MELITA
The shape of their shared fire shouldn’t have surprised her anymore, but it did just the same – eyes widening when he took her offer and extended the same conflagrations. Raked across coals and turned to kindled embers, taking light and flame right where they stood, so her heart beat a crescendo of pounding denizens right against her bones, out through her chest along scars and skin. Melita wasn’t used to tenderness; not from any part of her existence, not when it’d been sculpted out of loss and death, fists and fury, so when she bellowed and claimed she expected to hear an echo and reverberation of the same ferocity and indignation. She knew what to do with hellfire and violence, severity and tempers; the ready, swift, and quick acceptance of Iskra set her back, surprised, bewildered, made her begin to think there was more than war and tempests across the horizons.How to say that fell though; and so she endeavored to show through action, through motions, through the bounty of her love and affection, in learning how to press along those thresholds together. He slowed everything down, so all her frantic attempts and wild, caustic embraces became timeless pieces; no rush, no frenzy, no race to the other side of the world. Just now. Drawn there in his hands, she might’ve been a moth, aglow, coming to life and anew on just his haze and incensed motions, pieced back together into something else. She shuddered beneath his fingertips, took him downwards with her as her hands grazed stubble and jawlines, kept him bound there under unwinding hues and the salt wind lingering above the pool. When their kisses were less demands and deeper, slower, she thought about what it meant to take her time; to savor rather than inhale and voraciously consume. Her tongue swept across his lips, teeth dragging on the sensitive flesh, wanting to have and have and fighting between devouring and appreciating, basking.
Pressed tightly against one another without barriers, without impediments, without hindrances, her mind was already contorted and wrapped around his existence, but the moment his hands were on her thighs, lifting her upwards to settle against him, her mind was nothing but carnal intentions. She’d half-forgotten what he’d said, the indulgent whine and keen sliding from between her lips and pulsing against her heady breaths along his shoulder. Wantonly, she rolled her hips towards him, felt his cock along her skin, gave an inherent shudder and then realized she hadn’t said a thing. Already breathless, she tilted her hooded gaze back up to him, craving and insistent, trying to find words to convey everything. “All sorts of things,” she winked and promised, fingers finding purchase in his muscles, while her free hand drifted down, found his tracing her hip, striving to lead it to the very core of her. “I want you here first,” on a heady whisper, aching for initial releases before they succumbed to the inevitable.
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
