I get them all worked up and down on their knees, you see
Maeve straightens up, incredibly proud of herself for managing to catch him at least a little off guard, "Flashy, huh? I'm a dancer, Jata. I'm not sure what you expected." She laughs, following him towards the edge of the ring, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Her hair is sticking to the nape of her neck, sweat gathering along her spine and making her tank top stick to her skin uncomfortably. Maeve slips between the ropes, landing with ease on the ground once more and joining him in the kitchenette. She takes the glass with a soft thanks, brining it up to her lips and drinking deeply. A deep flush is on her cheeks, the heat clearly making itself known on her skin.
"So... Do you think I show promise? Next champion of the Slagveld?" Maeve smirks at him over the edge of her glass before taking another drink as she leans against the counter. Things feel a bit easier now. Maeve doesn't let her eyes linger on any one part of his body except his face. That's safe. "You met Locke then?" She arches a brow, finally acknowledging that he brought that up before.
"So... Do you think I show promise? Next champion of the Slagveld?" Maeve smirks at him over the edge of her glass before taking another drink as she leans against the counter. Things feel a bit easier now. Maeve doesn't let her eyes linger on any one part of his body except his face. That's safe. "You met Locke then?" She arches a brow, finally acknowledging that he brought that up before.
They take my fingers in their mouths like it's poetry
Maeve
