COLT
She notices the twitch of his feathers again, same as earlier, but this time there's more intent behind it. Interesting. There’s power there in that sensitivity, but she’d be damned if she wasted it so early. Best to save it for when she wants to make him fall apart.
That thickened drawl of his sharpens her grin. “Gods you sound good,” she breathes, head tipping slightly to the side as she feels the pulse of him in her hand. “You moan with an accent too?” She wants to hear it—wants to hear him in all the ways she hasn't before.
A gasp slips free as he lifts her, less from the surprise, more from the way it feels—being handled like that, like she's just a feather that's drifted off his wings. He holds her with the ease of rising water—inevitable, encompassing, the kind of force you don’t resist but yield to. Her legs slip easily around his waist, knees drawing up as they fall to the grass, the press of his erection along her thigh rousing a fresh wave of want that starts low in her core and rises up to her throat.
She's barely got her seat before his mouth finds her breast again, his teeth following along with all the intensity she demands. She arches into him, back bending against the support of his arm or wing, she isn't sure with her eyes half shut against the starburst of pleasure his scruff tracks against her skin, the roar of the downpour threatening to swallow the sound that punches out of her that’s half-moan, half-pant.
The blunt nudge of him draws an immediate answer, a hand flexing into his shoulder as she rises faintly, tilting her hips until she feels that certain press that flares her desire. She sinks onto him with a broken moan, every inch of him stealing breath from her lungs. He’s the Flood in more ways than one—relentless, expansive, rushing through her in a way that leave nothing untouched. Her forehead tips briefly against his chest before she pulls back to look at him, holding his gaze for a moment, the storm in her eyes as loud as the one around them. “You feel even better than I imagined,” she murmurs, hand curling around the back of his neck for stability.
That thickened drawl of his sharpens her grin. “Gods you sound good,” she breathes, head tipping slightly to the side as she feels the pulse of him in her hand. “You moan with an accent too?” She wants to hear it—wants to hear him in all the ways she hasn't before.
A gasp slips free as he lifts her, less from the surprise, more from the way it feels—being handled like that, like she's just a feather that's drifted off his wings. He holds her with the ease of rising water—inevitable, encompassing, the kind of force you don’t resist but yield to. Her legs slip easily around his waist, knees drawing up as they fall to the grass, the press of his erection along her thigh rousing a fresh wave of want that starts low in her core and rises up to her throat.
She's barely got her seat before his mouth finds her breast again, his teeth following along with all the intensity she demands. She arches into him, back bending against the support of his arm or wing, she isn't sure with her eyes half shut against the starburst of pleasure his scruff tracks against her skin, the roar of the downpour threatening to swallow the sound that punches out of her that’s half-moan, half-pant.
The blunt nudge of him draws an immediate answer, a hand flexing into his shoulder as she rises faintly, tilting her hips until she feels that certain press that flares her desire. She sinks onto him with a broken moan, every inch of him stealing breath from her lungs. He’s the Flood in more ways than one—relentless, expansive, rushing through her in a way that leave nothing untouched. Her forehead tips briefly against his chest before she pulls back to look at him, holding his gaze for a moment, the storm in her eyes as loud as the one around them. “You feel even better than I imagined,” she murmurs, hand curling around the back of his neck for stability.
I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case
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.
