Pann
catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green
My fingers trail slowly down her back—no longer soft, no longer reverent. There’s a possessive curl to them now, an edge of hunger as I reach her waist and grip. Harder this time. At her whispered invitation, I lean in close, my voice a low growl against the curve of her ear. “As you wish… priestess.”
The fire licks higher, greedy and glorious, burning away the last of what remained of my clothes, and I let it take me. Breathe it in. Gods, I’ve missed the feeling of heat—true heat—crawling across my skin. But it’s nothing compared to her. Her silks press soft against me, her curves molding to mine like she was sculpted for this exact sin, and when her claws drag down the backs of my thighs, a deep, guttural sound escapes me—half laugh, half moan. I bite my lower lip and my eyes blaze.
My grip tightens at her waist, drawing her in. One hand slips beneath the hem of her silk, sliding palm-first along her skin, the touch teasing but hungry. The other finds the back of her neck, cradling it, fingers threading into her wild curls. I tilt her head slightly, gaze locked on hers, and smile like a man about to be ruined and thanking every star for it.
“I’ll be your altar,” I murmur. “Your offering. Your idol. Whatever you desire of me.”
My hand falls from her waist to her hip, thumbs pressing firm into the swell of her skin as I pull her flush to me, breathing in the scent of smoke and fire and her. “Tell me,” I whisper, voice rough and wanting, “what devotions must I give… to be granted the privilege of your worship?”
The fire licks higher, greedy and glorious, burning away the last of what remained of my clothes, and I let it take me. Breathe it in. Gods, I’ve missed the feeling of heat—true heat—crawling across my skin. But it’s nothing compared to her. Her silks press soft against me, her curves molding to mine like she was sculpted for this exact sin, and when her claws drag down the backs of my thighs, a deep, guttural sound escapes me—half laugh, half moan. I bite my lower lip and my eyes blaze.
My grip tightens at her waist, drawing her in. One hand slips beneath the hem of her silk, sliding palm-first along her skin, the touch teasing but hungry. The other finds the back of her neck, cradling it, fingers threading into her wild curls. I tilt her head slightly, gaze locked on hers, and smile like a man about to be ruined and thanking every star for it.
“I’ll be your altar,” I murmur. “Your offering. Your idol. Whatever you desire of me.”
My hand falls from her waist to her hip, thumbs pressing firm into the swell of her skin as I pull her flush to me, breathing in the scent of smoke and fire and her. “Tell me,” I whisper, voice rough and wanting, “what devotions must I give… to be granted the privilege of your worship?”
you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be
