your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

She arches beneath him and he exhales a shuddering sound as her grip tightens, her movements faster and more sure. He lowers himself a small amount to where his chest barely touches hers, feather light at first as he debates, letting his skin brush against her in the movements he adds to her own. But he waits for an answer to the question, spying with those half lidded lustful eyes as she offers her neck to him, bare and plain and pale without any marks. And she knows how much of a weakness it is for him.

He forgets about the bruises littering her body as he surges toward her again, fitting himself against her like a puzzle piece but lifted just enough to keep her hand there to guide him exactly where she wants him. His lips meet her skin, fangs and teeth in a soft tentative dance at first — panting against her skin. “Good.” Comes his gravelly growl, and he kisses her jaw in a line until he reaches the soft space of her throat, nipping and biting to leave marks, thrusting against her hand as goosebumps rise along his skin.

He finds that despite how much fun this game was becoming, he absolutely just wanted to bury himself in her.

further away from this mistake
i'm no savior, i'm no saint