is this the end of all the endings?
Flora laughs, the sound breathy and tangled in the heat blooming low in her belly. It slips from her like steam, clouded by arousal and the slow, torturous way Kaisel seems to be savouring the undressing of her. Her fingers twitch where they brace behind her, knuckles white with the effort not to yank him closer. "So what, you don’t trust me to wield that kind of power??" she demands, breath hitching as he pulls her sock away. Her gaze drops to him—half-lidded, flushed, and filled with longing. He's right to doubt her of course.
The fact that he doesn’t slide her underwear off with her pants is all the answer she needs to whether or not he is intentionally taking his time with this. Kaisel's restraint is unbearable, delicious, infuriating, and it’s going to be his downfall.
A plan begins forming as he sinks between her thighs, reverent as a disciple, his hands painting heat along her legs. Her breath catches as he yanks her forward, the friction sparking between her thighs, pleasure flaring hot and demanding. But when the most release he gives her is the soft, deliberate press of lips against her breasts—no teeth, no hands, no more—something wicked coils behind her grin. She leans forward, breath shallow, her body humming with want. Fingers tangling back into his muddy hair, she brings her mouth to his ear and murmurs, soft and saccharine, "If all you need are your hands, then so be it."
And then, twist; one of the rings on her fingers flares faintly, and Flora vanishes from sight.
Her hands, however, move swiftly. The button of his pants pops free given she’d toyed with it earlier, and now it yields with ease. Without the reverent ceremony he’s been bestowing upon her, one invisible hand reaches in and frees his cock with startling efficiency, making sure nothing catches, and then with a sudden snap, she yanks both pants and underwear down to his mid-thigh. She leaves him hard, wanting, and untouched.
Payback.
Her laughter is bright and light as wind over waves as she tries to wriggle sideways, slipping like sunlight through the cage of his arms. With her ring still active and his pants hobbling him up, she’s confident she has just enough of a head start—mud or not—to make her escape.
The fact that he doesn’t slide her underwear off with her pants is all the answer she needs to whether or not he is intentionally taking his time with this. Kaisel's restraint is unbearable, delicious, infuriating, and it’s going to be his downfall.
A plan begins forming as he sinks between her thighs, reverent as a disciple, his hands painting heat along her legs. Her breath catches as he yanks her forward, the friction sparking between her thighs, pleasure flaring hot and demanding. But when the most release he gives her is the soft, deliberate press of lips against her breasts—no teeth, no hands, no more—something wicked coils behind her grin. She leans forward, breath shallow, her body humming with want. Fingers tangling back into his muddy hair, she brings her mouth to his ear and murmurs, soft and saccharine, "If all you need are your hands, then so be it."
And then, twist; one of the rings on her fingers flares faintly, and Flora vanishes from sight.
Her hands, however, move swiftly. The button of his pants pops free given she’d toyed with it earlier, and now it yields with ease. Without the reverent ceremony he’s been bestowing upon her, one invisible hand reaches in and frees his cock with startling efficiency, making sure nothing catches, and then with a sudden snap, she yanks both pants and underwear down to his mid-thigh. She leaves him hard, wanting, and untouched.
Payback.
Her laughter is bright and light as wind over waves as she tries to wriggle sideways, slipping like sunlight through the cage of his arms. With her ring still active and his pants hobbling him up, she’s confident she has just enough of a head start—mud or not—to make her escape.
my broken bones are mending
