flora
She means to say something about how flexible she is—something teasing and triumphant—but the words slip right out of her, undone entirely by the angle of his hips and the new rhythm it draws from him. Her jaw falls open instead, a breathless, hitched gasp caught halfway between a sob and a plea. She tries to chase it, to breathe through it, but the way he presses into her steals every word she might have used.
"Don’t stop," she pleads instead, the words tumbling from her lips like a secret she’s held too long. Her hand slips from his hair, fingers dragging down the sweat-slicked curve of his neck, across the planes of his chest, until they find the soft heat between them. It takes only a featherlight touch, a single press against her clit, to complete the circuit, to send her hurtling into that devastating, exquisite release.
His voice—her name—breaks against her skin, and it's that, more than anything, that bursts the dam. Her climax storms through her like summer thunder, ripping all sense of separation away, obliterating her understanding of where her body ends and his begins. It's not just pleasure—it’s pure sensation, uncontained, the kind that steals time and space and breath. Her back bows, her head tips forward, and every muscle seems to lock and melt in the same moment, her whole self unravelled and rewoven around him.
She doesn’t know how long she stays there, suspended in the burn and the afterglow. Long enough that when her mind surfaces again, she realizes she’s clinging to him with both legs locked at his hips and one hand fisted tight against his heart. She doesn’t let go. Won’t, not yet (not ever). Not when gravity tugs them gently down to the floor and the sea-drift lull of the Sugar Tide rocks around them like the whole world’s gone still just to let them fall.
Her laughter is muffled into the crook of his neck, soft and stunned and glowing with disbelief. Gods, she could stay like this, wrapped in his arms, tangled and breathless, their bodies threaded together with salt and sweat and something far more sacred. She could stay here for a night or a lifetime, and it wouldn’t feel like a compromise.
As sensation returns, she feels the press of his lips—forehead, nose, mouth—each one grounding her a little more, and still she won’t let him go. Her palms cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing across the curve of his grin as though she could hold it in place just a little longer. Her own smile matches it, wide and golden, as though it’s lit from within by everything they’ve ever been to one another, and the little bit more they are now.
She wrinkles her nose, then leans in to nudge it against his, a gesture that’s both tender and impish. Her lips trace a slow path: his forehead, the bridge of his nose, the tip of it where she lingers, humming with satisfaction. "Nope," she murmurs at last, smug and breathless and warm. "You really missed out by not looking at the cards."
She knows they should move, that they should get up and clean up, but when she finally leans back, just far enough to meet Kai's gaze, her eyes are still swimming with laughter and something far more tender beneath it. "I’m not sure I can move yet," she admits, voice honey-sweet and low, the words cradled between them like another secret. "Which, just in case you were wondering," Flora murmurs, brushing her nose against his once more before letting her lips softly find his. "Is both an excuse to stay here for another minute, and my way of saying that was really good for me."
Y'know, just in case he wondered.
"Don’t stop," she pleads instead, the words tumbling from her lips like a secret she’s held too long. Her hand slips from his hair, fingers dragging down the sweat-slicked curve of his neck, across the planes of his chest, until they find the soft heat between them. It takes only a featherlight touch, a single press against her clit, to complete the circuit, to send her hurtling into that devastating, exquisite release.
His voice—her name—breaks against her skin, and it's that, more than anything, that bursts the dam. Her climax storms through her like summer thunder, ripping all sense of separation away, obliterating her understanding of where her body ends and his begins. It's not just pleasure—it’s pure sensation, uncontained, the kind that steals time and space and breath. Her back bows, her head tips forward, and every muscle seems to lock and melt in the same moment, her whole self unravelled and rewoven around him.
She doesn’t know how long she stays there, suspended in the burn and the afterglow. Long enough that when her mind surfaces again, she realizes she’s clinging to him with both legs locked at his hips and one hand fisted tight against his heart. She doesn’t let go. Won’t, not yet (not ever). Not when gravity tugs them gently down to the floor and the sea-drift lull of the Sugar Tide rocks around them like the whole world’s gone still just to let them fall.
Her laughter is muffled into the crook of his neck, soft and stunned and glowing with disbelief. Gods, she could stay like this, wrapped in his arms, tangled and breathless, their bodies threaded together with salt and sweat and something far more sacred. She could stay here for a night or a lifetime, and it wouldn’t feel like a compromise.
As sensation returns, she feels the press of his lips—forehead, nose, mouth—each one grounding her a little more, and still she won’t let him go. Her palms cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing across the curve of his grin as though she could hold it in place just a little longer. Her own smile matches it, wide and golden, as though it’s lit from within by everything they’ve ever been to one another, and the little bit more they are now.
She wrinkles her nose, then leans in to nudge it against his, a gesture that’s both tender and impish. Her lips trace a slow path: his forehead, the bridge of his nose, the tip of it where she lingers, humming with satisfaction. "Nope," she murmurs at last, smug and breathless and warm. "You really missed out by not looking at the cards."
She knows they should move, that they should get up and clean up, but when she finally leans back, just far enough to meet Kai's gaze, her eyes are still swimming with laughter and something far more tender beneath it. "I’m not sure I can move yet," she admits, voice honey-sweet and low, the words cradled between them like another secret. "Which, just in case you were wondering," Flora murmurs, brushing her nose against his once more before letting her lips softly find his. "Is both an excuse to stay here for another minute, and my way of saying that was really good for me."
Y'know, just in case he wondered.
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
