It takes a leap of faith

Amalia

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stop thinking so much

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The bath is far from scorching, yet Amalia feels a blanketing heat, the burning snarl of lust in her belly boiling and broiling between their skin. It is a wonder that the water does not simmer, bubble with the flames of her desire, ignited and inspired by his touches, his glances, the breaths he exhales against her neck. Is this what it means to be adored, to be loved: generosity and fair exchange, an endless battle to be the one providing the other with more? It is the game they play, taunting and teasing, giving and giving until the other one takes, the offerings snatched from their lips, the unspoken pleas and hymnal of touch. Take me she begs in her soft exhalations, her fingers, her whimpers, the shiver of her flesh. I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours.

She is already halfway to ecstasy herself, brought on by the pleasure of his whimpers, his sighs; it leave her malleable beneath his embrace, willing and compliant and aching for more. The hand in his hair clenches as he trails down, accented by an echo, a hungering mewl. She leans forward obediently as he draws in her mouth, happy to leave her moans on his lips, to pledge his name with tongue and clenched teeth as his fingers continue to simper and tease. He knows the paths that drive her wild, the ridges of her hips, the curves of her thighs, and she gaps as he takes them, traces them, reverent, the leg around his waist pulling him closer as she murmurs and whimpers beneath his touch.

"Deimos," she whimpers, sings, mewls, shuddering and shivering as he enters her core. His name is drawn out along her lips, a stuttering breath, a choked alto tone. Amalia is pride, and stubborn, and strong- but oh, he knows how to bring her to beg. He is brilliant, searing, cosmic, eternal: she will worship forever at the shrine of his love. Dark eyes flutter beneath tawny lashes, cloudy and firelit as she looks to her star. "M-more."

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you're breaking your own heart

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