Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Melita was a covetous, greedy creature by design – had been since she was little, desperately scraping the world for any modicum of survival. Through grit and dirt and persistence, she’d harbored all amounts of mercenary tactics, but these grasping, rapacious, insatiable means seemed to be an unending sort. Boundless and reckless in her mind, buzzing and imploring, yearning and acquisitive, setting forth a whole delving of desires she hadn’t traversed with any keen eye. Suddenly she needed his mouth anywhere and everywhere, driving at her senses, sliding at her skin, or his fingers, desperately aching to have them on her hips or in her hair; as if there wasn’t enough to go around. Wild and adventurous but only knowing the new paths before her, there were ghostly wiles of exposure teeming along her gasps and moans, eyes widening in shock and awe and then hooding again, as if learning a new skill and line and sinker to hook and reel, or plunge, delve, dive into once more.
Because she wanted to take and have and hold and somewhere along those lines she received exactly that, gaze sliding down to his utter lack of anything, mouth turning upwards into a Cheshire grin, intentionally hooking a leg around his hips to see what else made him hiss.
Then came her leggings though, which likely bordered on amusing as she tried to peel and strip them away. What had seemed very necessary and practical in the earlier hours of the morning, and hunting, now seemed laborious and ridiculous – the fleece lining taking far longer than she wanted to divest of, and then she was removing the knives she’d strapped to her thighs, her shins, underneath – the clacking of their metallic edges sent boundless across the wooden floor and away from vulnerable skin. The sudden draft on her ass was enough to get her to snort, to laugh, but then a feral, untamed push of breath between her teeth followed, as his fingers made their way to her core. “Yes, just like that,” came the insistence, the shock, the awe, the want, the need, her hips rocking, riding, writhing, at the very touch, at the finesse of pleasure contorting through her mind. A growl thereafter, as she leaned her mouth to his ear, teeth brushing over the shell of it; heedless and audacious, shuddering seamlessly in his hand. “More,” she claimed and uttered, demanded, hardly more than a sibilance across his flesh; one arm dangled along his back, the other beginning to wind its way down his muscled abdomen.
Because she wanted to take and have and hold and somewhere along those lines she received exactly that, gaze sliding down to his utter lack of anything, mouth turning upwards into a Cheshire grin, intentionally hooking a leg around his hips to see what else made him hiss.
Then came her leggings though, which likely bordered on amusing as she tried to peel and strip them away. What had seemed very necessary and practical in the earlier hours of the morning, and hunting, now seemed laborious and ridiculous – the fleece lining taking far longer than she wanted to divest of, and then she was removing the knives she’d strapped to her thighs, her shins, underneath – the clacking of their metallic edges sent boundless across the wooden floor and away from vulnerable skin. The sudden draft on her ass was enough to get her to snort, to laugh, but then a feral, untamed push of breath between her teeth followed, as his fingers made their way to her core. “Yes, just like that,” came the insistence, the shock, the awe, the want, the need, her hips rocking, riding, writhing, at the very touch, at the finesse of pleasure contorting through her mind. A growl thereafter, as she leaned her mouth to his ear, teeth brushing over the shell of it; heedless and audacious, shuddering seamlessly in his hand. “More,” she claimed and uttered, demanded, hardly more than a sibilance across his flesh; one arm dangled along his back, the other beginning to wind its way down his muscled abdomen.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
