DEIMOS
Between the sharp inhalations, the molten gasps, the curl of fumes and smoke, a tantalizing ease coiled over him, ruffian and rogue, dipping his head, hands moving, mouth meeting the arcs and arches of her back, pressing lips into skin and encouraging her fire. He wanted them as infernos, stoked and fueled, kindling and provocations laid out by hovering, harpooning breaths, a finesse of his caresses meeting breasts, nosing open the shirt as much as possible, rewarded with pale flesh beneath ministrations, unfurling tethers and lines of fabric to tease, to taunt, to return favors. His were wanton benevolences, maneuvering on the air of her moans, on the sinking and swimming of their senses, the sentiments raw and beatific and glorious. “You could move in with me,” he whispered into her essence, into her presence, into her entity – a crescendo of his offerings, of the multitude of things he’s always proffered. She had a space here, in his heart, in his home, if she wanted (and for an instant he considered she’d likely refuse; the bakery was her refuge, and maybe this sanctum was too much). He lifted his cranium only to follow through on fingers, quickly, swiftly, unbuttoning the rest of the garments, leaving her wide open to him – a rumble of approval when he returned to his avaricious attentions. He could feel her toes working on his sweatpants, pushing the band down, down, down over his hips and waist, a sliding descent along muscle and power, stifling the smallest of laughs when he maneuvered above her. The garb managed to cease its slithering crawl just above his knees, and with a swift shake of his cranium, another raw chuckle into her coiling form, just above her navel, teeth and tongue paying homage and tribute to her litany of scars, he removed the rest of them, bereft and stripped, naked in and amongst the sun. The challenge was there within a moment’s notice, a plucking of strings she had long since known the music to (provocations, dares, a summoning of instigated diversions). And oh, he’d show her, moaning and gasping as her fingers molded into his hair, against his scalp, a basking growl reverberating along her hip, then mouth trailing and tracing towards thighs.
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
