Flora
Her lips part around a moan that doesn’t so much end as break and catch, breath hitching in time with the deep pull of him inside her. The sharp bite of his kiss blooms heat against her throat, and she’s grinning even as the flames in her thoughts flare higher, licking up through every corner until the garden of her mind is nothing but firelight and shadow.
One arm curls up and back, fingers threading into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp to tangle herself deeper into his grip. The other drifts down her belly, glancing over the back of his hand before finding her clit, the touch intentionally light—just enough to tease, nowhere near enough to satisfy. "You’ll have to make it so I can’t help myself," she whispers, her voice curling warm against his ear. She circles again, too soft, the shivery, almost-weightless sensation pulling a gasp from her, her muscles wanting to tense under it, though she holds herself back.
The press of his lips against her ear draws a sly shake of her head. "More. I can still remember my name," she murmurs, "still remember where we are." The truth is almost irritating—her thoughts still flicker across the usual list of people, places, problems she has no interest in carrying here. And then, in the theatre of her mind, she burns them all away. The walls dissolve, the bed, the room—until there’s nothing left but the blur of his mouth at her ear, the matched drumbeat of their hearts, and the ricochet of his hips meeting hers.
Tilting her head back against his shoulder, she draws another slow, deliberate circle over her clit, voice catching on a moan. "Make it like that," she breathes. "Make it all go away except you."
One arm curls up and back, fingers threading into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp to tangle herself deeper into his grip. The other drifts down her belly, glancing over the back of his hand before finding her clit, the touch intentionally light—just enough to tease, nowhere near enough to satisfy. "You’ll have to make it so I can’t help myself," she whispers, her voice curling warm against his ear. She circles again, too soft, the shivery, almost-weightless sensation pulling a gasp from her, her muscles wanting to tense under it, though she holds herself back.
The press of his lips against her ear draws a sly shake of her head. "More. I can still remember my name," she murmurs, "still remember where we are." The truth is almost irritating—her thoughts still flicker across the usual list of people, places, problems she has no interest in carrying here. And then, in the theatre of her mind, she burns them all away. The walls dissolve, the bed, the room—until there’s nothing left but the blur of his mouth at her ear, the matched drumbeat of their hearts, and the ricochet of his hips meeting hers.
Tilting her head back against his shoulder, she draws another slow, deliberate circle over her clit, voice catching on a moan. "Make it like that," she breathes. "Make it all go away except you."
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense
why the wound is still bleedin'
why the wound is still bleedin'
Code stolen from Queen Sky
