bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The Akr huffs out a soft laugh at that, eyes rolling faintly beneath dark lashes. "You seemed to weather it far better than I did," she murmurs, though there is no embarrassment in the admission, only amusement and a touch of pride.
As his kisses travel upward, her body responds without thought. Her arms and legs wrap around him as he ascends, drawing him close in a hold that is at once sweet and unmistakably possessive. She cradles him against her, not as something fragile but as something claimed and perhaps if she thought about someone else touching him like this, she'd understand what he'd meant about the tailor.
One hand slips from his shoulders to his jaw, palm warm against the faint scrape of stubble there, thumb tracing the line of his cheek as she studies him. Her gaze searches his face carefully, as though she might find written there some reason for the caution he's offering her. She has never chosen restraint in her life. She has crossed storms, outrun pirates, cut through blockades at his side without hesitation. She understands that this—this intimacy, sex—is different from open sea, but when it's to do with him, it also isn't. He's never brought her anywhere they couldn't fight their way back from, and she can't see why this is any different.
Her voice drops to a whisper, low and steady and certain. "I want." And gods, she does. The words ignite something fresh in her belly, heat flaring alive again at the simple act of choosing. Her hips lift instinctively against him, thighs tightening around his waist as friction sparks another breathless sound from her lips. The moan that escapes her is softer this time, less shocked and more needy, full of anticipation rather than curiosity.
As his kisses travel upward, her body responds without thought. Her arms and legs wrap around him as he ascends, drawing him close in a hold that is at once sweet and unmistakably possessive. She cradles him against her, not as something fragile but as something claimed and perhaps if she thought about someone else touching him like this, she'd understand what he'd meant about the tailor.
One hand slips from his shoulders to his jaw, palm warm against the faint scrape of stubble there, thumb tracing the line of his cheek as she studies him. Her gaze searches his face carefully, as though she might find written there some reason for the caution he's offering her. She has never chosen restraint in her life. She has crossed storms, outrun pirates, cut through blockades at his side without hesitation. She understands that this—this intimacy, sex—is different from open sea, but when it's to do with him, it also isn't. He's never brought her anywhere they couldn't fight their way back from, and she can't see why this is any different.
Her voice drops to a whisper, low and steady and certain. "I want." And gods, she does. The words ignite something fresh in her belly, heat flaring alive again at the simple act of choosing. Her hips lift instinctively against him, thighs tightening around his waist as friction sparks another breathless sound from her lips. The moan that escapes her is softer this time, less shocked and more needy, full of anticipation rather than curiosity.
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.
