Honey wherever you go, I know
It'd been a risk, he knew, surfacing to steal a look and using his mouth for anything other than pleasing her. One he'd not be making again, but he doesn't regret his thievery for a second, not when he gets to keep the image of her nearly wrecked and brushed in crimson. He submits fully to her lead, pressing and driving until she's back to a state where every inhale tangles with her moans.
The way she tightens around him is something he feels before she speaks, drawn up into a coil that begs to spring free. He does not alter from the rhythm he's maintained, nor stray from the pressure he's set to her. He's steady, patient, and entirely greedy for the spill of her. His name rises through the surf of her climax, his name. What bruises she wears don’t matter—not when he can claim every bone.
Her body convulses against him, trembling in his hands, and he doesn’t pull away—if this is how he breaks his nose or suffocates, he'd do so happily. He lingers, mouth gentle now, softer passes of his tongue as if to catch every aftershock and swallow it down. He's persistent even in tenderness, keeping her until her thighs quiver around him and she’s melting against the tile.
Only then, when she's thoroughly spent, does he lift his head. His breath is ragged, copper eyes nearly feral as he looks up at her, licking the corners of his lips. “You have no idea,” he rasps, voice hoarse with restraint, “what it does to me, seeing you like that.” One hand reaches up, the pad of his thumb stroking the curve of her hip slowly, reverent in contrast to the storm he’s just pulled her through.
He presses a last kiss to the inside of her thighs before gently sliding each of her legs off his shoulders and to his waist, lowering her down the wall and onto his lap. She’ll feel every hard line of his want, straining hot and insistent through soaked fabric, created just for her.
The way she tightens around him is something he feels before she speaks, drawn up into a coil that begs to spring free. He does not alter from the rhythm he's maintained, nor stray from the pressure he's set to her. He's steady, patient, and entirely greedy for the spill of her. His name rises through the surf of her climax, his name. What bruises she wears don’t matter—not when he can claim every bone.
Her body convulses against him, trembling in his hands, and he doesn’t pull away—if this is how he breaks his nose or suffocates, he'd do so happily. He lingers, mouth gentle now, softer passes of his tongue as if to catch every aftershock and swallow it down. He's persistent even in tenderness, keeping her until her thighs quiver around him and she’s melting against the tile.
Only then, when she's thoroughly spent, does he lift his head. His breath is ragged, copper eyes nearly feral as he looks up at her, licking the corners of his lips. “You have no idea,” he rasps, voice hoarse with restraint, “what it does to me, seeing you like that.” One hand reaches up, the pad of his thumb stroking the curve of her hip slowly, reverent in contrast to the storm he’s just pulled her through.
He presses a last kiss to the inside of her thighs before gently sliding each of her legs off his shoulders and to his waist, lowering her down the wall and onto his lap. She’ll feel every hard line of his want, straining hot and insistent through soaked fabric, created just for her.
Kaisel
I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
