when it's just the two of us, only the two of us
Isla's arms close around him, the rest of their limbs tangling in ways that feels somehow comfortable and carefree, and she lolls back against the pillows and absently lets her fingers comb through his curls, teasing them away from the wound on his neck. "Mm, I don't think you need to say anything at all," she says, her disagreement a lazy thing, muffled agains the crown of his head where she presses a gentle kiss.
"Not everything needs words. Sometimes it's better without them," she says, shifting a little as, just like Remi, fresh desire threatens to kindle in her lower belly. Still working on his curls, her free hand walks gentle fingers down his spine, savouring the topography of his body, the way his muscles shift and move beneath his skin.
"I want you again," Isla mumbles. "But I feel like that might be pushing our luck."
"Not everything needs words. Sometimes it's better without them," she says, shifting a little as, just like Remi, fresh desire threatens to kindle in her lower belly. Still working on his curls, her free hand walks gentle fingers down his spine, savouring the topography of his body, the way his muscles shift and move beneath his skin.
"I want you again," Isla mumbles. "But I feel like that might be pushing our luck."
i could die
Isla
