COLT
She glances up at him from under her lashes as their foreheads press together, grinning with something that's barely begun to be fed as they both struggle for breath. It's not enough. There's an incessant need to have more of him, all of him, anything less causes a palpable ache to blaze against her.
His grip keeps her close, sinking with him into the soft pat of sand, but it's not nearly close enough, not with the burn in her core that rivals the worst of the desert heat. He twists onto his back and she hooks a leg over him, pulling herself against his side, head tucked into the crook of his shoulder and arm as she remains on her side. Nestled amid beach and body heat, it echoes the burn within that threatens to consume every inch of her if he won't extinguish it with his touch. There's no thoughts now, only wanton abandon for this man and the feel of him descending into this madness with her, the one he created.
The heat is localized to where his hands slide against her and it's a wonder lava doesn't pool where his fingers leave pressure and dips in her skin. They coast with exploration, each new line he draws in such intimate regions sending a quiver to her feet. The leg still draped over him, hooked against the line of his hips, flexes her toes as he drags that edge of fabric away and slips under, warm where the cold has lingered.
Her most free hand stretches across the top of him, nails streaking lines and whirls against his chest and abdomen, tracing her own version of constellations amid his glimmer of freckles. She'd thought of doing this when he first took his shirt off all those days ago, and the reality of it is just as satisfying as she'd hoped. At the tilt of his head, she inclines hers to meet his lips, eager for that swipe of salt and peppermint. His words almost sound like nonsense amid the sensation of everything else, especially when he tugs her tighter, space she didn't even think was there vanishing and she gasps softly at the renewed press of him along her, that endless hunger satiated just briefly.
The hum of his words, the drift of his nose, it's a gentleness among the volcanic landscape of all the rest of the need, and it settles with a more magnificent bloom in her chest. "Mmm, I clean up nice when I have to, heels and all," she murmurs into the corner of his mouth, nipping faintly at the edge of him.
His grip keeps her close, sinking with him into the soft pat of sand, but it's not nearly close enough, not with the burn in her core that rivals the worst of the desert heat. He twists onto his back and she hooks a leg over him, pulling herself against his side, head tucked into the crook of his shoulder and arm as she remains on her side. Nestled amid beach and body heat, it echoes the burn within that threatens to consume every inch of her if he won't extinguish it with his touch. There's no thoughts now, only wanton abandon for this man and the feel of him descending into this madness with her, the one he created.
The heat is localized to where his hands slide against her and it's a wonder lava doesn't pool where his fingers leave pressure and dips in her skin. They coast with exploration, each new line he draws in such intimate regions sending a quiver to her feet. The leg still draped over him, hooked against the line of his hips, flexes her toes as he drags that edge of fabric away and slips under, warm where the cold has lingered.
Her most free hand stretches across the top of him, nails streaking lines and whirls against his chest and abdomen, tracing her own version of constellations amid his glimmer of freckles. She'd thought of doing this when he first took his shirt off all those days ago, and the reality of it is just as satisfying as she'd hoped. At the tilt of his head, she inclines hers to meet his lips, eager for that swipe of salt and peppermint. His words almost sound like nonsense amid the sensation of everything else, especially when he tugs her tighter, space she didn't even think was there vanishing and she gasps softly at the renewed press of him along her, that endless hunger satiated just briefly.
The hum of his words, the drift of his nose, it's a gentleness among the volcanic landscape of all the rest of the need, and it settles with a more magnificent bloom in her chest. "Mmm, I clean up nice when I have to, heels and all," she murmurs into the corner of his mouth, nipping faintly at the edge of him.
Baby, don't fall for me, I'll tell you right now
You're gonna hate me when we hit the ground
Think you're gonna fix me, think we're making progress
You'll be broken with me somewhere in the process
You're gonna hate me when we hit the ground
Think you're gonna fix me, think we're making progress
You'll be broken with me somewhere in the process
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
