MELITA
Iskra must’ve learned compliments got him everywhere; her eyes narrowed and peered at him through wicked and provoking gold, but any subversive spells and rebuttals died on his laugh and flattery. She did work wonders – but mostly she counted in her propensity towards violence. “Hmph,” was all she managed to garner through her chest, the rebuttals lost in waves of pleasures, making a mental note that probably wouldn’t last several more seconds.She was a half-shuddering mess anyway, trembling in the wake of satisfaction and impending greed, hungry for more all over again in the depths of his grasp. But he was an anchor and a port, securing her along thresholds of hips and thighs, not one she’d ever have to worry about letting her fall. Her hands were grasping everywhere now, seeking and finding purchase along muscles and behind his neck, like lifelines and harbors, finding her root and safety in his very existence.
Once there, settling down over him, his cock buried in her, her senses were overrun again. She laughed into his skin, where she bowed near his neck and swore, moaned, whined, keened, managing to mumble “Noted,” before his name was a whisper, a murmur, a hiss in his ear, and her teeth were upon him. Between the cool air passing over her shoulders and the water contorting around them, the sensations combined into a heady, beating glow; and she strived to set some pace, undulating and rolling her hips, seeking purchase and height, grasp unrelenting.
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
