COLT
Usually, I ain't the type to stay up all damn night
Thinkin' 'bout someone else
It's hard to be fine when your heart's on the line
And the truth is I'm goin' through hell
Thinkin' 'bout someone else
It's hard to be fine when your heart's on the line
And the truth is I'm goin' through hell
She can see it on his face before he's in motion, that the kiss is lingering with him too in all the best ways. Not because he's blushing or breathless, but because he's sharper, letting an edge he normally hides poke through. It's the sort of look that could get a girl in trouble if she isn't careful, especially with that voice hot on its heels, drenched in meaning that isn't just the smoke of talk but the heat of action behind it.
As he moves, she doesn't attempt to circle around the island. Running from him is a rather pointless exercise in her experience, not the least of which is because of how she carries him in her mind, but she also just simply doesn't want to. She does try to toss one last, half-hearted attempt at waiting, starting to cry out about the steaks. Before the sound is even given form though, it pulls back into her chest as a gasp as she's lifted and placed, and even that noise is forced to change, mumbling into silence under his lips.
There could be a living cow in her kitchen now and it wouldn't matter, not when he's got her like this. Everything has a habit of falling away to his touch, leaving just him—she especially can't remember why the fuck patience had been a good idea at all. Her arms loop against the back of his neck instantly, holding him like she won't permit a break this time. As his hand finds her lower back, she arches around the touch, each brush of his fingers there sending a tingle against her skin.
Gods, the way he just lifted her up here and now tugs her forward, it sends an immediate heat to her belly. For all the ways she has to stand strong so often, nothing undoes her so thoroughly as being handled like it's nothing. A soft noise is exhaled into him as he fits against her hips. In response her legs wrap around him, pinning him to her, demanding even more removal of space. Closer, she needs him closer.
Her hands abandon their grip on his neck now that she's got him locked with her legs. They drop to his chest, running down the length to his waistband. Unrelenting with her tongue and lips, she works by feel alone to gather the bottom of his shirt, thumbs hooking into the hem and pulling up as her fingers skim up either side of him.
As he moves, she doesn't attempt to circle around the island. Running from him is a rather pointless exercise in her experience, not the least of which is because of how she carries him in her mind, but she also just simply doesn't want to. She does try to toss one last, half-hearted attempt at waiting, starting to cry out about the steaks. Before the sound is even given form though, it pulls back into her chest as a gasp as she's lifted and placed, and even that noise is forced to change, mumbling into silence under his lips.
There could be a living cow in her kitchen now and it wouldn't matter, not when he's got her like this. Everything has a habit of falling away to his touch, leaving just him—she especially can't remember why the fuck patience had been a good idea at all. Her arms loop against the back of his neck instantly, holding him like she won't permit a break this time. As his hand finds her lower back, she arches around the touch, each brush of his fingers there sending a tingle against her skin.
Gods, the way he just lifted her up here and now tugs her forward, it sends an immediate heat to her belly. For all the ways she has to stand strong so often, nothing undoes her so thoroughly as being handled like it's nothing. A soft noise is exhaled into him as he fits against her hips. In response her legs wrap around him, pinning him to her, demanding even more removal of space. Closer, she needs him closer.
Her hands abandon their grip on his neck now that she's got him locked with her legs. They drop to his chest, running down the length to his waistband. Unrelenting with her tongue and lips, she works by feel alone to gather the bottom of his shirt, thumbs hooking into the hem and pulling up as her fingers skim up either side of him.
I keep it dark, I keep it quiet
But then you come around and light me up
Takin' up space like a hyphen
You're on my mind and I can't fight it
But then you come around and light me up
Takin' up space like a hyphen
You're on my mind and I can't fight it
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
