is this the end of all the endings?
Though it’s inappropriate at best and wildly ill-advised at worst, Flora’s body has never once been especially interested in behaving sensibly where Kaisel is concerned. She wriggles again against him, not enough to pretend innocence but enough to make the point, then stretches just slightly beneath the reach of his hand so that his palm has to work harder to keep its purchase against her stomach.
"Pillows definitely are non-negotiable," she hums, as his kiss lands along the curve of her shoulder. "Though I fear we were straying more into glamping than camping." There’s a faint shrug in it, as if this is a tragic but unavoidable distinction, and she tips her head over her shoulder to try and catch the outline of him in the corner of her eye, mouth already curved around the beginning of another smile.
His warning sends a flash of garnet through the bond, hot and bright enough to make something low in her belly tighten. The restraint in his voice is nearly as intoxicating as the want itself, and Flora’s back arches by the smallest degree as she forces her tongue not to abandon all pretense of sweetness in their kiss. It would be so easy to turn fully in his arms, to feed every spark already crackling between them until there was nothing left of either of their good intentions, but she only kisses him again; slow, soft, and unbearably deliberate.
We? she whispers back through the bond, mischief slipping brightly through the arousal and affection between them. Then, before he can make too much of the word, Flora twists the ring on her finger: One instant she is there in the hammock’s loose sway, golden curls and oversized sweater and bright aqua eyes all pressed close against him, and the next, she disappears entirely.
"Pillows definitely are non-negotiable," she hums, as his kiss lands along the curve of her shoulder. "Though I fear we were straying more into glamping than camping." There’s a faint shrug in it, as if this is a tragic but unavoidable distinction, and she tips her head over her shoulder to try and catch the outline of him in the corner of her eye, mouth already curved around the beginning of another smile.
His warning sends a flash of garnet through the bond, hot and bright enough to make something low in her belly tighten. The restraint in his voice is nearly as intoxicating as the want itself, and Flora’s back arches by the smallest degree as she forces her tongue not to abandon all pretense of sweetness in their kiss. It would be so easy to turn fully in his arms, to feed every spark already crackling between them until there was nothing left of either of their good intentions, but she only kisses him again; slow, soft, and unbearably deliberate.
We? she whispers back through the bond, mischief slipping brightly through the arousal and affection between them. Then, before he can make too much of the word, Flora twists the ring on her finger: One instant she is there in the hammock’s loose sway, golden curls and oversized sweater and bright aqua eyes all pressed close against him, and the next, she disappears entirely.
my broken bones are mending
