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
A jolt ripples through her when his fist pounds the counter. It's not fear—not of him, not like this—but it's unexpected. The few times she's gotten to watch this put together man finally come undone, it's not been this soon, or this simple. The remainder of that thought burns up in the curling heat of his voice, exhaling harsh against the surface of her skin, a flush rising in response. She angles against the drag of his mouth, granting better access for him to draw that match strike over her body.
He's ready in her grip, and that feel of him—so hot and heavy in her hands, kicking against the contact—it sinks right into her pooling desire until it spills over. Her inhale hits the back of her throat with an aching sound, palms stroking down slow and appreciative as a pulse flutters damp and eager between her thighs. Fuck's sake, her jeans feel like her most cursed possession. "I need you," she breathes, "now."
Her hooded gaze, already coveting ideas of him inside her, shuts for a moment as he buries himself in her chest. Not quite the same part of him she wanted buried, or the same place on her, but the fresh kiss of air on newly exposed skin, along with the subtle prickle of his jawline, still shortens a breath. Gods, how is it that everything he does strums through her like a live wire, as if each nerve is on alert just for him, waiting to hum to his every touch. It leaves her shivering with anticipation, leaning in for every connection that grazes past, utterly drawn to him.
It's why it's so sharp when he's suddenly retreating. It's not long, and he doesn't necessarily go far, but it doesn't keep back the sudden wash of cool air that buffets her like the tide, stark against each part of her that had begun to melt against him. Her legs dangle over the edge, horribly devoid of Vesper, and her teeth catch her lower lip in the absence of his. "Wha—" she starts, but doesn't quite finish, not when those dark hands of his slither in and insist she lay horizontal. Her gaze darts from the midnight wisp against her shoulder back to the blue of him, copper confusion dispersing into something knowing.
She obliges and leans back beneath the pressure of darkness, the cold bite of the counter never quite coming with his layer of shadow holding her. Sweet, always sweet in the small ways that matter, and it tugs in her chest as she settles. Her arms are already reaching back to grab for the other side of the counter as her binds slip into place and her name is brandished like a curse and a prayer. The wrecked sound of it shivers against her, a sly spread finding her lips. This is her favorite version of him, the one that she gets to have in these moments, where he's started to let go of being careful and all the less tame sides of him shine through the veneer of control. At that, her heels find the edge of the counter and her knees part in slow but clear invitation. "Take me Ves," she says low and sultry. "I'm yours."
He shucks off her pants with minimal effort, her bare ass squirming for a moment against the edge, and then it's lifted up. Higher than she expected, and her eyes widen with the surprise, pulse skipping a beat as she's yanked to him with all the certainty of gravity reclaiming something that shouldn't be airborne. Her breath hitches with the shock, then absolutely splits and spills out with his name as his mouth takes her. Her fingers wrap and tighten around the tangible shadows that hold her, not fighting them, but scrabbling for something to hang onto as he drags her relentlessly through pleasure. Her hips buck against his hands, the intensity building into something that's nearly unbearable. "Vesper," she can barely manage the sound through each frantic moan, toes curling behind his head.
He's ready in her grip, and that feel of him—so hot and heavy in her hands, kicking against the contact—it sinks right into her pooling desire until it spills over. Her inhale hits the back of her throat with an aching sound, palms stroking down slow and appreciative as a pulse flutters damp and eager between her thighs. Fuck's sake, her jeans feel like her most cursed possession. "I need you," she breathes, "now."
Her hooded gaze, already coveting ideas of him inside her, shuts for a moment as he buries himself in her chest. Not quite the same part of him she wanted buried, or the same place on her, but the fresh kiss of air on newly exposed skin, along with the subtle prickle of his jawline, still shortens a breath. Gods, how is it that everything he does strums through her like a live wire, as if each nerve is on alert just for him, waiting to hum to his every touch. It leaves her shivering with anticipation, leaning in for every connection that grazes past, utterly drawn to him.
It's why it's so sharp when he's suddenly retreating. It's not long, and he doesn't necessarily go far, but it doesn't keep back the sudden wash of cool air that buffets her like the tide, stark against each part of her that had begun to melt against him. Her legs dangle over the edge, horribly devoid of Vesper, and her teeth catch her lower lip in the absence of his. "Wha—" she starts, but doesn't quite finish, not when those dark hands of his slither in and insist she lay horizontal. Her gaze darts from the midnight wisp against her shoulder back to the blue of him, copper confusion dispersing into something knowing.
She obliges and leans back beneath the pressure of darkness, the cold bite of the counter never quite coming with his layer of shadow holding her. Sweet, always sweet in the small ways that matter, and it tugs in her chest as she settles. Her arms are already reaching back to grab for the other side of the counter as her binds slip into place and her name is brandished like a curse and a prayer. The wrecked sound of it shivers against her, a sly spread finding her lips. This is her favorite version of him, the one that she gets to have in these moments, where he's started to let go of being careful and all the less tame sides of him shine through the veneer of control. At that, her heels find the edge of the counter and her knees part in slow but clear invitation. "Take me Ves," she says low and sultry. "I'm yours."
He shucks off her pants with minimal effort, her bare ass squirming for a moment against the edge, and then it's lifted up. Higher than she expected, and her eyes widen with the surprise, pulse skipping a beat as she's yanked to him with all the certainty of gravity reclaiming something that shouldn't be airborne. Her breath hitches with the shock, then absolutely splits and spills out with his name as his mouth takes her. Her fingers wrap and tighten around the tangible shadows that hold her, not fighting them, but scrabbling for something to hang onto as he drags her relentlessly through pleasure. Her hips buck against his hands, the intensity building into something that's nearly unbearable. "Vesper," she can barely manage the sound through each frantic moan, toes curling behind his head.
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.
