[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

amalia chandrakant there is a color that shines through your skin Like the moon on the wind Her hand entwined amid his locks, she is a ship at sea, a bird dancing lightly on summer winds, a stone sinking further into the hotsprings of her hazy lust. Deimos' tongue does magical things, new and exciting and enticing and good, making Amalia shift and move and dance beneath his touch. And then his tongue explores new places, pressing and searching the heat of her core, and Amalia gasps her amazement and shock, her hips bucking up in eager response. "Deimos!" she hisses between her teeth, and then falls speechless once again. Her knees are bent, one wrapping over his shoulder, tracing eagerly down his back (any contact, any touch- she wants to devour him with her skin), toes curling and uncurling with each new wave of bliss. Short, high gasps ring from her lungs, punctuated by laughs and moans, his name on her lips, a recited prayer only half-voiced because he is moving too quickly for her mind to catch up, making her shiver and shudder and ache. Slender fingers clutch at the wool of the blanket, her left hand snatching it greedily while her right remains upon his head, guiding with a feral, inborn knowledge, directing him to do things she does not know she wants. And then- a shuddering gasp escapes the girl as pleasure beats down on her like a wave, the swell of it rising in her belly, her groin, filling each muscle with want and torment, hot and hot and hot. Her fingers clutch the blanket, tension marking each line of her form, stretching the delicate sinew and angles into something feral, claws sprouting out of nails and fur rising on her shoulders, her back, her mouth dry from panting, her dark eyes drawn shut. It is not her first orgasm - she has fucked Frey, after all - but it is the first one offered by a lover, given freely without an associated price. Amalia gasps and calls out again, in incoherent exclamation, his name somewhere within, buried amongst the love and passion, the reverence and release and inerrant ardor. Like a crescendo she builds and builds, swells beneath his ministrations until, at last, release- Amalia collapses back onto the blanket, breathing heavily from her mouth. Residual shudders rack her body, but her lips are lit with a startled smile as she tries to catch her breath. "Mmm,"" she murmurs in response to his question, head still too hazy to formulate a real reply. Rising up on her elbows, she flashes Deimos a brilliant grin. One foot nudges greedily at his ass, and she reaches down to draw him to her, fingers slipping beneath his chin. "Come up here and I'll tell you." the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask And the rings round your eyes

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