your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
Pleasure is still moving through Flora in heavy, pulsing waves, each one slower than the last but no less consuming, leaving her limbs loose and shaking while her thoughts try very unsuccessfully to gather themselves into something with even a passing resemblance to coherence. Through the bond, though, she can feel him too, and that awareness cuts straight through the afterglow like teeth: the tension still locked through his body, the hard strain of his cock against his underwear, the way his hips had jerked as she came as if even the echo of her release had nearly dragged him over with her. It leaves her breath catching all over again, because even as her own pleasure reverberates back to her through him in warm, stunning fragments, second-hand ruin is not where this night is ending for Kaisel, not after the Everkeep, not after the ring, not after he has spent the entire evening making her feel adored within an inch of her life.
She lifts her head from the bed enough to look down at him, curls spilling messily around her face, cheeks flushed, lips parted around breath she still hasn’t quite managed to reclaim. "Gods," she says, voice broken and breathless, the word dragging itself out of her like it has to crawl over every shivering nerve he just set alight. "You’re good at that." It comes with the faintest twitch of a smile, all wrecked affection and unsteady smugness.
Her hands find the torn remains of her dress, and with none of the reverence she felt for it when she put it on, she tears at what’s left until the fabric gives more fully, the ruined shimmer falling away from her like broken butterfly wings, blue sequins catching against her skin and the bed before she pushes herself up as much as her trembling body allows. Her thighs slip from his shoulders with visible reluctance, the loss of contact dragging another shaky breath through her, but her hands are already reaching for him, fingers flexing in invitation and demand all at once. "Now come up here," she tells him, her voice still rough from the force of his name and everything he’d pulled out of her, before a breathless little laugh escapes her. "If you can, that is."
The tease lands with the heat of what she can feel through the bond, because his legs are trembling and she knows it. She looks at him with flushed cheeks and aqua eyes gone dark with desire, her body still open and humming from what he’s done to her, one hand reaching for him while the other braces against the bed, and every part of her—her mouth, her hands, the greedy ache low in her belly, the molten spill of love and want pouring down the bond—says the same thing before she ever has to shape it into words: she wants him closer, wants the weight of him over her, wants to feel exactly what he’s been holding back finally break.
She lifts her head from the bed enough to look down at him, curls spilling messily around her face, cheeks flushed, lips parted around breath she still hasn’t quite managed to reclaim. "Gods," she says, voice broken and breathless, the word dragging itself out of her like it has to crawl over every shivering nerve he just set alight. "You’re good at that." It comes with the faintest twitch of a smile, all wrecked affection and unsteady smugness.
Her hands find the torn remains of her dress, and with none of the reverence she felt for it when she put it on, she tears at what’s left until the fabric gives more fully, the ruined shimmer falling away from her like broken butterfly wings, blue sequins catching against her skin and the bed before she pushes herself up as much as her trembling body allows. Her thighs slip from his shoulders with visible reluctance, the loss of contact dragging another shaky breath through her, but her hands are already reaching for him, fingers flexing in invitation and demand all at once. "Now come up here," she tells him, her voice still rough from the force of his name and everything he’d pulled out of her, before a breathless little laugh escapes her. "If you can, that is."
The tease lands with the heat of what she can feel through the bond, because his legs are trembling and she knows it. She looks at him with flushed cheeks and aqua eyes gone dark with desire, her body still open and humming from what he’s done to her, one hand reaching for him while the other braces against the bed, and every part of her—her mouth, her hands, the greedy ache low in her belly, the molten spill of love and want pouring down the bond—says the same thing before she ever has to shape it into words: she wants him closer, wants the weight of him over her, wants to feel exactly what he’s been holding back finally break.
