your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

Oh the position he’s put her in is typically the one he prefers. But with the way his arms had already trembled with the pressure from pleasuring her and keeping himself aloft enough to do it, this is easier — distracted by her and the way she shifts against him. But she doesn’t do what he wants her to, and he hisses a small amount as she dodges his wishes — somewhat making up for it with the way she drags herself against him. His breath hitches and he tilts his head back a small amount, giving her all the access she needs to his scarred and tattooed neck.

A ghost of a smirk crosses his face as she tells him to ask her nicely, and he debates for a few moments not to — but he’s aching and burning and he growls against the bite to his neck — reminiscent of the way Nate’s teeth had found him in a very similar if not the same spot. It reverts him a small amount, shifting his hips against her folds again in a slow stroke of demand as his breath hitches once more. “Please.” He finally concedes, in no position to make demands or arguments. His voice is gravelly, deep, breathless as he tilts his head back, pressing his chest against hers a small amount as his hands find her hips again to keep her close.

further away from this mistake
i'm no savior, i'm no saint