you can call me honey if you want
"Is that so?" she murmurs, her brow arching high with amusement and suspicion both, though the smile that stretches across her mouth betrays the game. "Noted," she adds with mock solemnity, letting her eyes flutter shut again as the cucumbers settle into place like tiny masks for her secrets. The light behind her lids turns warm and gold, like pressed flowers caught between the pages of a book, and she sighs softly as her focus begins to drift inward, attuning to the quiet shift of air and movement that reveals where Kaisel is in the room without needing her eyes. The way the boards creak, the subtle hush of fabric, the muted chime of water against porcelain.
A laugh curls from her throat as she breathes out, "I wasn’t a matchmaker. People just tend to fall in love at my parties." One arm stretches languidly along the chair, while the other lifts, fingers blindly searching until she peels one cucumber slice up with a mischievous little smirk. Peeking at him from behind it, her expression is half-shy, half-knowing. "I kissed you at my last party," she reminds him, as if the memory doesn’t already live in both of their bones, however innocently it had been at the time and however confusing things had been for a while after. Her voice softens as she replaces the cucumber and lays back into the chair’s embrace. It had just been stupid and flirty and reckless, but Flora had wanted to see what it would feel like, and emboldened by liquor and the fact that it was her night, she had.
The quiet hum that follows his question is all indulgence, warm and airy, but it’s immediately chased by a sharp gasp as his mouth closes around her nipple. She arches toward the heat of him instinctively, lips parted in surprise and pleasure, a flush beginning to bloom across her chest like sunrise spilling across tide-warmed sand. The shiver that rolls through her is uncontained, and her mouth twists into a crooked grin even as her breath stutters. "Apparently I should’ve read the contract more carefully," she mutters, her voice huskier now, edges frayed with want as his kisses trail down the length of her belly.
When Kaisel's hands settle at her hips, a fresh wave of heat pools low in her stomach, and he’ll feel it in the way her muscles tense beneath his palms; the anticipatory flex, the held breath, the subtle tremor of effort as her body tries to guess his next move. The slide of cloth masks nothing; her tension is a pulse, a living rhythm beneath his touch. She swallows hard, her voice rougher as she admits, "They probably did have services like this." Her laugh is shallow and faint, nearly swallowed by a breathy sigh. "But I mostly only went when I was upset, so.." She'd more been looking to cry in her mother's arm rather than be fucked by some random stranger with too much massage oil.
Flora's breath catches again as he shifts to her leg, the cloth tracing down the inside of her thigh like a whisper with weight. She doesn’t mean to moan—she’s trying to be clever, trying to be casual, even now—but when his fingers press against her clit in that brief, maddening tease, her body answers before her mind can catch up. The sound that escapes her is raw and honest, her back arcing slightly as his name breaks from her lips like it’s the only thing she has left. "Kai—" she gasps, reaching blindly, her hand groping for anything solid to anchor herself to, him most of all.
Even as he trails the towel along the sole of her foot in mock innocence, her toes flex, her ankle twisting; not from ticklishness, but in disbelief at her own restraint. Her voice is thick with arousal, threaded through with disbelief and hunger alike, as she growls, "I’m pretty sure there was nothing in your contract about being tortured."
A laugh curls from her throat as she breathes out, "I wasn’t a matchmaker. People just tend to fall in love at my parties." One arm stretches languidly along the chair, while the other lifts, fingers blindly searching until she peels one cucumber slice up with a mischievous little smirk. Peeking at him from behind it, her expression is half-shy, half-knowing. "I kissed you at my last party," she reminds him, as if the memory doesn’t already live in both of their bones, however innocently it had been at the time and however confusing things had been for a while after. Her voice softens as she replaces the cucumber and lays back into the chair’s embrace. It had just been stupid and flirty and reckless, but Flora had wanted to see what it would feel like, and emboldened by liquor and the fact that it was her night, she had.
The quiet hum that follows his question is all indulgence, warm and airy, but it’s immediately chased by a sharp gasp as his mouth closes around her nipple. She arches toward the heat of him instinctively, lips parted in surprise and pleasure, a flush beginning to bloom across her chest like sunrise spilling across tide-warmed sand. The shiver that rolls through her is uncontained, and her mouth twists into a crooked grin even as her breath stutters. "Apparently I should’ve read the contract more carefully," she mutters, her voice huskier now, edges frayed with want as his kisses trail down the length of her belly.
When Kaisel's hands settle at her hips, a fresh wave of heat pools low in her stomach, and he’ll feel it in the way her muscles tense beneath his palms; the anticipatory flex, the held breath, the subtle tremor of effort as her body tries to guess his next move. The slide of cloth masks nothing; her tension is a pulse, a living rhythm beneath his touch. She swallows hard, her voice rougher as she admits, "They probably did have services like this." Her laugh is shallow and faint, nearly swallowed by a breathy sigh. "But I mostly only went when I was upset, so.." She'd more been looking to cry in her mother's arm rather than be fucked by some random stranger with too much massage oil.
Flora's breath catches again as he shifts to her leg, the cloth tracing down the inside of her thigh like a whisper with weight. She doesn’t mean to moan—she’s trying to be clever, trying to be casual, even now—but when his fingers press against her clit in that brief, maddening tease, her body answers before her mind can catch up. The sound that escapes her is raw and honest, her back arcing slightly as his name breaks from her lips like it’s the only thing she has left. "Kai—" she gasps, reaching blindly, her hand groping for anything solid to anchor herself to, him most of all.
Even as he trails the towel along the sole of her foot in mock innocence, her toes flex, her ankle twisting; not from ticklishness, but in disbelief at her own restraint. Her voice is thick with arousal, threaded through with disbelief and hunger alike, as she growls, "I’m pretty sure there was nothing in your contract about being tortured."
