Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
There would be no dying, if she had any say on the matter. Only bliss, that brief touch of divinity that was the culmination of lust, devotion and trust; as close to the purpose of all existence as she ever needed or wanted to come. Perhaps if her life had taken a different path she would have thought differently, but not anymore. What could any god possibly offer that trumped this? To hear her name fall like prayers from her lovers lips, and drink down his pleasure, frantically at first, then slower, steady, milking every last drop of ecstacy from his senses until he joined her there on the floor - no, she didn't need anything else. Getting tired of my own words
Her own burning need became a secondary thing, blanketed by the satisfaction of having brought Liam to completion. Caressing his skin in a mirror of the loving tenderness he had shown her, her hand took over and stroked his cock languidly when she eventually needed to catch her breath, languishing in the feel of him against her palm. "I love you, Liam," she murmured, straining upward to kiss whatever part of him she could reach. "I love you, I love you..." It felt so good to say aloud, she couldn’t bear to stop.
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
