dahlia
You can't buy this fineness
"If only you would tell me otherwise," Dahlia whispers, her smile as wicked as her tone as she lifts the wine to her lips and takes an indulgent sip from the glass. Finding her fingers happily trapped - almost as if the boundary was worth pushing to elicit the reaction - she tilts her head up at him, dark curls atumble, a silent yes? trapped behind her teeth. Alas, Dorian's self-control is stronger than steel, and Dahlia's attention span is as short as the puppet strings he holds upon her.
Released, she sets her wine down and slips out of bed, all but prowling towards the offered gift, all silk curves and porcelain smiles. "Thank you," she says, almost reverently, admiring the bodysuit within the bag without yet taking it out or putting it on; it's still late, after all. And stormy outside. "I will be sure to do you proud."
Released, she sets her wine down and slips out of bed, all but prowling towards the offered gift, all silk curves and porcelain smiles. "Thank you," she says, almost reverently, admiring the bodysuit within the bag without yet taking it out or putting it on; it's still late, after all. And stormy outside. "I will be sure to do you proud."
Let me see the heat get to it
