flora
Flora grins at Kaisel’s smooch, catching it in the air with a flutter of her fingers like it’s something she might tuck into her pocket for later. "The amount of things I should have faith in by now is a very long list," she drawls, lifting one hand to tick off invisible items. "And you’ll be surprised to know I haven’t managed to keep track of any of them."
Still, her eyes sparkle as she leans back into the pillows, lips curving into something radiant. "Good," she says brightly at his promise of a dance, "but if you step on my toes even once, you owe me a pedicure. And not the cheap kind." She waggles her freshly painted fingers at him as if to remind him of the quality she expects.
The next bit, however, has her snorting so hard she nearly chokes. "Drinking your feelings—valid," she nods with exaggerated solemnity. "But crying while you masturbate?" Her brows lift, sly and shameless. "I had no idea you were such a good multitasker. Impressive." Her grin is wide and wicked, the kind that makes it clear she’s storing that visual somewhere dangerous to be used against him later.
But when he brings up her stroke, Flora fixes him with a slow, arched look that practically screams is that what we're calling it? Sliding her legs off his lap and rising to her feet, Flora moves with that same dancer’s ease she always carries, swaying toward the kitchenette to refill both their glasses with ice water.
Returning, she hands him one glass with an arch of her brow. "If you want to get an even tan," she says innocently, "you're going to have to take your shirt off." She tips her glass toward the stairs with a cheeky grin, before peering innocently at him through her lashes. "So? If I do you, will you do me?" Flora waits just a moment before grinning, the urge to toss her water in his face nearly overwhelming. "With your sunscreen, I mean."
Still, her eyes sparkle as she leans back into the pillows, lips curving into something radiant. "Good," she says brightly at his promise of a dance, "but if you step on my toes even once, you owe me a pedicure. And not the cheap kind." She waggles her freshly painted fingers at him as if to remind him of the quality she expects.
The next bit, however, has her snorting so hard she nearly chokes. "Drinking your feelings—valid," she nods with exaggerated solemnity. "But crying while you masturbate?" Her brows lift, sly and shameless. "I had no idea you were such a good multitasker. Impressive." Her grin is wide and wicked, the kind that makes it clear she’s storing that visual somewhere dangerous to be used against him later.
But when he brings up her stroke, Flora fixes him with a slow, arched look that practically screams is that what we're calling it? Sliding her legs off his lap and rising to her feet, Flora moves with that same dancer’s ease she always carries, swaying toward the kitchenette to refill both their glasses with ice water.
Returning, she hands him one glass with an arch of her brow. "If you want to get an even tan," she says innocently, "you're going to have to take your shirt off." She tips her glass toward the stairs with a cheeky grin, before peering innocently at him through her lashes. "So? If I do you, will you do me?" Flora waits just a moment before grinning, the urge to toss her water in his face nearly overwhelming. "With your sunscreen, I mean."
I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights
I wanna kill the lights
