[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

amalia chandrakant there is a color that shines through your skin Like the moon on the wind Humans are a funny creature; what other animal aches with such purposeless need, yearns and takes and touches and devours for no reason other than pleasure and lust? She sings into his mouth, gasps and mewls, adding fuel to the fire of their desire, each sound a prayer for him, him, him. Amalia is reverent, pious, a student and acolyte, quick to give herself away, to devote and adore, care and confess. She has never been worshiped in the way he does now, and the very act of it makes her shudder and claw, her fingers mapping the lines of his back, her lips transitioning from mouth to neck to ear and back, each kiss a whispered declaration of want and need and love. Hips on hips, and they dance against each other, moving with soft urgency, flame ignited everywhere they touch, a burn wherever she feels his skin. The feel of him between her legs is a brilliant thing, and despite herself she undulates, silently begging for and demanding more. She pulls at his pants and Deimos complies, lifting her briefly and divesting the garment, leaving his body raw and exposed and hers, a strange miracle, an unexpected turn. A blush sears rose across her cheeks - "Oh," she gasps in abject wonder, pausing a moment in her ministrations to admire the beast, the behemoth before her, eyes skirting brazenly over his form. Appreciative, enthralled, she consumes every inch of him, silver scars on warm bronze skin, curves and edges and soft hair and oh- Then he brings her back to him, closes the space, and she responds with renewed and ignited vigor, her hands in his hair and traveling down, down, down to his waist, his hips, skirting over the curve of his ass as he pulls her breastband away. She inhales uncertainly, a breath of insecurity exhaled as a moan as his hot mouth dances on her breasts, a new sensation for the girl and one she wholly appreciates. Arcing, breaking in his grasp, she swells her chest to better his access, hungry and needy, starving for more. Head dropped down and mouth on his ear, her breath comes hot in appreciative gasps, whimpers elicited at his every touch. "Deimos-" she hisses, murmurs, prays, singing into his skin with kisses and moans, her hips pressing urgently against his waist, her grip on his hips tightening possessively. Her insecurity is met with simple acceptance, a clear appreciation in his syllabic growl. It makes her shiver, the animal exhale, the flames that dance in skylit eyes as they look upon her form. Part of her wants to laugh, retreat, deny that she could have appeal, declare his mistake before he makes it. How can she satisfy when she knows nothing; what could she offer to such a man? But the other part is larger, louder, instinct and ardor working in tandem to ignite her desires. Passion and lust rule her mind now, creating a haze of pleasant delight through which nothing but he can pass. His fingers slip beneath her waistband and she rises in response, arcing her hips to let him undress her, peel away the last of her guises and expose her to the world. Hand on his neck she slips from his lap, drawing him with her as she falls to the ground, an invitation for further, more, adoration vibrant in the black of her eyes. The other hand searches for one of his own, lacing fingers in intimate affection, a slight squeeze of invitation mirrored boldly on her face. "Deimos," she intones, her husky voice a purr. "I want you." Amalia chews delicately on her lip, sable eyes hooded, lithe body on display, the blanket beneath her and above her only him, the beast to which she offers herself, the object of her love. the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask And the rings round your eyes

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