Silver dollar, golden flame
Dirty water, poison rain
Perfect murder, take your aim
Dirty water, poison rain
Perfect murder, take your aim
She relishes the way he tightens and twitches beneath her, not having to be a telepath to know what effect she's having on him - and she loves every second of it. Loves the way he shudders like a final death throw before snapping. It's exactly what she's been wanting, needing from him. The rough shadows and rougher hands, the pull at her hair, his eyes. There's a darkness there that speaks of unseen consequences for her actions, at having pushed him past the point of no return. Thal nearly combusts right there.
A deep, guttural groan pushes past her lips from the pressure against her pants, the one he forces her to feel as he seals her hips against his with the delicious vice-grip of his shadows. The smile on her lips disappears, replaced by a look of pure pleasure laced with victory. Her back arches like she might attempt to escape what she knows is coming, but then his hands are on her, the skin-to-skin contact like a branding after being starved of it for so long. The rough pull at her hair tugs at the primal heat pooling deep inside, a loose string beginning to unravel the thread-bare container of her desire. She doesn't register - doesn't care - that he's free of her hold, soft gasps and fluttering eyes drinking in the sensations, wanting more to pull her deeper under the surface. And when he finally claims her lips, it's as if she's falling into that abyss all over again, the crashing of a wave ripping away the control she'd desperately been grasping for.
But this time, she doesn't want it.
Because she's already won, and she's ready to give whatever Vesper is wiling to take - since she wants to take just as much. The anticipation has built too far, the playfulness exchanged for blinding desire. He tries to devour her and she does the same, forgoing oxygen for the liquid lust on his lips. It's almost as powerful as her bloodlust, making Thal reach deeper into their kiss to satisfy the craving on her tongue like she might with a fresh kill, but it's still not enough and she moans in near-desperation as the roll of his hips show what she really needs. Her hands reach around his back, grasping like she might bring him closer, melting the layers of fabric between them. When that doesn't work, she moves them lower, hastily working at the buttons of his pants as her hips roll instinctually, no longer teasing or slow, overpowered by the burning emptiness that needs to be filled.
A deep, guttural groan pushes past her lips from the pressure against her pants, the one he forces her to feel as he seals her hips against his with the delicious vice-grip of his shadows. The smile on her lips disappears, replaced by a look of pure pleasure laced with victory. Her back arches like she might attempt to escape what she knows is coming, but then his hands are on her, the skin-to-skin contact like a branding after being starved of it for so long. The rough pull at her hair tugs at the primal heat pooling deep inside, a loose string beginning to unravel the thread-bare container of her desire. She doesn't register - doesn't care - that he's free of her hold, soft gasps and fluttering eyes drinking in the sensations, wanting more to pull her deeper under the surface. And when he finally claims her lips, it's as if she's falling into that abyss all over again, the crashing of a wave ripping away the control she'd desperately been grasping for.
But this time, she doesn't want it.
Because she's already won, and she's ready to give whatever Vesper is wiling to take - since she wants to take just as much. The anticipation has built too far, the playfulness exchanged for blinding desire. He tries to devour her and she does the same, forgoing oxygen for the liquid lust on his lips. It's almost as powerful as her bloodlust, making Thal reach deeper into their kiss to satisfy the craving on her tongue like she might with a fresh kill, but it's still not enough and she moans in near-desperation as the roll of his hips show what she really needs. Her hands reach around his back, grasping like she might bring him closer, melting the layers of fabric between them. When that doesn't work, she moves them lower, hastily working at the buttons of his pants as her hips roll instinctually, no longer teasing or slow, overpowered by the burning emptiness that needs to be filled.
I don't belong to anyone,
but everybody knows my name
but everybody knows my name
Thalassa
