bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
Goosebumps rise where his fingers find the small of her back, a subtle shiver that rolls through her and sharpens the grin that curves across her mouth just before he takes it again, hard enough to pull a low sound from her that spills into the kiss. The answering motion of his hips draws another from her, quieter but no less intent, her body shifting with it in a brief, tightening pulse that breaks like whitecaps across the surface of her thoughts.
When they part, her gaze fixes on him with a warning that sits just behind the satisfaction still written through her, that she'd not hesitate to take yet more from him if he's inclined to tease her, before she draws back enough to stretch, her back arching in a slow, deliberate line that bares her breasts magnificently, head tipping back until her throat is exposed, looking not unlike the masthead of Safrin adorning her bow.
The tension eases only slightly when she settles again, her attention dropping to the compass rose inked along his forearm, the faintest tilt of her mouth returning as her fingers ghost over it, tracing its lines and feeling a phantom sensation on the mirrored marking she bore on her belly. "Stone’s throw or not," she murmurs, voice low and uncharacteristically lazy, "I don’t feel much like walking."
When they part, her gaze fixes on him with a warning that sits just behind the satisfaction still written through her, that she'd not hesitate to take yet more from him if he's inclined to tease her, before she draws back enough to stretch, her back arching in a slow, deliberate line that bares her breasts magnificently, head tipping back until her throat is exposed, looking not unlike the masthead of Safrin adorning her bow.
The tension eases only slightly when she settles again, her attention dropping to the compass rose inked along his forearm, the faintest tilt of her mouth returning as her fingers ghost over it, tracing its lines and feeling a phantom sensation on the mirrored marking she bore on her belly. "Stone’s throw or not," she murmurs, voice low and uncharacteristically lazy, "I don’t feel much like walking."
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.
