Amalia
stop thinking so much
She she coils and curls and shifts instead, turning in his lap, her hips dancing on his thighs, her face raised up to face the sun. The rumbling of his purr is felt more than heard; "I swear, you're more a cat than I," Amalia laughs between soft kisses, blowing the words against his cheeks as her hand finds its way into his beard, gently caressing the opposite side, leading him closer to her mouth. By the time he speaks again the girl is gone, her eyes half-lidded, close enough to taste him, aching for his heat. "Hmm?" she murmurs, pressing another soft caress upon the corner of his mouth. "I suppose I can be persuaded."
The kiss she lays upon him is fervent and gentle, passionate and pure. Languid, longing, she presses her tongue against his mouth, looking for access, caressing and stroking as her arms fall easily across his shoulders, fingers coiling in his hair. She holds him there as long as he'll let her, her body molded into his, enjoying the sensation of his chest on the other side of the thin shirt, enjoying being his.
And when at last she pulls away it is with glossy eyes and a devilish grin, licking her lips as though to capture every atom of the way he tastes. A hum, half-whispered, dreamy and without thought escapes her throat, wafting out from her half-lidded gaze. "Nothing in that basket is as sweet as you."
Then she laughs and colors pink, suddenly self-conscious, the silly praise sounding cheesy even to her own ears.
you're breaking your own heart
