tell the wolves I'm home
“Mm?” echoed on a boyish grumble, a wealth of laughter, a horde of pretenses in pretending he didn’t know what she was begging or pining for. Part of the facets of their game, to toy and taunt even amidst the most longing circumstances, until eventually giving and giving amidst the unraveling proportions. His mouth slid down further at her welcome and open encouragement, content to find the wanton sighs and mewls still a part of the background reflections; musing and fusing them to his intentions, aspirations, and purposes.
The residual arc of her frame, the lilting of her spine, the rise and fall of her thighs, was more than enough of a hint; and he persisted and pursued, no less predacious. A second finger curled and contorted along her core, a trace, a sketch, an outline, a caress, while his tongue lingered just above – writing out ministrations and machinations with the orchestration of slow deliberations.
The residual arc of her frame, the lilting of her spine, the rise and fall of her thighs, was more than enough of a hint; and he persisted and pursued, no less predacious. A second finger curled and contorted along her core, a trace, a sketch, an outline, a caress, while his tongue lingered just above – writing out ministrations and machinations with the orchestration of slow deliberations.
the ressurected sword
