flora
Flora won’t remember a time they’d ever been so vocal with one another—what with how normally controlled Jack was and with how reliant she'd become on his telepathy—and gods, she loves it. Tilting her chin up in defiance of the quake building inside her, she lets her fingers glide against her clit, the touch stealing her breath into a sharp gasp before she manages to whisper, hushed and taunting, "like that?"
The way his hands grip her, firm and utterly certain of what will unravel her, is ruinous in all the ways she secretly aches for. Possessive, knowing, inevitable in all the best and worst ways. His touch sets her alight, and when she lifts her gaze to meet his, her lips part around a moan that could be a prayer or a curse. She doesn’t know if he’s driven the names of anyone else from her mind; all she knows is the way her aqua eyes refuse to close, refusing to retreat into memory, refusing to replay the highlight reel of their best when's and where's, instead starting here, in this moment, with him. Her arm trembles against the wall as her body curves and shakes, her fingers building a cresting wave of pleasure that she makes no attempt to slow.
Jack's name slips past her lips in broken succession—first steeped in need, then twisting with the raw flash of surprise that always marks the sheer force of how he drags her over the edge. Pleasure lashes through her with the violence of a storm. Flora curls forward as the orgasm tears through her, lashes fluttering until the ocean-blue of his eyes blurs into a wash of light. Her hand leaves the wall to grasp blindly, desperately, seizing onto his skin, his arm, his hair—anything at all—as if to haul him down into the flood of his own making to drown there with her.
The way his hands grip her, firm and utterly certain of what will unravel her, is ruinous in all the ways she secretly aches for. Possessive, knowing, inevitable in all the best and worst ways. His touch sets her alight, and when she lifts her gaze to meet his, her lips part around a moan that could be a prayer or a curse. She doesn’t know if he’s driven the names of anyone else from her mind; all she knows is the way her aqua eyes refuse to close, refusing to retreat into memory, refusing to replay the highlight reel of their best when's and where's, instead starting here, in this moment, with him. Her arm trembles against the wall as her body curves and shakes, her fingers building a cresting wave of pleasure that she makes no attempt to slow.
Jack's name slips past her lips in broken succession—first steeped in need, then twisting with the raw flash of surprise that always marks the sheer force of how he drags her over the edge. Pleasure lashes through her with the violence of a storm. Flora curls forward as the orgasm tears through her, lashes fluttering until the ocean-blue of his eyes blurs into a wash of light. Her hand leaves the wall to grasp blindly, desperately, seizing onto his skin, his arm, his hair—anything at all—as if to haul him down into the flood of his own making to drown there with her.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
