// Got something inside, don't hide it, like dynamite ignitin' //
He's not normally so forward, but she's been giving him green lights that are like flashing neon and he has never been accused of being careful or shy. He's not one to dip his toes in, he wants to get his hair wet and everything, all at once. That rush—the fall, the way the water catches you, the temperature shift punching you in the teeth—that's what living is.
The slide of her fingers through his hair sends a delightful chill racing down his whole body. Baby, she says again, pressed against him like the answer to a need he didn't know before her. Gods, he can't help himself. One hand traces the small of her back, fingers flexing against the curve she pours so easily into him—a shape he wants to memorize with his hands. "Like the sky never should have given you up," he murmurs, head tilting to catch the heat of her cheek, greedy for every brush, every breath.
His mouth continues to follow the path of his want—slow, reverent—pressing kisses along the line of her neck, then lower, down to where the swell of her breasts rise above the cut of her dress. He breathes her in like she’s the only air that ever mattered. His lips linger there as his voice drops low and rough against her skin. "Don't think I've had a proper sampling yet though."
His other hand glides from the curve of her ass to the inside of her thigh, his fingers grazing under the hem of her bunched dress—an opportunity he’s not above taking advantage of. They skim feather-light across the remaining edge of fabric tucked between her legs, where the heat of her gathers. Every nerve in him is trained on the way she shifts in response, intent on making it all up to her, and then some.
The slide of her fingers through his hair sends a delightful chill racing down his whole body. Baby, she says again, pressed against him like the answer to a need he didn't know before her. Gods, he can't help himself. One hand traces the small of her back, fingers flexing against the curve she pours so easily into him—a shape he wants to memorize with his hands. "Like the sky never should have given you up," he murmurs, head tilting to catch the heat of her cheek, greedy for every brush, every breath.
His mouth continues to follow the path of his want—slow, reverent—pressing kisses along the line of her neck, then lower, down to where the swell of her breasts rise above the cut of her dress. He breathes her in like she’s the only air that ever mattered. His lips linger there as his voice drops low and rough against her skin. "Don't think I've had a proper sampling yet though."
His other hand glides from the curve of her ass to the inside of her thigh, his fingers grazing under the hem of her bunched dress—an opportunity he’s not above taking advantage of. They skim feather-light across the remaining edge of fabric tucked between her legs, where the heat of her gathers. Every nerve in him is trained on the way she shifts in response, intent on making it all up to her, and then some.
Kaisel
// Take the music, learn to use it, turn it up 'til your speakers blow fuses //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
