COLT
“There it is,” she says low and rich, her voice textured with an unrestrained gasp. It’s that moan—the one marked by his accent. It lights something primal in her, because while it’s his sound, it’s hers to summon. Admittedly though, her name on his tongue, said like that, sounds infinitely better.
He’s beautiful in all the ways that undo her—scarred and strong, wild and wanting. A force of nature cradled between her thighs. When his mouth crashes to hers, in tandem with the full buck of his hips, it nearly wrecks her. She groans into him, a sound broken open with pleasure, her grip tightening at the back of his neck as if she can anchor herself there and actually survive the storm of his making. "Sunjata—fuck." The words barely drag out between her teeth, nearly swallowed between kisses and the panting rhythm of their breaths, strained with want and response to each roll of his body.
Each thrust drives deeper, and she meets him with every one, hips pushing back to match his pace, her need rising and coiling hot and tight inside her. She wants it all. Every inch, every sound, every layer of arousal he builds into her. The pressure inside her rises, a wave growing taller around him, because of him. Her stray hand reaches for the fold of his wing, fingers skimming with intent—light and purposeful—to draw him into this crest with her. "More," she pleads of him, ducking away from his mouth to tip her head on his shoulder, unable to function beyond getting lost in the feel of him.
He’s beautiful in all the ways that undo her—scarred and strong, wild and wanting. A force of nature cradled between her thighs. When his mouth crashes to hers, in tandem with the full buck of his hips, it nearly wrecks her. She groans into him, a sound broken open with pleasure, her grip tightening at the back of his neck as if she can anchor herself there and actually survive the storm of his making. "Sunjata—fuck." The words barely drag out between her teeth, nearly swallowed between kisses and the panting rhythm of their breaths, strained with want and response to each roll of his body.
Each thrust drives deeper, and she meets him with every one, hips pushing back to match his pace, her need rising and coiling hot and tight inside her. She wants it all. Every inch, every sound, every layer of arousal he builds into her. The pressure inside her rises, a wave growing taller around him, because of him. Her stray hand reaches for the fold of his wing, fingers skimming with intent—light and purposeful—to draw him into this crest with her. "More," she pleads of him, ducking away from his mouth to tip her head on his shoulder, unable to function beyond getting lost in the feel of him.
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.
