you can call me honey if you want
Flora grins, wicked and satisfied, as if sealing a deal they never needed to speak aloud, but the mischief that curves her lips is swept away the moment his hands meet her clay-covered skin. The warmth of his body against hers turns her molten from the inside out, desire spilling into every place he touches until her breath is stolen from her altogether. The laughter and the teasing, the mud and the steam, all blur into something singular and all-consuming; the feel of him.
There’s an affection in her as much as there is hunger, not just because he touches her like she’s something worth holding on to, but because he is. She’s never known a man like Kaisel. Everything about him feels rare, not in the way of something breakable or untouchable, but in the way treasure feels when it’s found in the least expected place; half-buried and glinting in sunlight like it’s been waiting just for you. The breadth of his chest beneath her hands is like the answer to a question she hadn’t known she was asking, and the way she fits against him isn’t just easy; it feels inevitable. If there had ever been fear that being with someone who wasn’t in her head would mean something was missing, that touch wouldn’t land quite right or affection might fall short, then that fear dissolves beneath the sweep of his hands and the pressure of his hips. Every place he touches her feels like he already knows how she wants to be held, how she wants to be seen, how she wants to be loved.
Flora gasps against his mouth with every press, every slip of fingers and grind of clay-slicked skin, each moment drawing her further from words and closer to something truer. Her arms wrap tighter around his shoulders and neck, holding herself up as much as holding him close, her body trembling under the weight of it all; want, love, joy, in addition to the ache that sings in her belly like wildfire. Her lips chase his again and again until the desperate need for air forces her to pull back, her mouth parting with a soft, breathless whimper. Even then she doesn't stray far, her forehead pressing to his as she tries to catch her breath, one hand cradling the side of his face, the other curling at the nape of his neck.
The water drips between them and steam curls around her spine like silk, but all Flora can see is the golden flame of his eyes and the way they glow with something that burns just for her. "You’re all that I want," she whispers, the words escaping like a prayer wrapped in reverence and heat, and though they’re laced with hunger, what they carry is so much more than just a craving to be touched.
It’s ridiculous, how hard she’s fallen for him. How fast. How foolish she feels for ever asking for time when all she wants now is to spend that time with him. To waste it shamelessly, to turn it into years, a life, a forever. She’d said she wanted space to breathe, to think, to choose, but now all she wants is morning after morning in his arms and a lifetime of falling asleep to the rise and fall of his chest beside her. He makes joy feel effortless and love feel like the only answer she’s ever known, and if her heart wants to imagine wedding bells ringing like laughter through a sun-drenched hall, well—so what? She’s never loved like this. She’s never been loved like this. How could she not imagine it?
A soft sound slips from her lips, something between a sigh and a moan, and she twists in his arms just enough to shift their balance, her hands gliding over his shoulders and down his chest until her palms settle flat against him. She pushes gently, slowly, eyes locked on his as her breath stutters with anticipation, guiding him step by step until the back of his knees brushes the smooth wooden bench built into the curve of the shower wall.
Flora holds Kaisel's gaze without wavering, her breath still shallow, eyes glowing with the kind of adoration that makes the whole world narrow to the shape of him. Steam beads across his skin like dew on bronze, every drop sliding down muscle and clay and heat until she can no longer help herself. One of her hands trails downward, fingers painting through the mud as if rediscovering a map she already knows by heart. When she reaches the base of his cock, her touch is slow and deliberate, her fingers curling around him with aching restraint. She draws a teasing stroke along his length, her grip confident but unhurried, as if every second she spends touching him is a pleasure to be savoured in and of itself.
There’s an affection in her as much as there is hunger, not just because he touches her like she’s something worth holding on to, but because he is. She’s never known a man like Kaisel. Everything about him feels rare, not in the way of something breakable or untouchable, but in the way treasure feels when it’s found in the least expected place; half-buried and glinting in sunlight like it’s been waiting just for you. The breadth of his chest beneath her hands is like the answer to a question she hadn’t known she was asking, and the way she fits against him isn’t just easy; it feels inevitable. If there had ever been fear that being with someone who wasn’t in her head would mean something was missing, that touch wouldn’t land quite right or affection might fall short, then that fear dissolves beneath the sweep of his hands and the pressure of his hips. Every place he touches her feels like he already knows how she wants to be held, how she wants to be seen, how she wants to be loved.
Flora gasps against his mouth with every press, every slip of fingers and grind of clay-slicked skin, each moment drawing her further from words and closer to something truer. Her arms wrap tighter around his shoulders and neck, holding herself up as much as holding him close, her body trembling under the weight of it all; want, love, joy, in addition to the ache that sings in her belly like wildfire. Her lips chase his again and again until the desperate need for air forces her to pull back, her mouth parting with a soft, breathless whimper. Even then she doesn't stray far, her forehead pressing to his as she tries to catch her breath, one hand cradling the side of his face, the other curling at the nape of his neck.
The water drips between them and steam curls around her spine like silk, but all Flora can see is the golden flame of his eyes and the way they glow with something that burns just for her. "You’re all that I want," she whispers, the words escaping like a prayer wrapped in reverence and heat, and though they’re laced with hunger, what they carry is so much more than just a craving to be touched.
It’s ridiculous, how hard she’s fallen for him. How fast. How foolish she feels for ever asking for time when all she wants now is to spend that time with him. To waste it shamelessly, to turn it into years, a life, a forever. She’d said she wanted space to breathe, to think, to choose, but now all she wants is morning after morning in his arms and a lifetime of falling asleep to the rise and fall of his chest beside her. He makes joy feel effortless and love feel like the only answer she’s ever known, and if her heart wants to imagine wedding bells ringing like laughter through a sun-drenched hall, well—so what? She’s never loved like this. She’s never been loved like this. How could she not imagine it?
A soft sound slips from her lips, something between a sigh and a moan, and she twists in his arms just enough to shift their balance, her hands gliding over his shoulders and down his chest until her palms settle flat against him. She pushes gently, slowly, eyes locked on his as her breath stutters with anticipation, guiding him step by step until the back of his knees brushes the smooth wooden bench built into the curve of the shower wall.
Flora holds Kaisel's gaze without wavering, her breath still shallow, eyes glowing with the kind of adoration that makes the whole world narrow to the shape of him. Steam beads across his skin like dew on bronze, every drop sliding down muscle and clay and heat until she can no longer help herself. One of her hands trails downward, fingers painting through the mud as if rediscovering a map she already knows by heart. When she reaches the base of his cock, her touch is slow and deliberate, her fingers curling around him with aching restraint. She draws a teasing stroke along his length, her grip confident but unhurried, as if every second she spends touching him is a pleasure to be savoured in and of itself.
