your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
"La ruggine," Flora repeats mock-sweetly, dragging the consonants with exaggerated flourish that makes it sound less like a correction and more like a spell she intends to cast on whoever dares mansplain her mangled curses. Which, to be fair, is exactly the energy she’s aiming for.
It’s a good thing—a very good thing—that she doesn’t catch Kaisel looking at her the way he is. If she had, she might’ve called a time-out on dinner entirely, marched everyone out of her haunted, helpful little house, because there’s only so much she can take of Kaisel without demanding a taste. And the way he’s looking, gods, if her eyes met his right now, there’d be no coming back from it.
Instead, she turns her focus to the not-so-subtle silence unfolding between her parents, brow arched just slightly at the way they’re clearly speaking in that cosy, invisible way of theirs. She’s about to tease them for it—something about domestic telepathy and overboiling the rice—when the parchment in her pocket warms like a breath against her hip.
She fishes it out with the ease of someone who knows it’s going to wreck her, and oh, it does. She reads the words written there, and then stops reading entirely, because the words vanish behind the sudden flicker of memory-not-memory: Kai’s apron on the ground, her hips bare beneath his touch, the heat of his palms skimming over her waist as he lifts her, sets her down on the countertop, the way her legs wrap around him, the press of his cock—
She blinks, breath catches, and her cheeks flare in tandem with the bright flare of heat in her core. Her fingers tighten reflexively against the countertop, nails digging slightly into the edge as she forcibly reins herself in. She doesn’t look at him—won’t—because if she does, she might climb him like a jungle gym.
Clearing her throat, Flora says—casually, like she isn’t halfway to combusting—"I got some really good deals at the market earlier today." The words land light and breezy, but her tone is anything but. It’s a promise and a dare and a reminder of the phrase they’ve come up with for precisely these sorts of situations. She might not be able to touch him right now., but if he’s going to put those kinds of images in her head with family in the room, she’s going to make damn sure he suffers equally.
It’s a good thing—a very good thing—that she doesn’t catch Kaisel looking at her the way he is. If she had, she might’ve called a time-out on dinner entirely, marched everyone out of her haunted, helpful little house, because there’s only so much she can take of Kaisel without demanding a taste. And the way he’s looking, gods, if her eyes met his right now, there’d be no coming back from it.
Instead, she turns her focus to the not-so-subtle silence unfolding between her parents, brow arched just slightly at the way they’re clearly speaking in that cosy, invisible way of theirs. She’s about to tease them for it—something about domestic telepathy and overboiling the rice—when the parchment in her pocket warms like a breath against her hip.
She fishes it out with the ease of someone who knows it’s going to wreck her, and oh, it does. She reads the words written there, and then stops reading entirely, because the words vanish behind the sudden flicker of memory-not-memory: Kai’s apron on the ground, her hips bare beneath his touch, the heat of his palms skimming over her waist as he lifts her, sets her down on the countertop, the way her legs wrap around him, the press of his cock—
She blinks, breath catches, and her cheeks flare in tandem with the bright flare of heat in her core. Her fingers tighten reflexively against the countertop, nails digging slightly into the edge as she forcibly reins herself in. She doesn’t look at him—won’t—because if she does, she might climb him like a jungle gym.
Clearing her throat, Flora says—casually, like she isn’t halfway to combusting—"I got some really good deals at the market earlier today." The words land light and breezy, but her tone is anything but. It’s a promise and a dare and a reminder of the phrase they’ve come up with for precisely these sorts of situations. She might not be able to touch him right now., but if he’s going to put those kinds of images in her head with family in the room, she’s going to make damn sure he suffers equally.
