flora
The taste of arousal still clings in the air, thick as honey, and Flora—panting, glowing, ravenous—lets her eyes drag over the men on either side of her. Her body thrums, not with satisfaction but with renewal, like lightning running through soaked earth. Their voices curl around her like silk and smoke—You choose, At your mercy—and it sends another ripple through her, a flush that climbs from chest to cheek.
Her hand slips from Asta’s jaw to trail down his chest as he opens his waistcoat, her nails grazing over the rise and fall of each breath, making no attempt to be gentle. With her other hand she reaches out for Danta, her fingers brushing just beneath the waistband of his jeans if he hasn't freed himself already, as she looks up at him, gaze molten and unwavering.
"I want both of you," she breathes, low and sure, her voice sanded raw from moans and liquor and too many weeks of trying not to feel anything at all. "At once."
She doesn't wait for permission. Her movements are fluid and unapologetic as she gestures for them both to follow, lowering herself onto the plush chaise a few steps away, sprawling back with the elegance of someone who’s more than happy to be gazed at.draw me like one of your french girls. Settling her lower back against the armrest that she could easily arch herself over it, one of her leg drifts to the side as her arms stretch out toward the Maverick. "Danta," she says, curling a finger toward him, her tone all molten command. "I want to taste you." Then her gaze slides to Asta, head tilted in mock innocence. "And you..." Her smile turns feral. "I want to feel you."
It isn't accidental of course, that the way she'll have them positioned will have the two ancients facing each other, well within easy reach of one another. For all of Flora's pent-up need and greediness, she knows that there are more tastes to quench between them than just the ones she can offer.
Her hand slips from Asta’s jaw to trail down his chest as he opens his waistcoat, her nails grazing over the rise and fall of each breath, making no attempt to be gentle. With her other hand she reaches out for Danta, her fingers brushing just beneath the waistband of his jeans if he hasn't freed himself already, as she looks up at him, gaze molten and unwavering.
"I want both of you," she breathes, low and sure, her voice sanded raw from moans and liquor and too many weeks of trying not to feel anything at all. "At once."
She doesn't wait for permission. Her movements are fluid and unapologetic as she gestures for them both to follow, lowering herself onto the plush chaise a few steps away, sprawling back with the elegance of someone who’s more than happy to be gazed at.
It isn't accidental of course, that the way she'll have them positioned will have the two ancients facing each other, well within easy reach of one another. For all of Flora's pent-up need and greediness, she knows that there are more tastes to quench between them than just the ones she can offer.
We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.
But you can make me a drink.
