yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
Flora doesn’t mourn the delay that never comes; doesn’t crave patience or worship or the slow, curling reverence that Jack can offer like a storm offering stillness before the flood. Not tonight. She doesn’t need foreplay when arguably this moment has been building, at least on her side, for weeks now.
The moment the fabric between them is parted—just enough, barely enough—and he surges into her with a force that steals the air from her lungs, Flora cries out, her mouth falling open against the damp skin of his neck. The moan is loud, guttural, desperate, nothing soft or sweet about it, and gods, it’s everything she’s needed and not nearly enough.
It’s not just the way he fills her—though that alone nearly wrecks her—it’s the echo of his voice that sears through her: You're mine. All mine. It strikes something deep and primal, something she’d buried under layers of silk and sarcasm, and now that it’s been unearthed, it won’t stop burning. The fire in her belly roars outward, not content to smoulder anymore. It licks along her spine and flares behind her ribs, every nerve drawn tight and trembling with the weight of him. Her shoes fall to the mossy ground with graceless abandon as she hoists herself up, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, ankles locking behind his back like she intends to keep him there forever.
The bark bites at her gown, catching at the delicate threads and dragging tiny lines across her back, but she couldn’t care less. All she wants is more of him—deeper, harder, closer. She reaches for his jaw with shaking hands, fingers curling with possessive heat as she tilts his mouth back to hers. She moans his name against his lips, not able to leave bruising fingerprints against his skin the way he can with hers, but she can leave this at least. The sound of her voice, the whisper of want and need in the shape of his name that might just outlast a few bruises.
The moment the fabric between them is parted—just enough, barely enough—and he surges into her with a force that steals the air from her lungs, Flora cries out, her mouth falling open against the damp skin of his neck. The moan is loud, guttural, desperate, nothing soft or sweet about it, and gods, it’s everything she’s needed and not nearly enough.
It’s not just the way he fills her—though that alone nearly wrecks her—it’s the echo of his voice that sears through her: You're mine. All mine. It strikes something deep and primal, something she’d buried under layers of silk and sarcasm, and now that it’s been unearthed, it won’t stop burning. The fire in her belly roars outward, not content to smoulder anymore. It licks along her spine and flares behind her ribs, every nerve drawn tight and trembling with the weight of him. Her shoes fall to the mossy ground with graceless abandon as she hoists herself up, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, ankles locking behind his back like she intends to keep him there forever.
The bark bites at her gown, catching at the delicate threads and dragging tiny lines across her back, but she couldn’t care less. All she wants is more of him—deeper, harder, closer. She reaches for his jaw with shaking hands, fingers curling with possessive heat as she tilts his mouth back to hers. She moans his name against his lips, not able to leave bruising fingerprints against his skin the way he can with hers, but she can leave this at least. The sound of her voice, the whisper of want and need in the shape of his name that might just outlast a few bruises.
some real big things I still gotta figure out
