COLT
I've been sleeping wide awake
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
What a waste it is, wearing them both thin trying to hold him back. Because once she lets him in, it's always effortless. He just fits, and for as long as he remains, nothing could be simpler. It's not just when they burn like this, though it's easy to ignite off him when a look is spark enough; it's everything. Each moment Vesper touches turns silver, and she has never wanted for gold.
The sinful things his hand says to her as it slides across her stomach doesn't bear repeating beyond this couch. Each inch he claims sends a murmur of gossip rippling through her nerves until even her toes are bashful from it. Anticipation glides along with him, head tipping back, gaze tearing away at last as she gives in to feeling him completely. Without sight, everything grows taut, straining for his attention and the heat that blooms beneath it. In the wake of his motions, skin tingles as it cools, the memory of him fading to embers.
Her breath rolls into a moan as his palm finds a seat against her breast, fresh heat pouring down her spine until it's arching up into the conversation too, a physical gasp in response to the touch of his fingers along her nipple. His mouth finds hers, the exhale of his arousal scorching into her chest, stronger than any shot. It tears through the start of his name, forcing her to sip it back in, the curl of her body outcry enough.
She keeps a seal on his lips, chasing the bruise of his breath again, a brief pursuit before she tips into the side of his cheek to keep from entirely suffocating on this need. All the while her hands slide down his abdomen, nails leaving mild tracks as they drift lower. They fold into the waistband of his pants, tugging as her leg bears down on him, hips rolling up to meet his simultaneously. A groan shakes past her teeth at the jolt of the connection, pulse fluttering like something that means to combust if struck again. Her leg slides off him, leaving just the angle of her knees pressing in on either side of him, and her fingers yank the button of his pants apart.
Her questions have gone quiet, but he's still answering them, writing each one into her skin. Every fierce pass of his lips, each possessive curl of his hands, the shudder of his breath tangled with hers—they're all the proof she needs. If only she could remember them all before they fade into the cold of his absence. Gods know she's trying to.
The sinful things his hand says to her as it slides across her stomach doesn't bear repeating beyond this couch. Each inch he claims sends a murmur of gossip rippling through her nerves until even her toes are bashful from it. Anticipation glides along with him, head tipping back, gaze tearing away at last as she gives in to feeling him completely. Without sight, everything grows taut, straining for his attention and the heat that blooms beneath it. In the wake of his motions, skin tingles as it cools, the memory of him fading to embers.
Her breath rolls into a moan as his palm finds a seat against her breast, fresh heat pouring down her spine until it's arching up into the conversation too, a physical gasp in response to the touch of his fingers along her nipple. His mouth finds hers, the exhale of his arousal scorching into her chest, stronger than any shot. It tears through the start of his name, forcing her to sip it back in, the curl of her body outcry enough.
She keeps a seal on his lips, chasing the bruise of his breath again, a brief pursuit before she tips into the side of his cheek to keep from entirely suffocating on this need. All the while her hands slide down his abdomen, nails leaving mild tracks as they drift lower. They fold into the waistband of his pants, tugging as her leg bears down on him, hips rolling up to meet his simultaneously. A groan shakes past her teeth at the jolt of the connection, pulse fluttering like something that means to combust if struck again. Her leg slides off him, leaving just the angle of her knees pressing in on either side of him, and her fingers yank the button of his pants apart.
Her questions have gone quiet, but he's still answering them, writing each one into her skin. Every fierce pass of his lips, each possessive curl of his hands, the shudder of his breath tangled with hers—they're all the proof she needs. If only she could remember them all before they fade into the cold of his absence. Gods know she's trying to.
I'm tired of running from the conversations
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
