fight for the things that crack light into your life

MELITA

The shape of sedition came in many forms, and today it was coming in wanton decrees and degrees; as he moved his fingers her toes curled and her head fell forward, resting on his shoulder muscles as her legs clenched around him, desperately seeking more. The pleasure mounted and skirted and scaled; breathless crescendos rising out of her, body taut like a bow string, waiting for him to pluck at just the right angle and pace.

His response was not what she expected, and she managed a cackle in between a few salacious moans. “Oh, you want me to do all the work?” sputtered out of her eventually, on sharp inhales scattering through her teeth, but by then her lips pressed along one of his many tattoos and she was desperately clinging to any morsel of thought. When he didn’t ask hers, she imagined instead; probably something with his mouth –

Her vengeance, while hastily constructed, inspired the low granules of his voice and gods it was nice to hear her name uttered like that. It was just the right measure, in and amongst another slide of his hand, to inspire the tide of her release. It came sharp and unashamed, with her gasping and moaning into his ear, thighs clenched around his hips and trying to scurry, climb, higher, gain more of the pleasure, of the satisfaction, share it in their thresholds. The hand holding his cock dragged it closer to her core, toying, teasing, taunting, but certainly granting permission, wanting and wanting still.

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