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
The idea of future tumbles with him shouldn't rattle her when she hasn't even finished having him now, but it does. More of this? Right now, wound around him like the glow around the moon, she'd accept any opportunity to place him in her future. It's utterly selfish, taking every good thing he has to give when she's only got fragments to offer in return, but she'd chase that damn smirk and all the treacherous things it can do for as long as she can manage. She'd agreed to time, and every thought of denying him had withered the moment she'd pulled this dress out. Forgetting him had been impossible anyway, so all she's got left is the hopeless belief that she can keep him from slipping any further into her chest.
A delighted grin chases after him, stealing one more kiss before he pulls too far away, an unfortunate trade off in order for him to appease her view. The golden wash that spills over his bare chest elicits an appreciative hum, gaze sparking as she drags it over each slope of muscle, his freckles charting a new night sky that's all hers. Her fingers drag lightly over the gilded edge of him, reluctantly releasing him only when her garment slides up her sides beneath his hand, skin prickling where the echo of the touch lingers for a beat, then lost beneath the fresh settle of cooler air. The flower and all her plans have since been forgotten, steadily chased away beneath the sweep of his hands.
Even if she'd had something smart to say back, every sense gets clipped between his teeth, a gasp edging out bit by bit with every deliberate mark as he heads south. It feels like every nerve is straining for the next placement of his touch, need growing wilder with every moment he stretches further with his purposefully slow torment. "You're terrible," is all she manages to hiss out between the scattered inhales of breath, the last comprehensible thing she can muster before he steals the rest.
The sinful grasp of his shadows and the angle they beckon makes it a wonder that he isn't lost to a cloud of steam. The sudden flush of heat that courses through her as he flicks the last bit of fabric away from her feels scalding, but he appears to be impervious to it, stoking it to something hotter even as his mouth finds her. Her hips jerk against his hold on the first stroke, a low, strangled sound catching in her throat as her fingers fist in the blankets. Each shift of his tongue, every graze of stubble, pulls a different sound of want out of her, and she can’t hold any of it back.
Her head tips back, hair spilling loose from some of its pins after all this maneuvering, breath breaking against her own bitten lip as his pace adjusts. Always perfect, like he’s reading every desperate thought she can’t say. Desire whimpers sharper each time he retreats, her body straining for him like he’s the only thing left in the world that matters. "No," she starts to complain, but it cracks on a moan. This has been building since the last time he held her during longheat, undone with her hand and moonlight several times since, but never fully. He'd been torturously slow before, but now it's rising too fast, altogether too much and not enough. She wants him in his entirety. "Give—all—of you," she begs, thighs straining against the tethers he's arranged. Hurry, before she can't hold on.
As his tongue crashes into her harder, her fingers claw at the quilt beneath her, chest arching up toward him like her body’s trying to offer him everything. Her hips roll helplessly into his mouth as the tension finally snaps. A shudder tears through her as she tips over, head thrown back against the blankets, pulse hammering visibly in her throat. "Vesper—" his name tumbles out like salvation, every part of her softening into the lingering pulse of his devil's work.
Her gaze flicks bright and sharp to him though, slanted from the tilt of her head near her shoulder. Though satisfaction simmers there, so too does hunger. "Take your fucking pants off," she demands as she tries to regrow her bones.
A delighted grin chases after him, stealing one more kiss before he pulls too far away, an unfortunate trade off in order for him to appease her view. The golden wash that spills over his bare chest elicits an appreciative hum, gaze sparking as she drags it over each slope of muscle, his freckles charting a new night sky that's all hers. Her fingers drag lightly over the gilded edge of him, reluctantly releasing him only when her garment slides up her sides beneath his hand, skin prickling where the echo of the touch lingers for a beat, then lost beneath the fresh settle of cooler air. The flower and all her plans have since been forgotten, steadily chased away beneath the sweep of his hands.
Even if she'd had something smart to say back, every sense gets clipped between his teeth, a gasp edging out bit by bit with every deliberate mark as he heads south. It feels like every nerve is straining for the next placement of his touch, need growing wilder with every moment he stretches further with his purposefully slow torment. "You're terrible," is all she manages to hiss out between the scattered inhales of breath, the last comprehensible thing she can muster before he steals the rest.
The sinful grasp of his shadows and the angle they beckon makes it a wonder that he isn't lost to a cloud of steam. The sudden flush of heat that courses through her as he flicks the last bit of fabric away from her feels scalding, but he appears to be impervious to it, stoking it to something hotter even as his mouth finds her. Her hips jerk against his hold on the first stroke, a low, strangled sound catching in her throat as her fingers fist in the blankets. Each shift of his tongue, every graze of stubble, pulls a different sound of want out of her, and she can’t hold any of it back.
Her head tips back, hair spilling loose from some of its pins after all this maneuvering, breath breaking against her own bitten lip as his pace adjusts. Always perfect, like he’s reading every desperate thought she can’t say. Desire whimpers sharper each time he retreats, her body straining for him like he’s the only thing left in the world that matters. "No," she starts to complain, but it cracks on a moan. This has been building since the last time he held her during longheat, undone with her hand and moonlight several times since, but never fully. He'd been torturously slow before, but now it's rising too fast, altogether too much and not enough. She wants him in his entirety. "Give—all—of you," she begs, thighs straining against the tethers he's arranged. Hurry, before she can't hold on.
As his tongue crashes into her harder, her fingers claw at the quilt beneath her, chest arching up toward him like her body’s trying to offer him everything. Her hips roll helplessly into his mouth as the tension finally snaps. A shudder tears through her as she tips over, head thrown back against the blankets, pulse hammering visibly in her throat. "Vesper—" his name tumbles out like salvation, every part of her softening into the lingering pulse of his devil's work.
Her gaze flicks bright and sharp to him though, slanted from the tilt of her head near her shoulder. Though satisfaction simmers there, so too does hunger. "Take your fucking pants off," she demands as she tries to regrow her bones.
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.
