bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
Being told to just wait feels almost absurd against the turbulence inside her. It's like being told to hold steady in seas whose waves crest higher than her masts, to keep her canvas trimmed while wind howls and currents surge. Still, she tries. Her breathing grows quicker despite herself, shallow rises and falls that echo through her frame; on deck, no doubt Murphy will feel the sudden choppiness beneath her hull.
One hand remains tangled in Jack’s hair, fingers flexing unconsciously, while her other arm braces beneath her so she can watch him map her pale skin. The loss of each layer heightens her awareness rather than diminishing it; cool air kisses skin that had been warmed by leather and satin, and the contrast only sharpens the heat pooling low in her core. When his lips press to the inside of her knee and drift higher along her thigh, she feels herself tremble in such a way that she has to consciously fight to keep still.
The heat there feels almost impossible, molten and insistent, a bright concentration that draws her focus inward until the rest of the world blurs at the edges. Some instinct still half-expects that it might scorch him, that he will recoil from the intensity she feels building there, but he doesn't hesitate and his assurances from earlier keep her from calling a halt if only to keep him safe.
One hand remains tangled in Jack’s hair, fingers flexing unconsciously, while her other arm braces beneath her so she can watch him map her pale skin. The loss of each layer heightens her awareness rather than diminishing it; cool air kisses skin that had been warmed by leather and satin, and the contrast only sharpens the heat pooling low in her core. When his lips press to the inside of her knee and drift higher along her thigh, she feels herself tremble in such a way that she has to consciously fight to keep still.
The heat there feels almost impossible, molten and insistent, a bright concentration that draws her focus inward until the rest of the world blurs at the edges. Some instinct still half-expects that it might scorch him, that he will recoil from the intensity she feels building there, but he doesn't hesitate and his assurances from earlier keep her from calling a halt if only to keep him safe.
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
