It takes a leap of faith

Amalia

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stop thinking so much

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She stands before him, raw and waiting, more exposed than if she were nude. There is a vulnerability in the act she commits, the way she offers the last of her clothing, the final shield for him to tear away. Oh, he has seen her like this before, touched the lines and curves of her body, played her notes and sinewy strings. He knows what lies beneath the fabric, what ill-kept secrets wait to be found. It is not in her nudity that she is vulnerable, but in the steps that come first, the offering, the pleading, the way she gives herself to him, the earnest ardor in her breast. In the end, though he will take the first action, it is she who bends and breaks. By putting herself thus before him she has already given in, surrendered to his dominance, confessed to the strength of his hold. Take me, take me, take me she pleads, the notes exhaled in her rapid breathing, the song sung loudly by her hazy eyes. Will you have me, don't you want me?

Yes, his hands reply.

Fluidly, smoothly, glacial and patient, he strips the winding band away. Amalia shivers beneath the ministrations, her gaze not leaving him as he lays her bare, exposes her breasts and chest to the air, her body his to feast upon. Long arms settle around his neck, fingers nestling in the dark hair. For a moment they are frozen thus, black and blue like broken bones, red blood and hot need unspoken but ever there. She looks into his hooded eyes and shivers in response, awed and inspired by the things that hide there, the ardor and passion and wanton lust. "I'm yours," she exhales in a breath, rising on her toes-

-and then his mouth is on hers, and the moment is shattered, the gates of hell broken and the devils released.

One hand stays greedily in his mane; the other travels down his figure, searching for the last of it, hunting now for more. Her thumb hooks around his waistband and she pulls, trying to tear down the last of their barriers, to expose his want as he has hers. Deimos pulls away and Amalia growls, defiant and needy, her grip on his hip and shoulder tightening, her nails running over his skin. Still she lets him lead and guide, following to the edge of the washtub, letting her bare ass rest against it as her right leg slips up onto his hip. She is greedy, impatient, and lets him know it, moaning at the feeling of him against her, nipping and sucking at exposed skin. How the bath will come into play she has neither the presence of mind nor the knowledge to determine: being clean is the furthest thing from her mind. But she believes in him, his plans, his guidance, the roaring fire he lights within her, ready to step into the water should he direct.

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you're breaking your own heart

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