you are such a soft and messy thing
nobody knows how to take care of you
The dark chuckle that rolls from the woman's throat is like promising thunder on a dark horizon. Tantalizing, electrifying, perhaps a little intimidating. It is distractingly attractive, enough so that Hotaru gasps softly in surprise when a hand comes to the roots of her hair and pulls her head to the side. It's a momentary weakness, one that's smoothed over by the soft barely-there moan that lingers on her tongue. The prick of pain that follows only makes her heart pound harder, faster, as if her pulse is desperately courting the predator that seeks it. Lack of self-preservation be damned, she'd rather die in the ecstasy that Wessex can offer her if she can choose a way to go. The dare shakes her from her submissive reverie, heterochromatic eyes sparking with challenge as her lips twist into a smirk. "Come a little closer darling, I'll happily bite whatever you want to give me." As she speaks she lets herself be moved, stripped, laid beneath the stars in a parody of romance. A charade ripped apart as easily as her gown, leaving her perked breasts bare to the night air, nipples hardening beneath both attention and chill alike. Ah, but Hotaru is not the type to be passively moved, and even in her nudeness she is bold and unashamed. Her own hands travel up Wessex's torso, lingering on every angle and dip. A shame that sensation is not the same, that she cannot inspire the same feelings the demi-god makes her feel. But leaning forward, she attempts to lift Wessex's hand, slides her mouth down the skin of one finger, keeping eye contact all the while. Lets her tongue linger on skin that still tastes of cool water. "Your fingers? Your neck? I aim to please." They both know it's nothing more than a tease, a dance, but oh how Hotaru would love to have those fingers inside her nonetheless, wet with her own saliva. The Voice should look into giving Wessex an upgrade, because Hotaru desperately wants the woman to feel the ache of her own blunt teeth.
