am I stitching up seams, or pulling on triggers?

flora

The raw moan tumbling from his lips is a strike of lightning through her, and Flora arches into it as if the sound itself were touch, her body searing with the pulse of his hips slamming into hers. Heat flares and multiplies, her breath catching before spilling out in a rough, breathless “yours,” the word torn from her as much as given. The air stutters in her lungs again when Jack hauls her higher, long legs sliding over his shoulders, the new angle burying him so deep inside her that the cry of his name rips itself loose, sharp and loud enough she’s certain it echoes down into the kitchen.

Her palm presses flat to the headboard behind her, bracing against his relentless rhythm, and she lifts her gaze to him through lashes heavy with sweat and want. Torn lace clings in ragged ribbons across her golden skin, her body spread like a canvas beneath him, every thrust painting heat across her. With her free hand, she drags her fingers between her thighs, tearing away what scraps of lace remain until she can ghost over her clit, the small circle of touch stealing a moan from her throat.

"You learned to work pretty fast," she manages to breathe out between sharp gasps, a smirk twisting her lips even as she swallows another surge of pleasure. "Taking advantage of my naps, and—" The tease breaks off in a whimper as the coil tightens, her heel pressing into the hard plane of his back to drive him deeper, her hand moving in earnest as her voice fractures into his name once more. "Gods, Jack. Like that—fuck, don't stop."

you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!