your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
Flora can’t keep track of which pleasure belongs to whom anymore, and the sheer absurdity of that should probably make her laugh if there were room in her body for anything but heat. Hers is internal, low and expanding, a band of pressure blooming deep in her belly like hands made of fire have closed around her hips from the inside and begun to spread, each thrust feeding that blaze until it climbs through her ribs, down her thighs, into the curled tension of her toes. His is different, sharper-edged and almost external where it crashes through the bond, bound up in the ability to take and drive and thrust in a way her body can’t mirror except by receiving him, clenching around him, dragging him deeper with every helpless lift of her hips. The two sensations tangle behind her aqua eyes in bright, competing flares, pleasure fighting pleasure for space until thought itself starts coming apart in useless little sparks of Kai and please and more, all of it too tangled to sort into anything elegant.
Her lips part around a shaky moan, but the sound breaks against his palm as little more than a rasp, her breath vibrating faintly beneath his hand where it curls around her throat, and that restraint makes everything worse in the most devastating way. She feels like a bottle of something fizzy shaken hard enough to burst, all glittering pressure and frantic sweetness trapped beneath a cap that hasn’t quite been released, her body winding tighter and tighter beneath him while her pulse flutters against his fingers like it’s trying to tell on her. She tries to inhale and can’t get enough, can’t pull a breath deep enough to match what’s building, and the lack of it turns the pleasure brighter, more concentrated, unbearable in the way sunlight on water can be unbearable when it’s everywhere at once and begins to blind.
There’s no room for words now, and thank gods for the bond because her mouth has been rendered decorative at best, parted and useless while the rest of her speaks for her: the tightening of her thighs, the frantic curl of her hands, the way her body clenches around him with each rising wave as if it can hold him there through sheer, greedy will. Kai—she sends, or maybe it’s only the shape of his name wrapped in heat and warning, because her orgasm is building too quickly now, swelling higher than the last one, sharper because of his pleasure braided into hers and the dark, dizzying pressure of his hand at her throat. She can only hope he feels it clearly enough—the way she’s right there, right on the edge, wound so tight she’s nearly shaking apart—that he’ll know when to release her, when to let the breath back in so the detonation can finally tear through her properly.
Her lips part around a shaky moan, but the sound breaks against his palm as little more than a rasp, her breath vibrating faintly beneath his hand where it curls around her throat, and that restraint makes everything worse in the most devastating way. She feels like a bottle of something fizzy shaken hard enough to burst, all glittering pressure and frantic sweetness trapped beneath a cap that hasn’t quite been released, her body winding tighter and tighter beneath him while her pulse flutters against his fingers like it’s trying to tell on her. She tries to inhale and can’t get enough, can’t pull a breath deep enough to match what’s building, and the lack of it turns the pleasure brighter, more concentrated, unbearable in the way sunlight on water can be unbearable when it’s everywhere at once and begins to blind.
There’s no room for words now, and thank gods for the bond because her mouth has been rendered decorative at best, parted and useless while the rest of her speaks for her: the tightening of her thighs, the frantic curl of her hands, the way her body clenches around him with each rising wave as if it can hold him there through sheer, greedy will. Kai—she sends, or maybe it’s only the shape of his name wrapped in heat and warning, because her orgasm is building too quickly now, swelling higher than the last one, sharper because of his pleasure braided into hers and the dark, dizzying pressure of his hand at her throat. She can only hope he feels it clearly enough—the way she’s right there, right on the edge, wound so tight she’s nearly shaking apart—that he’ll know when to release her, when to let the breath back in so the detonation can finally tear through her properly.
