Amalia
stop thinking so much
Neither of them are done, however, never finished with their game. The water is only lukewarm by now, but she does not feel it in the heat of his embrace, emboldened and incensed by his renewed ardor, easily distracted by his wiles. He rises to meet her and she gives him her all, greedy and gasping, lingering and touching, her tongue plundering into the depths of his mouth. Eager hands slip into his hair, tangling among the soapy locks; she clings with avarice and ardor, willingly pressing into his embrace. Her body slides down slickly along his, and she feels him pressed to every inch.
Amalia is not shy in her desires; her hips curl brazenly against his own, an invitation, an unsaid demand. More, because she cannot have enough, not of him, his body, his touches, his love. Urgent, impatient, she bucks against him, making her intentions crystal clear. She isn't sure how the water will affect the sheath, but she is already too far gone to care; besides, she trusts in Phoebe's herbs, the mixture taken diligently every day.
you're breaking your own heart
