It takes a leap of faith
Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 12
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 443
MP:
#29
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Maybe their songs were wildfire and ice: infernos, heated, uncontrollable desire, an ardor, a passion, sung on the fervency of their connections, molten skin and avaricious hearts, taking and taking because they were afraid it’d be lost, because time had been cruel and that was all they knew. Maybe the glacial games were part of the tease, the taunting, the tempering, steel and forge and iron strengthening, solidifying who they were, what they represented when they came together: emboldened, audacious, simmering, smoldering, scintillating beings. Moved by one another, the notes never quite perfect, their flaws apparent, alterations in pitches and tones each time, yet always along the same reverberations: awe, love, devotion, comfort, wanton and heady aspirations, confidence, sanctuaries, and shelter. He’d never told her how she was a sanctum to his entire being, his dark, nefarious soul, the only shrine he’d ever pay any reverential homage to – but tried to convey it with his actions, with his maneuvers, with his seditious worship, the strings of savage hymns.

He preened under her gaze, his stare kindled with smoke and fumes, raking over her figure again as she bit her lip, as they both tormented, standing stock still because he knew it would rankle and tease. But Amalia wasn’t about to forfeit any opportunities either; there were no stoic inclinations in his eyes as her fingers slid at the tie along her chest, slowly, baiting, goading, falling away (barely), pushed down along shoulders until it was on the floor with its brethren. The depths, the fathoms, of his lustful being followed the lines with only the motion of his silence, his hushed, stolen breaths, memorizing the outlines his teeth, his mouth, his lips, his hands, his fingers, had already encountered, an embodiment of paths he’d gladly traverse again – a salacious exhibition of his impulses, inclinations, and craving. But neither of them bend, neither of them fall apart, neither of them announce who had won or what they were fighting for – all an act, all a ruse, because eventually they’d both succumb, and it was neither a loss or a conquest.

Take me they both croon and whisper behind the roars of the water.

The mountain was control and composure, following their patterns, immobile except for the movement of his hands as they linger down the length of his tunic, fingers grabbing hold of the fabric, reaching down at the bottom and unhurriedly peeling it away from his flesh. The skin and muscles below were not a new divulgence, she’d had them before and she’d have them again, but leisurely revealed: abdomen and chest, shoulders and arms, exposed in their undulating, unleashed roll of flesh and bone, brawn and vitality and scars riddling their existence. The shirt goes somewhere, tossed aside, and then he maneuvered,  another tease, another bout of silent, unsung laughter, as he only reached for the faucet to shut off the running liquid; not racing towards her, not grabbing hold of her and tearing off the only garments remaining – only lifting his gaze, hand extended towards the bath; an invitation.
Unite and spread the heart apart
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Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 25
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 712
MP:
#30
Amalia

stop thinking so much

She can see the fire in his eyes; it sets her alight, makes her bite back her lust, the raging, tearing fumes and embers that come from being wanted, being watched. Amalia cannot understand it, never has and never will: how he can appreciate her, the lines and edges, how little she has, when he is infinite, strength and sinew behind copper skin, muscles wound and silver scars, the most glorious thing she has ever seen. Yet he does want her, and that more than anything emboldens the girl, makes her stomach and chest and loins flutter and clench with heat and desire. Mystified and full of passion, she takes her time slipping off the shirt, dark eyes never leaving him as he watches her undress. He is the symphony to which she dances, the aphrodisiac that curls through her veins. He is a potent poison, and it makes her dizzy.

He is addictive, and the girl yearns for more.

The shirt divested and hist turn comes, the torch of performance once more passed, an easy give and take. One of them will bend and break, but not yet, not yet, not yet- for now she must watch through hooded eyes, enjoying his slow and languid display, the reveal of everything kept hidden now freely given away. Amalia makes no effort to hide her ardor, dark eyes tracing the muscle and bone, doing what her hands so ache to do: feel, follow, feint and feast. There is a hunger only he can sate, a gnawing desire emblazoned on her face, the high flush on her cheeks a giveaway, the way her toes curl and fingers twitch evidence of sinful thoughts. Nude but for boxers, the man at last shifts, and something in the girl clenches and leaps: will he come to her, snap, make good on the promises they have not said except through action and look and intent? Has she won the game, forced him to crumble, brought him low with naught but lust? A shiver of pleasure, anticipation, need, as Deimos maneuvers and-

-turns off the water.

Something between disappointment and amusement crashes down upon her, the realization that she has been played, a bowstring pulled taut and easy to pluck. How could he have known... but how could he not? A twisting half-grin lingers on her lips, indignation and resignation and above all, hungry lust. Biting back a groan, a moan, the girl eyes his invitation before making up her mind. Slowly, languidly, she saunters forward, a dancer's motions, a fluid stance, but not into the tub. No, it is not until she is in his orbit that the girl draws to a calculated stop, a breath, a touch, an extended hand away from touching but not quite, not quite. For a moment she is still, but for her gaze, coals raking over his exposed body, lingering wherever the girl likes: on calves, on hipbones, on muscles, on scars, before traveling up and up and up again, stones falling into the pool of his blues.

Then Amalia raises her arms up her body, an offering, an invitation, the breastband pulled loose and uncoiling, the drawers low on her hips. Mischief and desire crackle in her eyes, are written like sonnets upon her face. You win, the sinful look declares, her lip bitten delicately between her teeth, her onyx gaze hooded, her hair loose and wild as the last of her armor slips away, as she is left bare and wanton and exposed and aflame. I am yours, I am yours, I am yours.

you're breaking your own heart


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Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 12
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 443
MP:
#31
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
He had never been certain as to why she couldn’t see he was nothing. He was no different from hordes of other warriors, scraping away at their banners, striving to remember how to live into the beyond with their ghosts, dissolving under the weight of too many fathoms and delusions. He was no different from the cruel, beckoning hands of greed and irreverence, kindling eager to be incited and unleashed. He was no different from the hundreds of other abandoned weapons, struggling to find their niche when the rest of the world toppled or moved on, begging to their gods, and the blackguards aware that there were none left for them to savor. He was no different from all the other lost souls who’d failed and persevered, who’d tried and tried again, hanging their heads, shuffling their feet, spiraling back to catacombs and sepulchers, waiting for their time, their moment, to cross rivers with gold on their empty sockets.

But he wanted her like she was the last thing on earth and she kept looking at him as if he was worth something; no matter how often he shook his head and declared himself undeserving, unfit, for even the smallest token of her affections. There was need, there was want, and there were endless possibilities, and he yearned for them all, crawling along the crag, the rocks, like a bottom dweller, like a seething, clawing fool, and she kept giving it to him, kept imploring, kept redefining his edges and his fringes until he wasn’t sure what he was anymore.

Just that she was the sun and he’d willingly burn away in her warmth.

She grinned at his ruse, at his deception, amused for a moment in their disastrous game; only because he knew how to play, how to extort, how to savage. Perhaps he was being teased and tormented too, as she spun before him, not touching, not caressing, not unfolding or breaking, begging, treating his frame the same way he had done hers, with such a molten rasp of lust that he nearly let her have him right then and there – a go ahead almost rumbling from his chest. For an instant, their gaze simmered and smoldered together, not a single word exchanged, not a phrase uttered, every meaning conveyed in that sanction, along the threshold, within the world they’d created for themselves.

Then she offered her arms, raising them high enough so the breastband loosened, so her drawers were low, so everything was a providence, take take take in their wild candor, wanton and stripped down to the core of their existence. He does just that.

It was a careful, meticulous maneuver, slow and fluid, stretching out the delicate threads of the moment, yours and yours and yours on his hooded gaze as his fingers slipped over the fabric hiding the rest of her to him – first the band, waiting until it was released, tossed aside, before his mouth descended over hers. It was hungry and voracious, vehement and ardent, while his hands reached down, tugging at the rest of her clothing until they slipped down her legs, stripped and bare and he was barely breathing, pulling away only to gasp on their edges, maneuvering her closer to the tub, to the promises melted in between.
Unite and spread the heart apart
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Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 25
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 712
MP:
#32
Amalia

stop thinking so much

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.

you're breaking your own heart


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Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 12
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 443
MP:
#33
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Their shields were different varieties, different shapes, different emblems, different hues, but constructed for the same reasons: to hide, to protect, to shelter themselves from the hundreds of storms already besieged upon them. How many times had they been left vulnerable, broken, beaten, and damned? How many times had they given portions of themselves to the ether, to the world, and had it whipped away like dust? How many moons did she have to suffer beneath, quietly festering, wasting away, in the columns, worries, and anxieties stretched across her soul? How many suns did he wither below, growling and roaring his defiance until there was no one left to hear? Perhaps it worked best that they tore apart their guards with one another, because the other understood, comprehended, the layers bruised and misshapen, the hues blended and unfolded into the murk, the vulnerability stark, vivid, and blinding. They both bent and broke, they both took and stole, they both fought against demons and infidels: departing paths that circled back around again and again, until blue and black seemed to converge, and the ghosts, the wraiths, the phantoms, dissipated, disappeared, for those infernal moments.

Stripped down, skin to skin, was a careful balance of exposure and intimacy, a stalwart trust laden between incitement, arousal, and conviction. Strength and devotion simmered between unspoken things, until her voice proclaimed it, before her breath billowed, piercing through his hide – his muscles shuddered well beyond her touch, I’m yours revolving and ricocheting through his senses, barely, and a voracious claim followed. His mouth drew its ravenous details, its hungry inscriptions, across her lips, echoing it back to her I am yours, I am yours on a dedicated, ardent anthem, hands sliding somewhere along her curves, then up and up and up, sweeping across the outline of her breasts, her shoulders, and then cradling her head. His fingers were gentle and featherlight while the rest of him was not, mouth imploring until his lungs begged for air.

Not for long; there were a few scattered instances where he could hear her growl and it sent a wanton pleasure up the ridge of his spine, while her hands drifted down over his hips, muscles undulating, encouraging, more and more and more they emboldened and persuaded, an arch, a timbre, to his own greedy snarl, a deepening rumble in his chest. Within a moment the last remaining garment was gone, down on the floor with the rest, tugged down on her ministrations, and he was completely revealed again, every line, every inch, every brutalized portion of flesh and bone. He didn’t mind at all, because it was her, and she’d already seen the scars, the potency, the prowess, the hurt, maimed indentations, and had come to claim and take and snatch at him anyway.

Her greed and impatience might have made him laugh; a ruffian smile managed to make its way through his lips as his mouth drifted elsewhere, behind her ear, down her nape, lingering along her collar bone on its favored journey. The Reaper’s hands were entreating and beseeching, removed from her gilded tresses and lingering along her hips, before lifting her completely off the floor, high enough so her feet would lightly dangle over the tub. For a moment, she would float and flicker along the air, his strength a persistent thing, and then he gently placed her within the water, feet first, standing upright, and following thereafter; barely submerged, heated liquid conspiring along his calves.
Unite and spread the heart apart
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Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 25
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 712
MP:
#34
Amalia

stop thinking so much

She might have devoured him then and there, voracious for the unsaid things he tells her with touches and glances and lust, the movement of his body, the shivers of his skin, the way he brushes and presses against her, his large hands encompassing her angles, her curves. Amalia responds in kind, grasping and reaching, her tongue dancing across his mouth, his lips between her teeth. Aggressive, possessive, needy and wanting and blissfully unafraid, because he wants her, he wants her, and all she has to give. Her hand floats down the small of his back, on the curve of his ass, the point of his hip; with mischief in her onyx eyes she grins up at him, tantalizing, not quite there but oh so close. Her other hand stays tangled in his locks, holding him tight against her, a promise in her fingers, a delicately strummed hymn. She has gained him, she has won him, and she will not relinquish her prize.

When at last his mouth moves away she whimpers her displeasure; when it reaches her ear she whimpers something else. Tilting her head obligingly to allow him to carry on his journey, Amalia lets her own lips ghost over his cheek, his neck, her tongue darting out to tease an auricle. A heavy laugh leaves her lungs, half mirth, half lust, all growl and need. The leg she has pulled up to his waist tightens further, seeking, wanting, drawing his skin against her own, her wanton desires made apparent by the heat between her thighs. She is ready to growl fuck the bath, to drag him down to the floor beside her and let water grow lukewarm and baked goods burn so long as she can have him now, her carnal and heathen needs fulfilled. She wants to show him everything she is, give him everything she has, to take and take until he is spent and she rises triumphant in the glow of his crescendo. Patience and planning are not her forte: she wants to set her lover on fire and warm herself upon the coals.

Ah, but he has other plans, as he always does. He is the temper to her raging inferno, the patience of  glacier with the presence of a summer storm. The lift is unexpected; Amalia gasps and squeals her surprise, dark eyes looking down on his, her cheeks rich with color, her breasts bare and flushed. For a moment she hovers in the air above him, flying on the pleasure of firm embrace.

Then her toes touch the water and she descends, spreading her feet on the bottom of the tub, gasping as hot water rises up her legs. She does not release him as he steps in, too; her hands remain on his figure, guiding and drawing, hoping and pleasing. But slowly her mouth begins to move, kisses trailed down his nape, his clavicle, flowing down his sternum in pursuit of her hands. Caressing, embracing, she lowers herself down, tracing scars and muscle as she falls to her knees. A featherlight touch of her mouth on his hip, then across, butterfly touches over his pelvis until she comes to the opposite thigh. She glances up at him, waiting for permission before moving on, intending to reach out with her right hand and wrap it around his length, her tongue and mouth following suit as a gentle moan leaves her throat.

you're breaking your own heart


Reply
Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 12
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 443
MP:
#35
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
It was a change from their first – gone was the shyness, the apprehension, flickering away in the blink of an eye, in the smoldering assignations bristling them together, fire and fire and fire, cooling the glacial walls, the mountain expanse, and he might’ve been molten, might’ve been scorched, senses dizzying and stupefied, brazen and infernal. It was a sin he’d commit again and again, listening to her whimper, to her moan, to her groans contorting upon his mind, yearning for them to be a constant, wanton need and necessity, a reverberation, an intonation, that she wanted him and every single broken shard, every single splintered fragment, every single bitter flaw and defect. He fed the flames of her aggression, of her possession, of her cravings and hankerings with his own, hissing when her tongue met his ear, laughing when her hand spread across his skin, upon his hip, legs wrapped, tugging and insistent, and implored, convinced, endeavored. There were too many promises laden on his mouth but each one was for her and only her – a silent whisper, a ghostly sigh, a scintillating undulation of his hips, pressing and teasing, neither of them delicate now; desperate and hungry, ravenous and acquisitive. They’d already won, victorious in their devotions and affections, in their love and trust and faith, but it kept going, kept climbing, kept inciting all the other nuances and expressions in between – lust building and brewing, a cauldron of manifested bemusement and desire. A gasp on her exultation was music to his ears, a squeal followed by a raw chuckle, resounding from his throat, and the claws were not there, the choking nooses and tethers falling apart, naught but the glow, the desperation, the demands.

He’d thought about the soap and the towels, the cloths, on the chair nearby, he’d planned and mused, he’d calculated and deciphered –

And then any and all notions were gone, caught in the haze, in the fire, in the inferno consuming his soul.

For a moment, or maybe for an infinite number of seconds, he was entirely uncertain and didn’t care. They didn’t escape one another, didn’t even bother to try. There was no tactical evasion; standing amidst the fumes and puffs of sultry air, drawing, molding, sculpting their own – his mouth simmered against hers, still hungry, still voracious, tongue aiming to slide past her lips. But then she descended, and he was quite lost; because it meant some form of surrender, some form of vulnerability he’d yet to truly ever embody or embrace. That she would keep offering him pleasure, scorching touches in her wake, traveling down his neck, his sternum, down and down and down and he wasn’t quite sure what to do, was an experience he couldn’t define or measure, at a damned loss. However, his body seemed to hold that notion in little regard, mouth gaping, chest heaving, whimpers and moans effectively voicing his inclinations and indulgences. More growls and hisses worked their way past his lips as the lightest of touches stroked over his hip, lingering along his pelvis, a prelude – a sigh glinted and flinted through his being, his glance stolen by hers, gazes meeting, an even exchange from days on riverfronts and wild abandon; back and forth.

Except, even then he’d been quick to embolden his efforts away from yielding and submission, a greater part of him always roaring for control, for composure, for not giving himself entirely away. He’d once been unreachable, unattainable, a denizen of guarded predilections, meant for no one but his nefarious, abhorrent self.

But on her moan, on her touch, he was so completely, utterly lost that it really didn’t matter anymore – fingers intertwining in her hair, begging, beseeching, pleading for her to continue, figure shuddering, shaking, quivering on the promised release.
Unite and spread the heart apart
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Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Baker ☆ Loreseeker's Guild
Age: 21 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 5 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 25
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 712
MP:
#36
Amalia

stop thinking so much

The water is warm upon her legs, soothing the muscles of her calves, licking luxuriously at her thighs as she falls down to her knees. Aggressive as she may be, insistent and impatient, she is nevertheless stalwartly his, an agent of his pleasure, a herald of his cries. Days and weeks and months ago the girl lost the game, falling willingly into his orbit, mistified and magnetized by the wonder of his regard. Does he know the things he has done for her, the steps he has taken to mending her tears, the pieces of her fractured heart he has rescued from the ash?

There is no sufficient way to thank him, so she devotes each action to trying. Amalia does not know how to fight, how to flirt, how to do much at all. But she does know how to worship, and today she worships him.

His moans are a hymnall, his whimpers a serenade. Each sound he makes emboldens her, fulfils her as much as any touch, leaves her shuddering and eager for more. Inexperience is made up for with fervor, promises and pledges spilling from her tongue as she continues down the canvas of his body. Mine and mine and mine she sings with lips and hands and teeth, greedy and giving, jealous and wild. And when at last she reaches her destination it is with a growled triumph she takes him on, whimpering softly as he fills her mouth, his hands coiled in her hair.

She is happy to let him lead, compliant and obedient as he sets the pace. A low moan escapes her throat, vibrating over her lips as he urges her on, pleased and delighted to incite his pleasure, feel his length against her tongue. Her right hand continues to stroke his shaft; the left reaches up to steady herself, reaching to fiercely grasp his ass, posessive and passionate and permissive and his.

you're breaking your own heart


Reply
Deimos Ignatius
Soldier / Mercenary ☆ Artisan's Guild
Age: 25 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 4 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 16 - Endr: 19 - Luck: 12
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 443
MP:
#37
DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The Reaper was not a thing to be worshipped. He’d been carved out of fire, water, earth, stone, death, and rubble – then sketched and blended into desecration, into menace, into malice; nothing reverent worthy, nothing for anyone to kneel before, nothing to pay homage to. His frame was no work of art, no temple, no sanctuary: just needle point conjectures, just brushstrokes of the damned, just war-torn assemblages and might gnarled back together. He’s never done anything noteworthy except survive, which all of them could scream from the tallest tower or the highest hill: an achievement measured in altering circumstances – he’d fought his way to here and now, and never for a single moment thought they’d lead him into more than just thorns and upheaval.

He wasn’t partial to begging or pleading, capable of counting the amount of times he’d done so on one hand – for the sake of others, never for himself. But this hour’s only met by smoldering need and avid desire, taking and giving and meeting in the middle. He was distinctly human in those feral interludes, no longer the unattainable, unreachable, firmly in her grasp, fingers weaving their way through her hair, gentle but succinctly imploring. Pleasure, lust, and satisfaction contorted their way through his brain, along his frame, barely held upright anymore by the entanglements and wanton yearning flooding through him. Yours and and yours and yours were nestled and blinding, somewhere in his blood, echoing and crooning on a gasp, on a shudder resounding, resonating, rumbling in his chest. His moans filled the room, pulsed through the water, left him there as a wild, untamed thing – her mouth on him, proffering omens and opuses behind his eyes as they drifted closed.

The beast didn’t open them as she crusaded on, dark lashes covering deeper blues just so he could embody and feel every notion, every semblance, every ricochet of indulgence. His pants, his hisses, were a declaration for her to continue, one of her hands persisting in his hunger, grabbing hold of his ass to steady herself, hips thrusting forward on her assault. His head was raised at some point, as if he were there for some glorious praise or benediction; but it was her, only her, that ever managed to render such a reaction – it only dropped on a growl, on a hint. “Amalia,” he groaned, her name stretched out on deepening tones and guttural expanses, barely able to whisper her name without some mewl crooning from it. But it was also a warning, an impending commotion and release, if she aimed to go any further – control and composure lost somewhere along the way.
Unite and spread the heart apart
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