.'
I don't belong to anyone,
but everybody knows my name
but everybody knows my name
Thalassa
