flora
Flora shudders as their words curl like smoke against her skin, low and laced with heat, and there’s no part of her that doesn’t ache under the weight of their attention. Her breath stutters, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan, as Danta’s hands work the ties at her back and Asta’s mouth finds the tender curve of her neck. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought of having the two ancients as they were just now, but nothing in those private fantasies came close to the real heat of their bodies pressed against hers, or the reverence in the way they touched her now.
She tilts her head instinctively to bare more of her throat to Asta’s kiss—something which ought to have made her pause given the extent of what she knew about him now, but there was no part of her that didn't trust him—fingers tightening in his hair as if to anchor herself against the rising tide of sensation. Her hips rock forward with an unconscious need, pressing into Danta’s hands as he loosens the delicate tension of the corset. Each inch undone makes her feel a little more untethered, the lace of the garment a poor defence against the kind of hunger building between them.
And yet—gods, it’s not just lust that flares behind her ribs. It’s that molten, secret desire to be wanted, fully and without hesitation. Not for practice. Not just to shut her up. But for her, right now, in this heat-drenched room where the past and all its ache had followed her in, only to be peeled away one trembling layer at a time.
"I've thought about it," she confesses, voice husky as her gaze lifts to Danta, heavy-lidded and unapologetic. "So many times." The feel of Asta’s teeth grazing gently along her neck has her arching toward him with a soft, involuntary sound, her nails trailing down Danta’s chest like she could memorize the shape of him through the unravelling threads. "But I think I'd quite like to be reminded of how you look on your knees."
She tilts her head instinctively to bare more of her throat to Asta’s kiss—something which ought to have made her pause given the extent of what she knew about him now, but there was no part of her that didn't trust him—fingers tightening in his hair as if to anchor herself against the rising tide of sensation. Her hips rock forward with an unconscious need, pressing into Danta’s hands as he loosens the delicate tension of the corset. Each inch undone makes her feel a little more untethered, the lace of the garment a poor defence against the kind of hunger building between them.
And yet—gods, it’s not just lust that flares behind her ribs. It’s that molten, secret desire to be wanted, fully and without hesitation. Not for practice. Not just to shut her up. But for her, right now, in this heat-drenched room where the past and all its ache had followed her in, only to be peeled away one trembling layer at a time.
"I've thought about it," she confesses, voice husky as her gaze lifts to Danta, heavy-lidded and unapologetic. "So many times." The feel of Asta’s teeth grazing gently along her neck has her arching toward him with a soft, involuntary sound, her nails trailing down Danta’s chest like she could memorize the shape of him through the unravelling threads. "But I think I'd quite like to be reminded of how you look on your knees."
We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.
But you can make me a drink.
