flora
She hums around him as he hisses her name, smugness simmering in every deliberate movement. Her satisfaction is as molten as the water cascading over them, not just in the way his fingers clutch at her hair or the way his thighs tremble, but in the deep, shuddering surrender of it all—the way he unravels because of her. When he warns her, voice fractured with need, she draws in a breath through her nose and holds her rhythm, anchored and sure, staying with him through the final stuttering arc of pleasure until his hips begin to ease and his fingers coax her gently upward.
Her knees glide forward across the slick tile, the rise of her body a seamless, glistening motion until her hands settle against his chest and she purrs, "Good thing I’m strong, then." The words are a warm little laugh against the hollow of his throat, punctuated by the softest kiss—right in that familiar place where his pulse thrums steady and strong, the place she’s kissed before in more innocent times, when being held there had meant safety, not surrender.
She leans back just far enough to reach behind her, fingers finding the valve and twisting it until the water slows, then silences altogether. Her curls cling to her shoulders in damp, golden loops, and as she tilts her chin up to meet his eyes again, her lips brush his with a sweetness made all the more dangerous by the sparkle in her gaze. "After the day you’ve had," she murmurs, all faux concern and silk-draped teasing, "I just wanted to make sure you’d sleep really, really well."
With a flick of her wrist, she tosses a towel at him—one that lands with a satisfyingly damp smack—before snagging one for herself and wrapping it around her hips like a sarong, barely bothering to dry off. She doesn’t wait for permission or pause to see if he’ll follow; she simply reaches back with her free hand and beckons him with a curl of her fingers as she saunters down the hall, still entirely unbothered and gloriously bare beneath the towel.
Back in the small cabin space, she flutters the sheets back into some kind of order, straightening pillows with a little flair before climbing into bed without ceremony. The towel is discarded at the foot of the mattress with no fanfare. Flora settles into the middle, draping the sheet over her legs before holding out an arm in silent invitation. "Come on, bed time for real."
Her knees glide forward across the slick tile, the rise of her body a seamless, glistening motion until her hands settle against his chest and she purrs, "Good thing I’m strong, then." The words are a warm little laugh against the hollow of his throat, punctuated by the softest kiss—right in that familiar place where his pulse thrums steady and strong, the place she’s kissed before in more innocent times, when being held there had meant safety, not surrender.
She leans back just far enough to reach behind her, fingers finding the valve and twisting it until the water slows, then silences altogether. Her curls cling to her shoulders in damp, golden loops, and as she tilts her chin up to meet his eyes again, her lips brush his with a sweetness made all the more dangerous by the sparkle in her gaze. "After the day you’ve had," she murmurs, all faux concern and silk-draped teasing, "I just wanted to make sure you’d sleep really, really well."
With a flick of her wrist, she tosses a towel at him—one that lands with a satisfyingly damp smack—before snagging one for herself and wrapping it around her hips like a sarong, barely bothering to dry off. She doesn’t wait for permission or pause to see if he’ll follow; she simply reaches back with her free hand and beckons him with a curl of her fingers as she saunters down the hall, still entirely unbothered and gloriously bare beneath the towel.
Back in the small cabin space, she flutters the sheets back into some kind of order, straightening pillows with a little flair before climbing into bed without ceremony. The towel is discarded at the foot of the mattress with no fanfare. Flora settles into the middle, draping the sheet over her legs before holding out an arm in silent invitation. "Come on, bed time for real."
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
