when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer
Charlie’s grin curves wicked against his mouth, tasting the frustration in his kiss and finding it delicious. There’s a kind of poetry in his hands doing what his fire once could—a primal, tangible claiming—and she lets him have it, lets him take. Silks surrender under his grip, tearing away until her breasts are bared, perfect and palm-filling, the kind of tempting shape that all but begs to be worshipped. She’s small, yes, but her curves are lush and shameless, every line meant to entice, to fit against him in a way that feels inevitable.
Only the black lace between her thighs remains, and that—well. A spark blooms at the hollow of her throat, a single molten drop of flame sliding downward like a lover’s hand, licking over her stomach before catching the lace. It burns away in a slow, deliberate curl of heat until she’s bare in his arms, heat meeting heat with nothing left between them.
Her legs are still wrapped high around his waist, and she shifts her hold just enough for her hips to pull back, tail uncurling in a languid sweep before coiling, sinuous and sure, around the base of his cock. The movement draws the head up between her thighs, and she squeezes in a slow, measured pulse along his length, the touch all teasing promise. Her fingers slide into his curls, fisting there, tugging until his mouth is back on hers. The kiss is hungry, claiming, her hips rolling against him in a rhythm that’s half taunt, half invitation, her tail tightening around his length. She drinks him in like she means to devour—every sound, every shiver—welcoming him into the kind of game where both of them already know exactly how it ends.
Only the black lace between her thighs remains, and that—well. A spark blooms at the hollow of her throat, a single molten drop of flame sliding downward like a lover’s hand, licking over her stomach before catching the lace. It burns away in a slow, deliberate curl of heat until she’s bare in his arms, heat meeting heat with nothing left between them.
Her legs are still wrapped high around his waist, and she shifts her hold just enough for her hips to pull back, tail uncurling in a languid sweep before coiling, sinuous and sure, around the base of his cock. The movement draws the head up between her thighs, and she squeezes in a slow, measured pulse along his length, the touch all teasing promise. Her fingers slide into his curls, fisting there, tugging until his mouth is back on hers. The kiss is hungry, claiming, her hips rolling against him in a rhythm that’s half taunt, half invitation, her tail tightening around his length. She drinks him in like she means to devour—every sound, every shiver—welcoming him into the kind of game where both of them already know exactly how it ends.
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
