her fight and fury's fiery, oh but she loves like sleep to the freezing
A breathless sound spills from The Ark as Jack’s rhythm finds its purpose, sharp enough to catch in her throat before she can turn it into anything smoother. She reaches back to brace one palm against the headboard, arm set firm so the motion stays held between their bodies rather than travelling through the bed and out into the rest of her. There are limits to what she’ll let the ship betray, even now, though her mind has already opened wide beneath his magic: an endless, dark sea for him to captain, roused into glittering unrest wherever he touches it.
When he shifts her higher and draws her legs over his shoulders, her head falls back into the pillow, lashes fluttering as the new angle takes the last easy evasions from her. There is little she can do from there but feel him, take the warmth he has promised and the ruthless attention of it, and the helplessness is not a thing that diminishes her. It leaves her satisfied and wild with restlessness at once, like a ship held fast at anchor while every sail aches to be loosed. Her free hand finds his shoulder, fingers closing hard over the muscle beneath the black-and-white spray of flowers inked there. Saltwater beads beneath her touch, gathering along the tattoo in warm, shining drops as though the ocean in her has finally pressed through whatever thin boundary has kept it contained. Her grip tightens, her lips parting around a low, demanding purr of "more."
Outside on the darkened deck, her maroon sails stir again despite the stillness beyond the hull, a faint restless flutter as if they, too, are waiting to be filled.
When he shifts her higher and draws her legs over his shoulders, her head falls back into the pillow, lashes fluttering as the new angle takes the last easy evasions from her. There is little she can do from there but feel him, take the warmth he has promised and the ruthless attention of it, and the helplessness is not a thing that diminishes her. It leaves her satisfied and wild with restlessness at once, like a ship held fast at anchor while every sail aches to be loosed. Her free hand finds his shoulder, fingers closing hard over the muscle beneath the black-and-white spray of flowers inked there. Saltwater beads beneath her touch, gathering along the tattoo in warm, shining drops as though the ocean in her has finally pressed through whatever thin boundary has kept it contained. Her grip tightens, her lips parting around a low, demanding purr of "more."
Outside on the darkened deck, her maroon sails stir again despite the stillness beyond the hull, a faint restless flutter as if they, too, are waiting to be filled.
sweet and right and merciful, all but washed in the tide of her breathing
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.
