DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Half his point had been to rattle her, spark something against her mind while deliberating on wanton senses and covetous ends – given she’d granted some portion of a coherent answer, he intended to delve further. Trips on the ocean gave rise to speculation in his mind, but he pushed it back, leaving space for later, of ships that might careen around Torchline edges or King’s End bays, leaving his response a rumble across her skin as he dragged his mouth along the shell of her ear. “Might be an option.”
But then there were other notions to explore, opportunities of discovery, routes he knew but could traverse over differently. As she made her point quite clear, he laughed, let the reverberations touch over her flesh – intending to sharpen the furor, stir the ardent, fervent perceptions, give and grant and let her take – wanting her panting, groaning, moaning, under his wake. Per the request, one of his hands touched, caressed, her breast, pebbled over the nipple, while he went one step further, lips traversing to meet the other, ghosts of breaths hovering and harboring, until his mouth and tongue, light touches of teeth, grazed.
Her hips rocking against his was a reminder of far too much fabric; he might’ve removed his sweatpants, had his other hand not been so diligent in removing the remains of her loungewear; fingers threatening to dip below regardless if she divested of them or not.
But then there were other notions to explore, opportunities of discovery, routes he knew but could traverse over differently. As she made her point quite clear, he laughed, let the reverberations touch over her flesh – intending to sharpen the furor, stir the ardent, fervent perceptions, give and grant and let her take – wanting her panting, groaning, moaning, under his wake. Per the request, one of his hands touched, caressed, her breast, pebbled over the nipple, while he went one step further, lips traversing to meet the other, ghosts of breaths hovering and harboring, until his mouth and tongue, light touches of teeth, grazed.
Her hips rocking against his was a reminder of far too much fabric; he might’ve removed his sweatpants, had his other hand not been so diligent in removing the remains of her loungewear; fingers threatening to dip below regardless if she divested of them or not.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
