MELITA
Melita had the slightest second to be triumphant; a little witch’s cackle to follow suit as the shorts slid south. "You can't get meeeee," she chimed; which was far from the truth but she liked to provide a little kindling of irritation every now and then to build Iskra's character. The instant of gloating negated the opportunity of evasion, however, so that momentary synapse became overridden by giggling panic. She’d known there’d be a consequence, she just didn’t think he’d go straight for her own swimsuit. Out of his clutches for half a breath, the notion of escape came just a little too late – yanking at her top until the string around one shoulder went horrendously loose and downwards, alas, leaving one tit wholly exposed.Given that she’d revealed way more than that before him on many occasion, she glanced down, laughed, then processed how to proceed next – and time was of the essence.
She could flee. That would be the most logical option. Maybe she’d be fast enough to head back to shore, but then what? She’d started the fight. Taking the coward’s way out wasn’t an option.
She could keep on truckin’, swimming enough to put a distance in between them, maybe splash and flail around until he caught up.
She could make things worse. Or better. Probably depended on the result.
Taking the third approach, she loosened another ridiculous giggle, before descending. The lantern lights didn’t give off as much ambience as she’d like, but the golden glow of the shorts were enough to follow, and her hands reached outward, trying to snag them off his knees, roll them down his shins, over his ankles, and in her own clutches – theft, essentially.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
