It takes a leap of faith

Amalia

---

stop thinking so much

---

Her gaze follows his lazily, glancing over at the toiletries which rest, untouched, on the chair beside them, a caricature of innocence the pair has long since lost. Languidly she reaches out with pointed toes, trying to reach them, to pull them closer, not really trying with any great effort, giddily amused by anything and everything in the heavenly impasse of post-coital bliss. Were this perfect moment to extend forever Amalia would find herself more than thrilled; she could die here, she thinks, and she would die satisfied, wrapped in the arms of her unlikely lover, his name a last hymnal on tingling lips.

I tried, he protests, and "Not very hard," she challenges gently, more amused than indignant as her long fingers dance lightly across his spine. A laugh of triumph escapes her throat as her foot catches on the lip of the chair. She is about to pull it closer when his teeth touch her ear, and at once the girl is jelly again, simpering and gasping beneath his ministrations, catching her lip in her teeth as she moans. "Careful. You'll get me excited again, and then what will happen to our pie?" Another laugh, heavy and low: unlike Deimos she has no refractory period, and a touch on her ear is nearly enough to ignite another lusty fire.

Amalia returns her feet to the bathtub, arcing up to meet him, her hands rising gently up to his neck. She leans forward, lips rising up to meet his in the ghost of a kiss before pulling away just enough to to snatch up the soap. "Let me wash your back?

---

you're breaking your own heart

---