Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
What an exquisite form of torture it would be, to be suspended forever in the sweet agony before release. Already Maea felt like she couldn't stand a second longer, even as one melded into the next. It was Liam's fault. He was the reason why she was here like this, why she ever oppened the lid to the chest containing all this want, all this need and lust and hunger. Not for food or drink or sweet treats, but for hands strong enough to hold her, a heart deep enough to contain all that she was. So often too much, too rigid, to harsh - Getting tired of my own words
Only in his grasp did she soften. It was all his fault, and she forgave him with every whimpered moan. With his fingers pressing seemingly against the very essence of her being, how could she do anything else? He made the sweet agony into something beautiful, rich in meaning beyond the carnal desire for release, exactly what her vivid imagination required to feel loved. If they'd been attuned, he would have felt the way her mind extended towards him once his fingers drove her over the edge; if he'd been a telepath he would have seen her open like a garden of night blooming flowers beneath moonlight; soft and quiet, a secret intended for him alone.
Here, now, it was her arching spine and a deep moan that told him when she fell; the small fingers tugging on his hair, and the sweet taste of her release on his tongue all the rewards he got for his efforts.
Maea hoped he found it to be enough. Hoped it fulfilled him half as much as it did her, when all she could do for long moments was to cling to the counter - halfway to sliding off - and drag deep breaths into her lungs. Gone, adrift, unsure why her cheeks felt damp with tears when all she felt was bliss.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself
through the loudness of my own hurts
through the loudness of my own hurts
base inspired by Odd <3
