[SE] Sew me what you know

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

Nerves weren’t typically a part of Melita’s daily excursions – and though this was something wholly out of any fragment or thought spared throughout most days, she handled it with the same audacious, emboldened bravado that accompanied her lifestyle. Strung together on sensations and instinct and driving pulses alone, she probably would’ve simply followed the destination to pleasure and desire with no distinct pathway. Just spinning and contorting and coiling on sensations, shuddering and shivering under his touch, mind long since gone, the notions that he’d be apprehensive didn’t occur to her either.

She opened her eyes briefly, taking him in, at his inquiry, brows furrowing slightly, lost in the question. Then her free hand flickered away from the play of muscles around his abs, and down towards the fingers coiling within her, artfully guiding him right into the center, and gasping around all of it once it’d been found. “Here, touch here,” she whispered in between moans, brow dipping, placed along his shoulder as if bracing for some inevitable impact. Her thighs clenched around him, trembling along the wake, feeling like she was tipping over some edge, but staring it down regardless.

Then, perhaps while in the middle of the echoes and throngs, the realization that Iskra might’ve been waiting for the same only just then occurred to her, so she turned her head, whispered into his ear. “And you?” What did he want?

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me