"Somethin' tells me y'aint much'a one for caution." You lean in as you say the last word, almost a growl in her ear. You can smell her, an earthy, woodsy musk that's both into intoxicating and unfamiliar, and all the more exciting for it. You're behaving like a damn teenager, you know, already feeling the heat in your pants, hand lingering on the curve of her ass as you slip the arrowhead into your palm- but fuck if it isn't fun.
As for what you do? "You, hopefully." The words come out against her neck before you can stop them, accompanied by a sudden bashful grin. Fucking smooth, Cassanova. Drawing back from her a little you shrug, color still bright on your cheeks. "But when I don't have gorgeous, mysterious strangers to entertain I work out on the docks. Movin' goods an' the like." It explains your tan skin, your rough hands, your muscular build.
"And maybe a little bit a thievin'. When the urge strikes." winking you produce the arrowhead - not a very impressive find, but it gets your point across. You're trying to amuse her, maybe rile her up a bit. You wouldn't say no to a wrestling match.
You have a feeling you'd both come out on top.
Zephyr
you can be the ripest, juciest peach in the world
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
