RONIN
The ink on her skin is a new addition that, had his mind been more than white static, would have prompted conversation; at present all Ronin can focus on is how he imagines it would feel if he pressed a kiss against it. Amalia interrupts his ministrations by turning in his arms, leaving him gazing down into the fire of her almond eyes and the scarlet in her cheeks. Fingers flex against the small of her back, drawing her closer against him, and the hand on his chest feels like resistance until she speaks.
Until she asks him to show her. Perhaps not so strangely, it’s the please that’s his undoing, Ronin’s free hand moving up to brush across her cheek, to tilt her head up into his waiting lips. Moaning some incoherent affirmation that’s lost in the dance of his tongue, the Star tilts his hips forward, locking them against Amalia’s so she can be damned sure about what she’s doing to him. His fingers slide into her hair, Ronin grinding into her and hissing in a shaky breath as he fights for a fraction of control.
”Touch me.” It’s a demand and an invitation, a need he craves in a moment that will not be ignored.
Until she asks him to show her. Perhaps not so strangely, it’s the please that’s his undoing, Ronin’s free hand moving up to brush across her cheek, to tilt her head up into his waiting lips. Moaning some incoherent affirmation that’s lost in the dance of his tongue, the Star tilts his hips forward, locking them against Amalia’s so she can be damned sure about what she’s doing to him. His fingers slide into her hair, Ronin grinding into her and hissing in a shaky breath as he fights for a fraction of control.
”Touch me.” It’s a demand and an invitation, a need he craves in a moment that will not be ignored.
one more wish for you
