WEAVER
she was beautiful
in the way a forest fire was beautiful
in the way a forest fire was beautiful
Maybe she’d leaned into the claws just a hair too much, as he’d leaned into the point of her knife. She wants to cut and be cut, wants to possess and be possessed. She wants to live in this feral, wild moment, slide into their roles as serpent and feline, embrace that wild, primal thing called desire. She doesn’t have to believe that the tongue is worth it, not now. Believing suggests some amount of required faith, but this requires no faith. The proof is there, in the way her body responds, urgent, wet, betraying her (though it is not really betrayal, when she wants him to know).
His growl vibrates against her, sends her arching higher, her head back more, another moan through her lips as he takes her further. He grows rougher, and she responds in kind, legs tightening against his back slightly, herself closer to him where she can. The sheath of the knife grazes against his back. Her skin prickles beneath his touch. He pauses, only a moment, but it is a brutal moment that makes his finger in her all the sweeter, the wave of pleasure cresting into a tsunami.
She doesn’t want the wave to break, not yet. Oh, it could, but she wants to play, wants to enjoy, wants to drown in him - in his steel eyes, in his calloused hands, in his skin against her, in his finger inside her. And drown she does. Drowns beneath the pleasure, that wave cresting higher and higher. But she holds out. Just another moment, another minute...how long can she ride the wave?
His growl vibrates against her, sends her arching higher, her head back more, another moan through her lips as he takes her further. He grows rougher, and she responds in kind, legs tightening against his back slightly, herself closer to him where she can. The sheath of the knife grazes against his back. Her skin prickles beneath his touch. He pauses, only a moment, but it is a brutal moment that makes his finger in her all the sweeter, the wave of pleasure cresting into a tsunami.
She doesn’t want the wave to break, not yet. Oh, it could, but she wants to play, wants to enjoy, wants to drown in him - in his steel eyes, in his calloused hands, in his skin against her, in his finger inside her. And drown she does. Drowns beneath the pleasure, that wave cresting higher and higher. But she holds out. Just another moment, another minute...how long can she ride the wave?
something to be admired from a distance
