COLT
You put the cool in the breeze
You put the weak here in my knees
You put me right where I'm supposed to be
In your blue-eyed sea, and I wanna sail away
You put the weak here in my knees
You put me right where I'm supposed to be
In your blue-eyed sea, and I wanna sail away
Heat flares low and fierce at the curl of his shadows along her skin, the kind of instinctive response born from a memory she’s revisited too often to pretend otherwise. The way they teased her in the desert has lingered in her body as much as her mind, a reminder that sends a shiver following, knowing exactly how much trouble she’ll be in if they hold her now and free up his wicked hands.
The thought barely lingers before it’s chased away by the drag of those very hands on her dress, the fabric gathering leisurely. It seems he means to kill her slowly, one meticulous fold of material at a time. It’s nothing but a burden now, the dress, too much cloth between them, slowing him, slowing this. Impatience twists tight in her belly, causing one of her hands to grab for the bunching to yank it higher for him, faster. A breathless, half-strangled laugh escapes her as her head tips back against the wall in exasperation. “Ves,” she warns, voice husky with want even as she tries to muster something playful. “You damage the flower and there’ll be hell to pay, but you can ruin the rest.” The promise is thin at best. One look at her, head tipped back, throat bared and lashes half-lowered, says she couldn’t follow through on it if she tried. She just hopes it will erase his caution for everything else.
A stifled groan slips free when his hands set on her skin, an instant quiver rolling through her as his nails graze under her thigh with tantalizing sharpness. The fit of his palms against her hips, warm and firm, thumbs brushing just along her panty line, slow as sin. It’s a whole new blaze that rolls through her, hips tilting towards him, chasing more of his touch, begging him to give in. He lingers just alongside her, close, but too far still, purposefully withheld, damn him. The way his words barely break into the remaining space between them requires her attention, though he quickly buries it beneath the sensation of his mouth pressing to her neck, of his grip tightening around her. A low, contented sound slips free when his mouth finds her neck, her pulse kicking harder beneath his lips. Her back presses firmer to the wall, body arching toward him despite the slow torture of his hands lingering just shy of where she wants them.
It’s the last thing he says that hits her hardest. Harder than the slow grind of his hips, harder than the solid heat of him pressed so firmly against her she can feel every inch of his need rising with hers. That alone would’ve been enough to drive her wild, but those words—honest and unguarded—burn with a desire hotter than his touch ever could. It’s his thoughts, just as relentless as hers, that weave around her ribs and squeeze until her heart feels too big for her chest. It’s proof, more than his fingers lacing with hers in the woods, more than a bracelet on his wrist, that he wants her, that she’s not the only one caught up in this.
A soft, wrecked sound catches in her throat before she can swallow it down. Her grip tightens—the one hand fisting sharply in his hair, dragging him closer with a sharp pull she can’t temper anymore, while the other slides firmly against his jaw. Her mouth finds his again, urgent, teeth catching his bottom lip briefly before giving way to a kiss far deeper, far hungrier, stripped of every ounce of restraint she’s been pretending to still have.
She parts only when breath becomes too tight to steal, her chest rising hard against his. “You’ve been thinkin’ about this?” Her voice is hoarse, rough with disbelief and desire. Her hands cradle either side of his head, thumbs brushing against the slope of his cheek with a quiet affection as she holds his gaze steady with her own. “Then stop thinkin’, Ves.”
The thought barely lingers before it’s chased away by the drag of those very hands on her dress, the fabric gathering leisurely. It seems he means to kill her slowly, one meticulous fold of material at a time. It’s nothing but a burden now, the dress, too much cloth between them, slowing him, slowing this. Impatience twists tight in her belly, causing one of her hands to grab for the bunching to yank it higher for him, faster. A breathless, half-strangled laugh escapes her as her head tips back against the wall in exasperation. “Ves,” she warns, voice husky with want even as she tries to muster something playful. “You damage the flower and there’ll be hell to pay, but you can ruin the rest.” The promise is thin at best. One look at her, head tipped back, throat bared and lashes half-lowered, says she couldn’t follow through on it if she tried. She just hopes it will erase his caution for everything else.
A stifled groan slips free when his hands set on her skin, an instant quiver rolling through her as his nails graze under her thigh with tantalizing sharpness. The fit of his palms against her hips, warm and firm, thumbs brushing just along her panty line, slow as sin. It’s a whole new blaze that rolls through her, hips tilting towards him, chasing more of his touch, begging him to give in. He lingers just alongside her, close, but too far still, purposefully withheld, damn him. The way his words barely break into the remaining space between them requires her attention, though he quickly buries it beneath the sensation of his mouth pressing to her neck, of his grip tightening around her. A low, contented sound slips free when his mouth finds her neck, her pulse kicking harder beneath his lips. Her back presses firmer to the wall, body arching toward him despite the slow torture of his hands lingering just shy of where she wants them.
It’s the last thing he says that hits her hardest. Harder than the slow grind of his hips, harder than the solid heat of him pressed so firmly against her she can feel every inch of his need rising with hers. That alone would’ve been enough to drive her wild, but those words—honest and unguarded—burn with a desire hotter than his touch ever could. It’s his thoughts, just as relentless as hers, that weave around her ribs and squeeze until her heart feels too big for her chest. It’s proof, more than his fingers lacing with hers in the woods, more than a bracelet on his wrist, that he wants her, that she’s not the only one caught up in this.
A soft, wrecked sound catches in her throat before she can swallow it down. Her grip tightens—the one hand fisting sharply in his hair, dragging him closer with a sharp pull she can’t temper anymore, while the other slides firmly against his jaw. Her mouth finds his again, urgent, teeth catching his bottom lip briefly before giving way to a kiss far deeper, far hungrier, stripped of every ounce of restraint she’s been pretending to still have.
She parts only when breath becomes too tight to steal, her chest rising hard against his. “You’ve been thinkin’ about this?” Her voice is hoarse, rough with disbelief and desire. Her hands cradle either side of his head, thumbs brushing against the slope of his cheek with a quiet affection as she holds his gaze steady with her own. “Then stop thinkin’, Ves.”
You knock me out kiss by kiss
I need you baby, sip by sip
Sit back and let me drink you in
I'm fallin' for you, over and over and over again
I need you baby, sip by sip
Sit back and let me drink you in
I'm fallin' for you, over and over and over again
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.
