Need a hundred lifetimes kinda love
Shivers spark behind the scrape of her nails, the sensation rolling up and over his head like he's dunked it into ice water. In response, his smile flushes wide against her body, nerves prickling individually to her touch. All it takes is the curl of her fingers to feel a full body tingle, and he'd have it no other way. A La Croix style chuckle rolls below her ear and gets tangled in her hair and the fabric of her hat as her warning lands with as much threat as a toothless dog behind a fence. "That's a good thing, since I intend to unwrap you next," his voice slips out sly, barely registering above a whisper, the low heat of breath the main presence between them for now. Below, his hands have found the lace to be resilient, tugging in against her skin instead of yielding even one stitch, as deceptively strong as the woman wearing it.
He doesn't fight the retreat she makes, but instead lets her spill from his grip to the counter, gaze tracking her with a predatory focus that insists releasing her had been to his benefit. There's no real spine to the shake of her head and the distance she tries to put down, not when she's glowing rosy and has dressed herself up in something so holey the church ought to be missing it about now.
This keen focus has his eyes sliding down with the line of her hand, the corner of his lips tightening as one finger scoops up a miniature cloud of sugar. The motion of that finger curling is enough to make an echo of feeling ghost up his scalp again. This is quickly drowned out by the fresh roar of heat that rises up from his gut when she pops that finger in her mouth and withdraws it slow. His gaze widens subtly, and a pulse ticks down in his pants. "That's it," he declares suddenly, as if she's just toed past a line they'd already set up beforehand. The you-can-only-do-so-many-sexy-things-before-I-lose-it line. He pounces around the counter towards her, and whether he captures her now or ends up in a chase, he means to get his hands on her, all over her. "You're mine."
He doesn't fight the retreat she makes, but instead lets her spill from his grip to the counter, gaze tracking her with a predatory focus that insists releasing her had been to his benefit. There's no real spine to the shake of her head and the distance she tries to put down, not when she's glowing rosy and has dressed herself up in something so holey the church ought to be missing it about now.
This keen focus has his eyes sliding down with the line of her hand, the corner of his lips tightening as one finger scoops up a miniature cloud of sugar. The motion of that finger curling is enough to make an echo of feeling ghost up his scalp again. This is quickly drowned out by the fresh roar of heat that rises up from his gut when she pops that finger in her mouth and withdraws it slow. His gaze widens subtly, and a pulse ticks down in his pants. "That's it," he declares suddenly, as if she's just toed past a line they'd already set up beforehand. The you-can-only-do-so-many-sexy-things-before-I-lose-it line. He pounces around the counter towards her, and whether he captures her now or ends up in a chase, he means to get his hands on her, all over her. "You're mine."
Kaisel
I could say forever, but forever ain't long enough
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
