Amalia
the shield of safrin
He does not question the tale behind the scar, does not chastise or implore, and Amalia appreciates the quiet confidence in the motive behind her foolish quest. It had been largely unsuccessful but for the rescue of Ashetta, and though she may not fully trust the other girl yet, she has developed a sort of affection for the waiflike assassin.
Her musings on the topic are quickly interrupted, redirected to present moments and baser urges as Deimos' lips once more carry on in their pursuit and descent. Delicate and tantalizing with hot breath and cold teeth, Amalia has no choice but to succumb to the ministrations, the heat in her belly rising once more as he expertly stokes the flames of her lust. His trailing kisses take him lower down her leg, to the calf, the spindling and splintering ends of the strange lightning scar.
But if they are silver he is gold, molten and aureate, shimmering and splendid. A soft whimper escapes her as he speaks against her skin; unable to teach him with her hands, Amalia resorts to sitting up in the bed, reaching for his face and tugging it toward her, urging him to return to her embrace while simultaneously attempting to maneuver into his lap. What does she want? "I want you to come back," she whispers, growls, purrs, voice low and gravely, black eyes hooded with lust. "I want to taste you." His lips, his sweat, his cock- she wants it all, avaricious and greedy, posessive and jealous and desperate and in love.
Her musings on the topic are quickly interrupted, redirected to present moments and baser urges as Deimos' lips once more carry on in their pursuit and descent. Delicate and tantalizing with hot breath and cold teeth, Amalia has no choice but to succumb to the ministrations, the heat in her belly rising once more as he expertly stokes the flames of her lust. His trailing kisses take him lower down her leg, to the calf, the spindling and splintering ends of the strange lightning scar.
But if they are silver he is gold, molten and aureate, shimmering and splendid. A soft whimper escapes her as he speaks against her skin; unable to teach him with her hands, Amalia resorts to sitting up in the bed, reaching for his face and tugging it toward her, urging him to return to her embrace while simultaneously attempting to maneuver into his lap. What does she want? "I want you to come back," she whispers, growls, purrs, voice low and gravely, black eyes hooded with lust. "I want to taste you." His lips, his sweat, his cock- she wants it all, avaricious and greedy, posessive and jealous and desperate and in love.
you drew memories in my mind
i could never erase
you painted colors in my heart
i could never replace
