flora
Flora doesn’t want to be needlessly cruel and grate against Kai's ego, and so when he guides her hand more deliberately over the swell of his bicep, her fingers respond with an appreciative squeeze. Her eyes widen, her mouth parting in theatrical delight as if she’s only just now discovered the true source of his strength. "Ohhh," she exhales, drawing the word out with mock reverence before flashing him a wicked grin. "Those muscles." Without waiting for a retort, she leans down and rewards his effort with a kiss far too brief to be fair, her lips barely brushing his before she pulls back, clearly pleased with herself.
She feels his gaze dip, heat sweeping over her skin like the sun cracking through cloud cover, and her laugh slips loose, velvet and victorious. There’s something deeply satisfying about reducing him to a wordless gape, his hands still holding her like she’s something priceless and wild, as if speaking might break the spell between them. Her hips shift in subtle rhythm beneath his touch, body humming with the electric hush of closeness, and she hums against the curve of his jaw, her breath warm as she murmurs, "Another time, maybe."
She means to nestle her cheek against his chest, to let herself be held and folded into the cradle of warmth and safety he offers so instinctively, but the flicker of emotion across his face catches her instead. It’s in the way his brows draw ever so slightly, the shape of his mouth faltering beneath the weight of his thoughts, the kind of softness that doesn't quite sit still but shifts like wind over water, revealing depths she hasn't yet dared to name. His features—so familiar now in their handsomeness—hold her gaze not because of symmetry or sharpness, but because of the way they move when he’s feeling too much. That subtle dip at the corner of his mouth when guilt rises; the flicker of determination that hardens his jaw when he decides to act; the gentle storm in his eyes that always seems to break just for her. She watches him the way she might watch the tide pull back before something vast comes rushing in, equal parts reverence and unease, wondering what piece of him she’ll see next.
When he speaks, it takes her a second to follow, his words slow to land amidst the current of her thoughts. Her hand pauses where it rests against his cheek, the press of her palm tender, instinctive. "What?" she breathes, the word almost a sigh as her lashes flick up to meet his. Shifting, she peels herself upright, straddling him now with legs loosely bracketing his sides, the delicate lace of her underwear catching lightly against the sequinned rise of his borrowed gown where their hips come together. Her hands settle against his chest—not to push away, never that—but just to hold him still long enough that she might make sense of what he’s saying. His expression is open, determined, yet the shape of it offers no clarity.
"I gave it to her," Flora says at last, the words quiet, almost uncertain in their own finality. Her head shakes slowly, a small motion that sends a golden curl sliding across her collarbone. "In writing, even. We can’t just...take it back." Her gaze flicks down toward where her palms rest against his sternum, as if the truth might be tucked somewhere beneath his ribs, waiting to be found. "Not without a fight, anyway." After everything that had happened with Flora driving her father away and now stealing Kai, as that's likely how it would look and feel, Flora thought it was a fight Caly would quite happily rise to if given the chance.
She feels his gaze dip, heat sweeping over her skin like the sun cracking through cloud cover, and her laugh slips loose, velvet and victorious. There’s something deeply satisfying about reducing him to a wordless gape, his hands still holding her like she’s something priceless and wild, as if speaking might break the spell between them. Her hips shift in subtle rhythm beneath his touch, body humming with the electric hush of closeness, and she hums against the curve of his jaw, her breath warm as she murmurs, "Another time, maybe."
She means to nestle her cheek against his chest, to let herself be held and folded into the cradle of warmth and safety he offers so instinctively, but the flicker of emotion across his face catches her instead. It’s in the way his brows draw ever so slightly, the shape of his mouth faltering beneath the weight of his thoughts, the kind of softness that doesn't quite sit still but shifts like wind over water, revealing depths she hasn't yet dared to name. His features—so familiar now in their handsomeness—hold her gaze not because of symmetry or sharpness, but because of the way they move when he’s feeling too much. That subtle dip at the corner of his mouth when guilt rises; the flicker of determination that hardens his jaw when he decides to act; the gentle storm in his eyes that always seems to break just for her. She watches him the way she might watch the tide pull back before something vast comes rushing in, equal parts reverence and unease, wondering what piece of him she’ll see next.
When he speaks, it takes her a second to follow, his words slow to land amidst the current of her thoughts. Her hand pauses where it rests against his cheek, the press of her palm tender, instinctive. "What?" she breathes, the word almost a sigh as her lashes flick up to meet his. Shifting, she peels herself upright, straddling him now with legs loosely bracketing his sides, the delicate lace of her underwear catching lightly against the sequinned rise of his borrowed gown where their hips come together. Her hands settle against his chest—not to push away, never that—but just to hold him still long enough that she might make sense of what he’s saying. His expression is open, determined, yet the shape of it offers no clarity.
"I gave it to her," Flora says at last, the words quiet, almost uncertain in their own finality. Her head shakes slowly, a small motion that sends a golden curl sliding across her collarbone. "In writing, even. We can’t just...take it back." Her gaze flicks down toward where her palms rest against his sternum, as if the truth might be tucked somewhere beneath his ribs, waiting to be found. "Not without a fight, anyway." After everything that had happened with Flora driving her father away and now stealing Kai, as that's likely how it would look and feel, Flora thought it was a fight Caly would quite happily rise to if given the chance.
lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all
it isn't what you and I are at all
