I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings
The sound of fabric giving way beneath Kai's hands steals the breath straight out of her lungs, not in distress but in a sharp, flaring rush that tears through her like heat finding a fault line, the sensation racing outward from her hips and spine in bright, unraveling threads. The lace yields softly, red petals loosening where they had clung, and the awareness of it makes her body arch instinctively into his touch, the chill of the air brushing newly bare skin while his warmth anchors her there.
When he draws her down with him, the bed rising to meet them, she follows easily, her body draping over his as if it has always known exactly how to fit there. The movement presses heat into her, her hips finding a slow, deliberate rhythm that pulls a quiet sound from her throat as sensation blooms low and insistent, desire rolling through her in waves she does not bother to temper. Everything in her narrows to closeness, to the way the world seems to exist only in the places where they touch, where breath tangles and time slips loose.
She lifts her head just enough to see him properly as he speaks, the words landing softly but steadily, and the affection in them makes something in her chest ache in the best possible way. When he tugs the hat lower, she laughs under her breath, the sound crooked and fond, her smile spreading wide and lopsided as she takes him in like this, laid back beneath her with that open, boyish warmth that never fails to undo her. The memory he shares unfurls between them like a ribbon drawn back through time.
As his thumb brushes across her mouth, she turns into the touch without thinking, her lips pressing warmly to his skin, her tongue sweeping there in a quiet, teasing arc as a soft hum vibrates through her. Her gaze never leaves his as she speaks, the words breathed against his thumb. "I didn’t think you were going to kiss me back," she admits before lowering herself again, lips finding his as she finishes in a whisper, "now that'll have been my last first kiss, and I never want you to stop."
She kisses him again deeply, a touch more recklessly than before, her body settling more fully over him as torn lace slips further from her hip, red fabric drooping like a flower finally too heavy to stay upright. She moves with slow confidence, hips rolling in a deliberate tease against the line of his erection in order to keep friction humming between them.
When he draws her down with him, the bed rising to meet them, she follows easily, her body draping over his as if it has always known exactly how to fit there. The movement presses heat into her, her hips finding a slow, deliberate rhythm that pulls a quiet sound from her throat as sensation blooms low and insistent, desire rolling through her in waves she does not bother to temper. Everything in her narrows to closeness, to the way the world seems to exist only in the places where they touch, where breath tangles and time slips loose.
She lifts her head just enough to see him properly as he speaks, the words landing softly but steadily, and the affection in them makes something in her chest ache in the best possible way. When he tugs the hat lower, she laughs under her breath, the sound crooked and fond, her smile spreading wide and lopsided as she takes him in like this, laid back beneath her with that open, boyish warmth that never fails to undo her. The memory he shares unfurls between them like a ribbon drawn back through time.
As his thumb brushes across her mouth, she turns into the touch without thinking, her lips pressing warmly to his skin, her tongue sweeping there in a quiet, teasing arc as a soft hum vibrates through her. Her gaze never leaves his as she speaks, the words breathed against his thumb. "I didn’t think you were going to kiss me back," she admits before lowering herself again, lips finding his as she finishes in a whisper, "now that'll have been my last first kiss, and I never want you to stop."
She kisses him again deeply, a touch more recklessly than before, her body settling more fully over him as torn lace slips further from her hip, red fabric drooping like a flower finally too heavy to stay upright. She moves with slow confidence, hips rolling in a deliberate tease against the line of his erection in order to keep friction humming between them.
and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this
