melita
His response initiated a feral grin across her lips, enough boldness, enough daring, to provoke and needle, entice and lure. Most of her mind dearly hoped he’d make due on the conviction, body already quite willing to succumb to melting and pleasure, and in turn, do the same to him. Another challenge contorted its way through her mind, a gloating sort of measure that centered in her hooded gaze the moment he shuddered beneath her touch – wondering who could come undone faster, if she could make him unraveled in her hands. She rather enjoyed watching his facial expressions change, his hips tilting towards her – so she started again, a light touch, before a streamlined caress, wanting to hear him, see him –
It might not have mattered then though, because then there was more skin on skin and she could feel every stroke of their flesh with a seditious elation; pursuing the rush of pleasure as her breasts brushed against his chest or he leaned into her. The moment his fingers slid down into her core, her legs instinctively spread, widening to give and grant as the indulgence filled her – finding the desire making her tip forward, trying to take him in, head leaning on massive shoulders while mewls and echoes of encouragement rasped through hisses. “Yes,” lingered on agreement as her body ached and shuddered, simplicity in the persuasion and urgency, granted pants and pleas for more that didn’t quite make it out into syllables or strains. She’d forgotten her whole game within half an instant, and even more so as his lips found hers and stole the moan from her throat, in the rush to find and take and not yet yield.
salvation doesn't look like light
