when you're in a hurricane

ISLA

Isla has to remind herself not to gasp for breath in those weightless few seconds afterwards, her hand dropping to rest atop Ever's forearm, her mind utterly wrecked with the force of the pleasure he's dragged from her. Slowly she becomes aware of the sound of the marketplace all around them, the call of merchants, the creak of the stalls, the shuffle of footsteps, though it all feels perilously far away. Shivering out a near silent laugh and glancing over her shoulder where Ever is still trying to catch his breath, her fingers brush against the back of his hand as if to persuade him to - very carefully - loosen his grip on her.

Only when she can trust her feet to hold her weight does she slide off his lap, adusting her dress so it doesn't look so very obviously wrinkled from being balled up in Ever's fist, swallowing hard and turning to face him. Still helplessly flushed, it's going to take another couple of minutes before she's anywhere near presentable enough to pull off casually overheated (despite being an Ancient who is immune to such things), but she does grab for the outfit she's snagged, arranging it so it looks as if it has been tried on.

"This is coming home with me," she announces of said outfit, however it might look or fit when she eventually does make the time to wear it.

apres moi le deluge
after me comes the flood