Flora
Flora's fingers find their way between her thighs, the first brush of which against her clit has her flinching, breath stalling as the sensitivity threatens to knock the wind out of her. But gods, she chases it anyway. The rhythm of her heart and hips has already begun to thread itself tight, and now with each teasing circle of her fingertips, a pulse builds to match it—shallow, sharp, nearly unbearable in how good it is.
And then his mouth is on her breast, tongue and teeth and hands playing her like a prayer made flesh, and Flora gasps—no, moans—a sound that’s half dragged from her lungs and half worship hurled into the steam. Her hand tangles into his hair before she even realises it’s moved. She pulls, not hard but commanding, tipping his gaze to meet hers, gold and fire and water and want all wrapped in the curve of her smile. "Don’t you dare," she whispers, breath ghosting over his lips before her brow leans against his, "If you finish before me, you won’t get to hear me moan your name again." It’s a promise, a curse, a gift; and she means every word of it.
This is only the second time they've been together like this—gods, only the second—and already she feels the threat of addiction curling around her spine. But because this is only the second time, and because of not just the physical but emotional build up Kaisel has had to endure, Flora doesn’t continue to bounce; doesn’t rise and fall like some desperate thing. Instead, she grinds, slick and slow, setting the pace with each smooth roll of her hips that keeps him deep, so deep, and shifting just enough to keep her riding the edge without tipping him over too fast.
Her hand is steady between her thighs, coaxing herself toward the inevitable, and when the lightning begins to gather again—static behind her teeth, needles in her thighs—she leans in close enough that her nose brushes his. "I love fucking you," she breathes, the words hot as her hips pick up pace. "Gods, I love—" The moan that breaks out of her is desperate and guttural, rising as her fingers find just the right rhythm and her body begins to tremble. "Gods Kai," she whispers, voice a tremor through the steam, "nn, I want to make you cum."
And then it hits. The second climax crashes through her like surf on reef, sharp and wet and unrelenting. Her fingers seize in his hair as her thighs tighten around him, her hips grinding down like she could pull the soul from his body with the force of it.
"Fuck—Kaisel!" she cries, her whole body a trembling storm as she breaks over him again and again, her thighs slapping against his in a rhythm as torrential as the water still falling around them. She’s flushed and shuddering and riding him like she means to replace his every memory with this, and her, and the sound of his name from her lips like worship and ruin all at once.
And then his mouth is on her breast, tongue and teeth and hands playing her like a prayer made flesh, and Flora gasps—no, moans—a sound that’s half dragged from her lungs and half worship hurled into the steam. Her hand tangles into his hair before she even realises it’s moved. She pulls, not hard but commanding, tipping his gaze to meet hers, gold and fire and water and want all wrapped in the curve of her smile. "Don’t you dare," she whispers, breath ghosting over his lips before her brow leans against his, "If you finish before me, you won’t get to hear me moan your name again." It’s a promise, a curse, a gift; and she means every word of it.
This is only the second time they've been together like this—gods, only the second—and already she feels the threat of addiction curling around her spine. But because this is only the second time, and because of not just the physical but emotional build up Kaisel has had to endure, Flora doesn’t continue to bounce; doesn’t rise and fall like some desperate thing. Instead, she grinds, slick and slow, setting the pace with each smooth roll of her hips that keeps him deep, so deep, and shifting just enough to keep her riding the edge without tipping him over too fast.
Her hand is steady between her thighs, coaxing herself toward the inevitable, and when the lightning begins to gather again—static behind her teeth, needles in her thighs—she leans in close enough that her nose brushes his. "I love fucking you," she breathes, the words hot as her hips pick up pace. "Gods, I love—" The moan that breaks out of her is desperate and guttural, rising as her fingers find just the right rhythm and her body begins to tremble. "Gods Kai," she whispers, voice a tremor through the steam, "nn, I want to make you cum."
And then it hits. The second climax crashes through her like surf on reef, sharp and wet and unrelenting. Her fingers seize in his hair as her thighs tighten around him, her hips grinding down like she could pull the soul from his body with the force of it.
"Fuck—Kaisel!" she cries, her whole body a trembling storm as she breaks over him again and again, her thighs slapping against his in a rhythm as torrential as the water still falling around them. She’s flushed and shuddering and riding him like she means to replace his every memory with this, and her, and the sound of his name from her lips like worship and ruin all at once.
I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
Code stolen from Queen Sky
