Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait
"I knocked!" he tosses back with a similar scandalization. "You said knock if I needed anything, so I did." He says it with all the wounded air of a dog wrongfully stepped on for being underfoot. That he only gave her about one second to respond to his knock before he then barged in hardly seems to matter.
He immediately regrets bringing up the knife again, Flora making it all too real with all the risks and issues at hand. "Aaaaand this is why I'm sticking with icecream over steak as my final answer," he declares with a nervous ruffle of his hand through his hair. Kids is certainly not a topic he wants to piece through right now any more than threesomes.
Grateful for the distraction of her breath and her ass, he leans into that shifting pattern of thought all the harder. Loving her is uncomplicated, even with well laid utensil traps, or maybe because of them. It's easy to relish the feel of her, to savor each embrace and keep every kiss. It's more than the heat buried beneath a plush robe though, it's each moment gilded in laughter that weaves effortlessly inbetween, soft and fierce. It's happiness distilled, unlike any he's ever known, and which dwarfs the sort he imagined.
He keeps the shell of her like a prize, though his gaze follows her slow steps as she slips away, appreciative of the sight every time. The shape of her sags out of the fabric in his hands. He twirls it over his back, sleeves dangling from his shoulders, turning it into a makeshift cape. "You're adding extras to your flavor," he admonishes with a sharpened edge to his smile, one that matches his eyes, their attention fixated on tracing the pattern of her lace like he could satiate his hunger for her via design. "I'll let it slide," he declares with all the weight of a Roman emperor's thumb held out before the gladiators at the colloseum. "This time," he adds with a growing spread to his smirk, gaze running languidly up the curves of her to set back on her sea glass stare. Vanilla is best to build additions onto, giving the most flexibility for change.
He steps forward, one hand directing her with a spread against the small of her back. "Alright vanilla-maple-shell," he murmurs, glancing sidelong at her, utterly fond. "If you'd please lay out again, I'll get you started for your next appointment, you can have the ice cream during your pedicure." His other arm sweeps towards the makeshift massage table again, fresh towels laid out, clean of clay. "At Spa de Wildering we aim to please, so we have an entire two flavor selection today. Strawberry or salted caramel?" Unless she had a private stash of ice cream he didn't know about.
He immediately regrets bringing up the knife again, Flora making it all too real with all the risks and issues at hand. "Aaaaand this is why I'm sticking with icecream over steak as my final answer," he declares with a nervous ruffle of his hand through his hair. Kids is certainly not a topic he wants to piece through right now any more than threesomes.
Grateful for the distraction of her breath and her ass, he leans into that shifting pattern of thought all the harder. Loving her is uncomplicated, even with well laid utensil traps, or maybe because of them. It's easy to relish the feel of her, to savor each embrace and keep every kiss. It's more than the heat buried beneath a plush robe though, it's each moment gilded in laughter that weaves effortlessly inbetween, soft and fierce. It's happiness distilled, unlike any he's ever known, and which dwarfs the sort he imagined.
He keeps the shell of her like a prize, though his gaze follows her slow steps as she slips away, appreciative of the sight every time. The shape of her sags out of the fabric in his hands. He twirls it over his back, sleeves dangling from his shoulders, turning it into a makeshift cape. "You're adding extras to your flavor," he admonishes with a sharpened edge to his smile, one that matches his eyes, their attention fixated on tracing the pattern of her lace like he could satiate his hunger for her via design. "I'll let it slide," he declares with all the weight of a Roman emperor's thumb held out before the gladiators at the colloseum. "This time," he adds with a growing spread to his smirk, gaze running languidly up the curves of her to set back on her sea glass stare. Vanilla is best to build additions onto, giving the most flexibility for change.
He steps forward, one hand directing her with a spread against the small of her back. "Alright vanilla-maple-shell," he murmurs, glancing sidelong at her, utterly fond. "If you'd please lay out again, I'll get you started for your next appointment, you can have the ice cream during your pedicure." His other arm sweeps towards the makeshift massage table again, fresh towels laid out, clean of clay. "At Spa de Wildering we aim to please, so we have an entire two flavor selection today. Strawberry or salted caramel?" Unless she had a private stash of ice cream he didn't know about.
Kaisel
Got no reason not to celebrate
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
