Amalia
stop thinking so much
Ah, and does he ever- the girl gasps sharply as he enters her, bottom lip between her teeth, something halfway between a laugh and a groan whipping, smoke-like, through the room. Dark eyes flutter heavily closed, a grin illuminating her angular features as her head hangs back, her neck exposed. "Hnng." It is a slow descent, languid, sultry, a little bit teasing, a little bit cruel. She wants to draw him out until he breaks, takes the things he wants from her - the same game, and she is doomed to lose, but oh, if it isn't fun to play a little, to pretend she has any pretense of control, that she isn't entirely at his mercy. Ah, but she is, and happy to be so, his plaything, his toy, a beacon for his pleasure.
Finally, Amalia brings herself down, her hips locked in against his for a moment as she holds herself there, caught in his embrace. Eyes opening at last, they are lit with onyx fire, bright and burning, heavy and heady, lust and mischief raging war in the grin she bears, the arch of her brow. Slowly, slowly, she rises again, her toes curling keenly on the floor of the tub, her hands on his shoulders for leverage, grip tight. Make me, the challenge is written on her face as she stretches the moments and tries to suppress her own shuddering need. Please-
Because fuck how he feels, she can't hold out for much longer than this.
you're breaking your own heart
