flora
Flora’s laughter bubbles up, bright and breathless, trailing after Kai’s as if their joy were stitched together in the air between them. It melts into the mist curling from the shower, lingering like steam on skin, and there’s something so impossibly tender about the ease with which they move from pleasure to laughter, from tangled limbs to affection to teasing. It makes her ache, not from exertion, but from the way her chest seems to swell with something far too big to name.
She narrows her eyes as he swipes the soap, not because she’s annoyed but because he’s clearly inviting trouble, and she’s never been one to back down from a challenge. Yet whatever retort had been gathering behind her lips slips away as easily as the lather now gliding across her spine. His hands are warm, patient, reverent in a way that startles her even now. She’s known Kai to be daring, to be reckless and bold, but there’s something in the quiet press of his fingers, in the kiss he plants at the nape of her neck, that makes her legs weaken in a way no climax could. The way he touches her without ceremony makes her want every kind of touch he can give—gentle, hungry, adoring, wild.
His comment comes low, all disappointed hum and low-pitched teasing, and it draws a flush to her cheeks before she even turns. She does so slowly, deliberately, a grin ghosting over her lips as she spins in place, letting the soapy heat of her body press fully against his. Her back arches with feline grace, brushing her curves shamelessly along the hard planes of his chest and hips before she leans forward—just far enough to bend, just far enough to tempt, to let him imagine what it might be like to pin her in place like that with his hands clasped against her hips. Her fingers curl around the sponge on the floor, water streaming down her back, drawing attention to every slope and hollow and shadow. She holds the sponge up over her shoulder with a glint in her eye and the very picture of innocence on her face.
"See?" she murmurs, her voice thick with mischief and heat, the soft tease of it curling like smoke between them. "Plenty of space." And oh, there’s no mistaking the invitation in her tone, nor the heat that blooms anew beneath her skin at the mere thought of his hands on her hips, his mouth at her shoulder, his breath tangled in her hair as the water pours over them like rain on a wildfire.
She narrows her eyes as he swipes the soap, not because she’s annoyed but because he’s clearly inviting trouble, and she’s never been one to back down from a challenge. Yet whatever retort had been gathering behind her lips slips away as easily as the lather now gliding across her spine. His hands are warm, patient, reverent in a way that startles her even now. She’s known Kai to be daring, to be reckless and bold, but there’s something in the quiet press of his fingers, in the kiss he plants at the nape of her neck, that makes her legs weaken in a way no climax could. The way he touches her without ceremony makes her want every kind of touch he can give—gentle, hungry, adoring, wild.
His comment comes low, all disappointed hum and low-pitched teasing, and it draws a flush to her cheeks before she even turns. She does so slowly, deliberately, a grin ghosting over her lips as she spins in place, letting the soapy heat of her body press fully against his. Her back arches with feline grace, brushing her curves shamelessly along the hard planes of his chest and hips before she leans forward—just far enough to bend, just far enough to tempt, to let him imagine what it might be like to pin her in place like that with his hands clasped against her hips. Her fingers curl around the sponge on the floor, water streaming down her back, drawing attention to every slope and hollow and shadow. She holds the sponge up over her shoulder with a glint in her eye and the very picture of innocence on her face.
"See?" she murmurs, her voice thick with mischief and heat, the soft tease of it curling like smoke between them. "Plenty of space." And oh, there’s no mistaking the invitation in her tone, nor the heat that blooms anew beneath her skin at the mere thought of his hands on her hips, his mouth at her shoulder, his breath tangled in her hair as the water pours over them like rain on a wildfire.
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
