Amalia
stop thinking so much
Amalia is not afraid. To be known is all she has ever wanted, to feel she fits somewhere in this world. That her place should be in the arms of a mountain never would have been her dream, but now that she has taken solace she cannot imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else.
Dark eyes watch as he lowers himself into the bed, his body shifting to he shape of the mattress, his weight settling in beside her, a thunderous melody in her heart. He is monolithic and mighty, a bulwark against bad dreams; he warms her skin and fills her senses, the scent of him inhaled keenly and exhaled with a contented sigh. Smiling, Amalia raises her fingers to gently push back a lock of hair, freeing his face from agitation, thumb lingering briefly on his lips. A part of her stirs with fire anew, reminds her how close he is, how easily she could slide him between her thighs.
Another part cherishes this intimacy too much to sacrifice it to a baser urge.
The arm that snakes around her is welcome, and Amalia burrows against his chest, laughing slightly and shifting as she tries to find a place for herself, to adjust to sleeping in his wake. At last she winds up on her side, her back to him, his heartbeat a tattoo on her back, their fingers entwined upon her waist. He teases her gently and she smiles her reply, tilting her face back to meet his gaze, a sleepy smile on her coral lips. "Mmm... I'm only here for the scars and sex, remember?"
you're breaking your own heart
