melita
Any and all apprehension Melita had felt was long-gone; these were ambitious, persistent waters, insistent on the chase and the zeal and the fervor. It was all boldness now, clearer still. She knew what she wanted – cravings and desires and yearnings were the easier part. The layers in between were finely stoked though, on rushes of laughter or the incessant need, building and brewing and demanding; an urgent, incessant longing starting low in her core and rising along her ribcage, her skin, her flesh, her bone, her soul, with each current of their movements.
The appetite wasn’t nearly sated anyway; though she leaned back into the pillar of rock behind her as his hand rolled along her breast, pushing her chest upwards to feel, to receive, more and more. An eager little moan contorted out of her, followed by another rushing laugh to go alongside, spine arching, sinuous designs and effects of hunting down their inevitable rush. His mouth maneuvering along her neck though, coinciding with the raised stubble puckering at her skin, unfurled another groan of pleasure, a hiss between her lips. She half-intended to mark him too, with her mouth or nails or something – the plot was lost the moment his hips moved into hers. “Teaaaaase,” came on a long-winded drawl, as if she’d forgotten to take a breath, the ghost of another moan continuing as she ground down against him, purposeful, given the glint in her eye –
She scarcely noticed the sparks and the smoke though; not when he was already tugging off his shirt and she had more access to his chest, the course of his muscles, the shape of his arms. ”Yes,” lingered within an uttered sibilance, like she’d won a prize. In lustful admiration her hooded gaze swept over him again, leaning forward so her mouth could slide along his collarbone – but no sooner was he stripping her away, dress rippling across her body, off and away. She shuddered once or twice as the air ghosted over her; but then he was there, and suddenly very much immersed in his actions, trying to replicate it for both of them. So her hands wound their way down his abdomen, fingers tugging at his waistband of his pants.
salvation doesn't look like light
