I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings
The sound of his laughter against her and the low promise threaded through it sends heat rushing through Flora so fast it feels almost dizzying, desire blooming vivid and undeniable beneath her skin as every word he murmurs seems to settle directly into her body rather than her ears. Her thoughts scatter in the wake of it, imagination catching on the idea of him unwrapping her, leaving her to wonder breathlessly for a moment how he'd do it. Would it be with slow, deliberate care, fingers tracing and untying every length of silk as though she were some too-expensive gift where the wrapping was as much a part of the gift as what was inside? Or, like a child on Christmas morning, she could just as easily imagine the far more reckless possibility of him tearing into the lace with hungry impatience, too eager to wait, too intent on the moment to pause for anything else. The contrast makes her breath hitch, anticipation coiling tight and bright in her belly until she can feel it everywhere, an electric warmth that has her leaning instinctively toward him even before he moves.
When he comes around the counter, instead of retreating like she normally might, she reaches out and grips the collar of his sweater and the trailing length of his violet scarf, tugging him forward until his warmth presses flush against her, the contact sparking through her with a sharp, delighted shiver. The thought of staying here, of torn lace and her hands braced against the counter, surrounded by sugar and shattered sweetness and chaos, flickers briefly through her mind, but the growl of his claim resonates too deeply for her to ignore, echoing through her with promise and certainty and the kind of heat that demands more space. Rising onto her toes, she loops her arms around his neck and begins to walk them backward down the hall, lips finding his in eager, messy kisses that make her laugh softly against his mouth as she fumbles between keeping her footing and giving herself over to the depth of the kiss she wants to sink into.
It's like a half-remembered dance, steps uneven but instinctive as Flora walks them down the hall, and the moment they cross into the bedroom she'll try to pivot, wanting the back of his knees to find the bed before hers did, to make it all the easier for her to climb astride him.
When he comes around the counter, instead of retreating like she normally might, she reaches out and grips the collar of his sweater and the trailing length of his violet scarf, tugging him forward until his warmth presses flush against her, the contact sparking through her with a sharp, delighted shiver. The thought of staying here, of torn lace and her hands braced against the counter, surrounded by sugar and shattered sweetness and chaos, flickers briefly through her mind, but the growl of his claim resonates too deeply for her to ignore, echoing through her with promise and certainty and the kind of heat that demands more space. Rising onto her toes, she loops her arms around his neck and begins to walk them backward down the hall, lips finding his in eager, messy kisses that make her laugh softly against his mouth as she fumbles between keeping her footing and giving herself over to the depth of the kiss she wants to sink into.
It's like a half-remembered dance, steps uneven but instinctive as Flora walks them down the hall, and the moment they cross into the bedroom she'll try to pivot, wanting the back of his knees to find the bed before hers did, to make it all the easier for her to climb astride him.
and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this
