we show off our different scarlet letters
Flora bites down on her lower lip, laughter bubbling up bright and unrestrained as she watches him flop dramatically into the sand. "Well," she says, shoulders rising in a half-shrug, "you did tell me your plan. I figured you wouldn’t last the first night without stealing me away, soo..." The look she gives him is all teasing indulgence, the kind reserved for a man she adores too much to ever properly scold.
When he rolls his eyes at her, it only makes her grin wider. She leans forward slightly, curling a hand lazily across his chest. "You can stay home if you want," she murmurs, "I don't mind being the strong one in the relationship." The feigned arrogance only lasts a moment before she gasps, clutching at her chest in mock horror. "Wait. My attempts to be quiet in the mornings didn’t work?" Her lashes flutter theatrically, the sound of her laughter wrapping warm around them both. She leans in until her face is just above his, whispering against his cheek as she brushes the tips of her lashes there in butterfly kisses, syrupy sweet and sing-song soft. "Guess I'll just have to try harder," she promises in a voice that is pure mischief, rolling her hips against his to underline the lie.
"Ditto" might sound childish or lazy, the kind of word tossed out when someone can’t think of anything better to say, but gods, it’s the only word that even comes close to holding what Flora feels when she looks at him. Because how do you tell someone like Kaisel—this man, all warmth and wildfire—that he’s become the axis around which your joy spins? That his laugh is the easiest kind of addiction, that the way he moves (effortless, like the world simply agrees to make room for him) makes her stomach flip every single time? There’s no poetry big enough for that. So she says "ditto" and hopes he hears everything she can’t fit inside the word; the ache of admiration, the dizzy awe of being loved by someone who’s so alive he might set the air itself to trembling. Every part of him makes her love him more: the easy grin that melts her guard, the stupid jokes, the gentleness tucked inside all that swagger. The more she sees of him, the more she realises there isn’t a limit to how far she can fall. As Katy in Mean Girls realized, the limit does not exist.
The thought barely has time to settle before his hands close around her arms, and she only manages a startled, "Kai—!" before the world flips. Her hips lift, her balance gives, and suddenly the soldier has wriggled free and spun behind her. The night bursts into laughter and warm surprise as he tugs at her trousers, baring the curve of her ass with all the triumph of a thief unveiling treasure.
Laughing breathlessly, she wriggles her way out of the rest of her clothes, the soft scrape of fabric giving way to bare skin glowing under the firelight. The candles floating offshore cast ripples of gold and blue across her, chasing over the smooth lines of her body, highlighting every curve. The flush across her cheeks can’t be seen through the warm haze of light, but it hums through her, an answering warmth to the fire behind her and the gaze she feels burning into her skin.
Her eyes sweep over him, slow and appreciative, voice lowering into something sultry and amused all at once. "Now who’s far too clothed?" she hums, tilting her head with a grin that promises trouble, her curls tumbling wild and gilded around her shoulders.
When he rolls his eyes at her, it only makes her grin wider. She leans forward slightly, curling a hand lazily across his chest. "You can stay home if you want," she murmurs, "I don't mind being the strong one in the relationship." The feigned arrogance only lasts a moment before she gasps, clutching at her chest in mock horror. "Wait. My attempts to be quiet in the mornings didn’t work?" Her lashes flutter theatrically, the sound of her laughter wrapping warm around them both. She leans in until her face is just above his, whispering against his cheek as she brushes the tips of her lashes there in butterfly kisses, syrupy sweet and sing-song soft. "Guess I'll just have to try harder," she promises in a voice that is pure mischief, rolling her hips against his to underline the lie.
"Ditto" might sound childish or lazy, the kind of word tossed out when someone can’t think of anything better to say, but gods, it’s the only word that even comes close to holding what Flora feels when she looks at him. Because how do you tell someone like Kaisel—this man, all warmth and wildfire—that he’s become the axis around which your joy spins? That his laugh is the easiest kind of addiction, that the way he moves (effortless, like the world simply agrees to make room for him) makes her stomach flip every single time? There’s no poetry big enough for that. So she says "ditto" and hopes he hears everything she can’t fit inside the word; the ache of admiration, the dizzy awe of being loved by someone who’s so alive he might set the air itself to trembling. Every part of him makes her love him more: the easy grin that melts her guard, the stupid jokes, the gentleness tucked inside all that swagger. The more she sees of him, the more she realises there isn’t a limit to how far she can fall. As Katy in Mean Girls realized, the limit does not exist.
The thought barely has time to settle before his hands close around her arms, and she only manages a startled, "Kai—!" before the world flips. Her hips lift, her balance gives, and suddenly the soldier has wriggled free and spun behind her. The night bursts into laughter and warm surprise as he tugs at her trousers, baring the curve of her ass with all the triumph of a thief unveiling treasure.
Laughing breathlessly, she wriggles her way out of the rest of her clothes, the soft scrape of fabric giving way to bare skin glowing under the firelight. The candles floating offshore cast ripples of gold and blue across her, chasing over the smooth lines of her body, highlighting every curve. The flush across her cheeks can’t be seen through the warm haze of light, but it hums through her, an answering warmth to the fire behind her and the gaze she feels burning into her skin.
Her eyes sweep over him, slow and appreciative, voice lowering into something sultry and amused all at once. "Now who’s far too clothed?" she hums, tilting her head with a grin that promises trouble, her curls tumbling wild and gilded around her shoulders.
