flora
If this moment had a title—if their tangled limbs and breathless laughter and moaning pleas could be captured in a sun-drenched vinyl pressed only for the two of them—it would be called No One Ever Loved Me Like You Did. And gods, how Flora feels it now, in every taut, humming line of Kaisel's body. In the weight of his eyes, in the quake of his breath when her name slips like smoke from her lips.
When he leans down into her again, when he fills her so completely that there is no room left for doubt or disguise, her moan tries to bloom into a cry and instead falters, dampened into the curve of his shoulder, trembling between laughter and tears. It’s all too much and not enough, the kind of exquisite overwhelm that makes a girl want to sob with the wonder of it. Because this—this—feels like being found, like coming home to something she never dared to even reach for.
But then he looks at her and says possibly the sweetest words he's managed yet, but Flora’s breath stutters, caught on a wire between pleasure and sudden, coiling panic. For a flicker, the thought scrapes across her mind like grit in silk: how does he always know? Was it possible he was a telepath like Jack? But the thought dissolves almost as quickly as it comes. Not because it couldn’t be true, but because it couldn’t be him. Kaisel, for all his daring, had never been a man of secrets. He wore his truths too loud, too loose-lipped and lionhearted. If he knew the deepest things she felt, it was because he’d been paying attention all this time.
All. This. Time. Maybe that was a better song title.
But then he's lifting her, and even as something crashes to the ground, Flora's world has narrowed entirely to the hooded copper of his gaze and the way it feels to be held in his arms, such that later when she notices the broken frame, she'll have no memory at all of it falling.
Flora's hands sweep into his hair, at his jaw, across his back, anchoring herself to the press of his body, to the swell of him inside her. When her spine meets the wall, her breath is driven from her, only to be stolen again in the next heartbeat as he resumes his rhythm, deeper now, each thrust like a tide reshaping the coastline of her body.
The hall is hardly wide enough to cage them, especially with the sprawl of her limbs and the way she burns to move with him. One long leg braces against the opposite wall as the other remains wrapped tight around his hips, allowing her to push back, to meet him, to lift and angle and give him everything. Her mouth finds his, lips parting, tongue tracing the melody of their song’s chorus like she’s trying to teach his the words. There is no coyness here, no teasing—just hunger, just heat—just the kind of vulnerable want that can’t be prettied up or performed.
Her body tightens around him and her breath hitches again, a hiccup against his mouth as his cock finds something deep within her that has her shivering against him. The edge of her pleasure crests, expands outward like sunlight under skin, blooming behind her ribs, coiling hot and high and unstoppable. "Kai, I’m so—" she gasps, her voice cracking against his jaw, "—close."
It’s like the beginning of a sneeze, that first electric pull of inevitability that lives in the spine and behind the eyes, but instead of releasing outward, her orgasm curls inward too, a collapsing star made of heat and heartbeat and breath. It draws everything in: her thoughts, her voice, the world. Her toes curl, her body tightens, and with a trembling cry pressed against his lips, her resolve finally crumbles entirely.
"Gods, please Kai."
When he leans down into her again, when he fills her so completely that there is no room left for doubt or disguise, her moan tries to bloom into a cry and instead falters, dampened into the curve of his shoulder, trembling between laughter and tears. It’s all too much and not enough, the kind of exquisite overwhelm that makes a girl want to sob with the wonder of it. Because this—this—feels like being found, like coming home to something she never dared to even reach for.
But then he looks at her and says possibly the sweetest words he's managed yet, but Flora’s breath stutters, caught on a wire between pleasure and sudden, coiling panic. For a flicker, the thought scrapes across her mind like grit in silk: how does he always know? Was it possible he was a telepath like Jack? But the thought dissolves almost as quickly as it comes. Not because it couldn’t be true, but because it couldn’t be him. Kaisel, for all his daring, had never been a man of secrets. He wore his truths too loud, too loose-lipped and lionhearted. If he knew the deepest things she felt, it was because he’d been paying attention all this time.
All. This. Time. Maybe that was a better song title.
But then he's lifting her, and even as something crashes to the ground, Flora's world has narrowed entirely to the hooded copper of his gaze and the way it feels to be held in his arms, such that later when she notices the broken frame, she'll have no memory at all of it falling.
Flora's hands sweep into his hair, at his jaw, across his back, anchoring herself to the press of his body, to the swell of him inside her. When her spine meets the wall, her breath is driven from her, only to be stolen again in the next heartbeat as he resumes his rhythm, deeper now, each thrust like a tide reshaping the coastline of her body.
The hall is hardly wide enough to cage them, especially with the sprawl of her limbs and the way she burns to move with him. One long leg braces against the opposite wall as the other remains wrapped tight around his hips, allowing her to push back, to meet him, to lift and angle and give him everything. Her mouth finds his, lips parting, tongue tracing the melody of their song’s chorus like she’s trying to teach his the words. There is no coyness here, no teasing—just hunger, just heat—just the kind of vulnerable want that can’t be prettied up or performed.
Her body tightens around him and her breath hitches again, a hiccup against his mouth as his cock finds something deep within her that has her shivering against him. The edge of her pleasure crests, expands outward like sunlight under skin, blooming behind her ribs, coiling hot and high and unstoppable. "Kai, I’m so—" she gasps, her voice cracking against his jaw, "—close."
It’s like the beginning of a sneeze, that first electric pull of inevitability that lives in the spine and behind the eyes, but instead of releasing outward, her orgasm curls inward too, a collapsing star made of heat and heartbeat and breath. It draws everything in: her thoughts, her voice, the world. Her toes curl, her body tightens, and with a trembling cry pressed against his lips, her resolve finally crumbles entirely.
"Gods, please Kai."
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
