you wouldn't even recognize me anymore
not that you knew me back then
Not innocent, then… Roger that. Appearances can be deceiving and all that jazz, she thinks, as Wessex raises a shadow-hidden brow. She should have guessed that was the case sooner, given the girl's lingering and immediate flirting.
At least this one appears to be more than a teenager. A woman can only rob the cradle so many times before it starts to seems like a habit - a habit Wessex doesn't necessarily want to be known for. Some things she will gladly accept if it adds to her reputation; the sexual corruption of minors isn't one of them (even though she'd lost her virginity early, it's apparently different when you're staring at it from the other side).
The Queen takes a moment to look at Hotaru - really look at the girl. She can see a testament to the night chill in the perk of nipples beneath her sweater, the heaviness of her breasts, which makes the elder want to hum in pleasure. The bite of her lip, the slight upward tilt of her face, the unabashed hunger in her eyes for what the girl thinks she sees - hard muscle. A mere handful of softness on each side of her chest. Perhaps the outline of a tattoo on her bicep. Hands that can pin, thighs that can take control, fingers that can coax or command an orgasm. A man in a woman's body, or so the Wraith's been told by jilted lovers. She smiles, cat-like and patient and predatory.
There’s something about the chase… something about wondering who’s pursuing whom.
Reaching out to close the distance between them, Wessex tucks a stray strand of hair behind the girl's ear with a soft chuckle. "Do you always offer yourself to strangers in the dark?"
Curling her upper lip back to reveal her fangs, she tilts her head to let the girl get a better glimpse of them - white on pale moonlight white. "I could be dangerous. But something tells me you like that." Still pantsless at this point (though maybe she prefers it that way?), Wessex bends down again to grab her breeches, keeping one eye on the girl and another on her clothing. Even the smoothest player can be brought down by the wrong hole.
At least this one appears to be more than a teenager. A woman can only rob the cradle so many times before it starts to seems like a habit - a habit Wessex doesn't necessarily want to be known for. Some things she will gladly accept if it adds to her reputation; the sexual corruption of minors isn't one of them (even though she'd lost her virginity early, it's apparently different when you're staring at it from the other side).
The Queen takes a moment to look at Hotaru - really look at the girl. She can see a testament to the night chill in the perk of nipples beneath her sweater, the heaviness of her breasts, which makes the elder want to hum in pleasure. The bite of her lip, the slight upward tilt of her face, the unabashed hunger in her eyes for what the girl thinks she sees - hard muscle. A mere handful of softness on each side of her chest. Perhaps the outline of a tattoo on her bicep. Hands that can pin, thighs that can take control, fingers that can coax or command an orgasm. A man in a woman's body, or so the Wraith's been told by jilted lovers. She smiles, cat-like and patient and predatory.
There’s something about the chase… something about wondering who’s pursuing whom.
Reaching out to close the distance between them, Wessex tucks a stray strand of hair behind the girl's ear with a soft chuckle. "Do you always offer yourself to strangers in the dark?"
Curling her upper lip back to reveal her fangs, she tilts her head to let the girl get a better glimpse of them - white on pale moonlight white. "I could be dangerous. But something tells me you like that." Still pantsless at this point (though maybe she prefers it that way?), Wessex bends down again to grab her breeches, keeping one eye on the girl and another on her clothing. Even the smoothest player can be brought down by the wrong hole.
but it all comes back to me in the end
WESSEX
