i can make the badguys good for a weekend
Charlie shifts on the counter until she’s comfortable, legs settling across Jack's shoulders not for show but because it lets her feel everything more fully. She isn’t interested in being arranged like decoration if it dulls her pleasure, and once she finds the angle that suits her, she relaxes into it with a low, satisfied sound, fire whispering brighter along her skin.
Whatever she expected, it wasn’t this immediate sense of being read. For all the lovers she’s known—demi-gods, mortals, the brilliant and the clumsy alike—there is usually a moment of calibration, a slow circling until they find the rhythm that lets her really sink into it. With Jack, that hesitation barely exists; almost at once, heat coils tight along the backs of her thighs and pools low and molten in her belly, bright and insistent, drawing a sharp breath from her lips.
Her fingers slide up to her chest, pushing aside the cup of her bra just enough to catch at one nipple, pinching in time with the steady, knowing pace he sets. Pleasure crackles through her like a bonfire catching dry wood, sparks leaping and climbing higher with every breath she draws, every subtle shift of her hips that asks for more without a word. Charlie laughs softly, breathless and delighted, head tipping back as fire flares warmly at her shoulders. "I can’t wait," she murmurs, voice thick with promise and heat, "to see what you can do with more than just your tongue." Her tail tightens its coil, encouraging and possessive all at once, a demand for him to continue.
Whatever she expected, it wasn’t this immediate sense of being read. For all the lovers she’s known—demi-gods, mortals, the brilliant and the clumsy alike—there is usually a moment of calibration, a slow circling until they find the rhythm that lets her really sink into it. With Jack, that hesitation barely exists; almost at once, heat coils tight along the backs of her thighs and pools low and molten in her belly, bright and insistent, drawing a sharp breath from her lips.
Her fingers slide up to her chest, pushing aside the cup of her bra just enough to catch at one nipple, pinching in time with the steady, knowing pace he sets. Pleasure crackles through her like a bonfire catching dry wood, sparks leaping and climbing higher with every breath she draws, every subtle shift of her hips that asks for more without a word. Charlie laughs softly, breathless and delighted, head tipping back as fire flares warmly at her shoulders. "I can’t wait," she murmurs, voice thick with promise and heat, "to see what you can do with more than just your tongue." Her tail tightens its coil, encouraging and possessive all at once, a demand for him to continue.
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Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
