I'll let the flames take me high, burn down the whole damn sky
She can guess at what he’s implying with Frey, knowing his losses, knowing what the god appears as. She’s averted her gaze herself a time or two, and she has the luxury he doesn’t of avoiding the dierty altogether if she wants. Not desiring to sink into such deep waters though, she rolls that knowledge away with a shoulder. ”Oh good,” she murmurs once she settles back against him in the nude, the words teased free from a moment stolen between heavier breaths, ones granted by his coasting touch. ”Then this won’t slow you down in the slightest.”
His earring jingles as her fingers trace against the shell of his ear, the faint metallic sound the only thing that rises over the whisper of skin on skin and crackle of desire starting to burn through all their air. Beneath her hand, his hard length is apparent, pressing back with an impatient readiness that stokes a fresh fire through her. She needs his pants off now.
Of a shared mind, his reach provides the rest of his freedom that her’s can’t. This, coupled with what he says, and he hits every last part of her with a heat that makes her melt back across his lap. ”That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.” The words come out as more breath than voice, working around the groan of appreciation that rises as her thighs fit around him, pressing her clit against his warm length with a tease that shudders through her spine.
His hands capture the rest of her, and it’s all she can do to turn out of the kiss he pulls her into, lips brushing before she offers up her throat with a lean. The words rise up behind her teeth, the subtle no, not that, nothing as intimate as that. She doesn’t want to feel anything close to real. Barely wants to feel like herself tonight. She wants to be someone who can dip herself into his arms and come out unscathed. The words dissolve to the hitched gasp as her nipple’s tweaked, nerves sparking beneath the descent of his touch. Her hips tremble in response to the press of his hand, thighs tightening around him as the sensation spikes and rolls through her, sharp and insistent. ”I need you,” she whispers, but she’s already unfolding from him, retreating like a tide going low.
The chair is not the prime place. It rocks with heavy motion, fighting back in the worst way, and he’s too subdued in its folds. If they mean to drown, the shallows simply won’t do. ”Here,” she coaxes, a fox’s smile worn now that her touch has left him and reappears. She ghosts her palm down his abdomen, sliding it warm and brief across the head of his cock before retreating again. ”Follow me,” and she’ll lead him with whispers of touch from the chair to her kitchen table, the nearest, sturdiest thing she can find.
His earring jingles as her fingers trace against the shell of his ear, the faint metallic sound the only thing that rises over the whisper of skin on skin and crackle of desire starting to burn through all their air. Beneath her hand, his hard length is apparent, pressing back with an impatient readiness that stokes a fresh fire through her. She needs his pants off now.
Of a shared mind, his reach provides the rest of his freedom that her’s can’t. This, coupled with what he says, and he hits every last part of her with a heat that makes her melt back across his lap. ”That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.” The words come out as more breath than voice, working around the groan of appreciation that rises as her thighs fit around him, pressing her clit against his warm length with a tease that shudders through her spine.
His hands capture the rest of her, and it’s all she can do to turn out of the kiss he pulls her into, lips brushing before she offers up her throat with a lean. The words rise up behind her teeth, the subtle no, not that, nothing as intimate as that. She doesn’t want to feel anything close to real. Barely wants to feel like herself tonight. She wants to be someone who can dip herself into his arms and come out unscathed. The words dissolve to the hitched gasp as her nipple’s tweaked, nerves sparking beneath the descent of his touch. Her hips tremble in response to the press of his hand, thighs tightening around him as the sensation spikes and rolls through her, sharp and insistent. ”I need you,” she whispers, but she’s already unfolding from him, retreating like a tide going low.
The chair is not the prime place. It rocks with heavy motion, fighting back in the worst way, and he’s too subdued in its folds. If they mean to drown, the shallows simply won’t do. ”Here,” she coaxes, a fox’s smile worn now that her touch has left him and reappears. She ghosts her palm down his abdomen, sliding it warm and brief across the head of his cock before retreating again. ”Follow me,” and she’ll lead him with whispers of touch from the chair to her kitchen table, the nearest, sturdiest thing she can find.
Colt
I spent the night on the ceiling, drank the whole weight of my weakness
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
