is this the end of all the endings?
Flora flashes him a smile that's utterly wicked, brimming with heat and challenge. "Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way to rise to the challenge," she purrs, the word curling off her tongue like smoke, daring and delighted all at once.
As his hands slide down the small of her back, she rises onto her toes to press herself more fully into his grasp. His palms bracket around her like the world might just end at the edges of his fingers, like if he holds her close enough they’ll dissolve into something singular and blinding together. The press of his skin, the strength of his hold—it’s grounding and dizzying all at once—and she revels in the way he touches her like she’s something sacred and wild in equal measure.
The look he gives her then, gods. It sends a flush blooming across her throat and chest, heat rippling through her in a wave of wanting that doesn’t crest so much as break. Being wanted by Kaisel feels molten, fluid, as if his gaze alone pours down her spine and pools low in her belly. It’s not just heat; it’s current, lightning, the kind of electricity that makes her want to race through every layer of clothing and caution until he’s inside her and all the tension finally snaps. But it’s also the kind of wanting that makes her ache to savour it, slow and reverent, peeling back the layers of arousal until only the core of them remains, bare and golden and trembling.
Flora sinks down onto one of the cushions, rain-washed and still slightly sun-warmed beneath her. Stretching her leg out toward him with a teasing tilt of her ankle, she watches him through lowered lashes, her other foot already twisting inside its boot in an effort to coax it loose. "Maybe for your birthday," she says, voice a breathy hum, "I’ll get you something that magically removes our clothes." The grin that follows is all teeth and hunger, because it wouldn't be a gift for him so much as for her.
As his hands slide down the small of her back, she rises onto her toes to press herself more fully into his grasp. His palms bracket around her like the world might just end at the edges of his fingers, like if he holds her close enough they’ll dissolve into something singular and blinding together. The press of his skin, the strength of his hold—it’s grounding and dizzying all at once—and she revels in the way he touches her like she’s something sacred and wild in equal measure.
The look he gives her then, gods. It sends a flush blooming across her throat and chest, heat rippling through her in a wave of wanting that doesn’t crest so much as break. Being wanted by Kaisel feels molten, fluid, as if his gaze alone pours down her spine and pools low in her belly. It’s not just heat; it’s current, lightning, the kind of electricity that makes her want to race through every layer of clothing and caution until he’s inside her and all the tension finally snaps. But it’s also the kind of wanting that makes her ache to savour it, slow and reverent, peeling back the layers of arousal until only the core of them remains, bare and golden and trembling.
Flora sinks down onto one of the cushions, rain-washed and still slightly sun-warmed beneath her. Stretching her leg out toward him with a teasing tilt of her ankle, she watches him through lowered lashes, her other foot already twisting inside its boot in an effort to coax it loose. "Maybe for your birthday," she says, voice a breathy hum, "I’ll get you something that magically removes our clothes." The grin that follows is all teeth and hunger, because it wouldn't be a gift for him so much as for her.
my broken bones are mending
