Seraphina
the artificer
i'm not a slave, i won't be guided to a grave in
a masquerade, you'll hide your face
a masquerade, you'll hide your face
His words are met with another quiet whine, a chime of a moan that echoes off the tiled walls of her shower — uncaring how loud she is, given it’s her apartment and her typical activities weren’t a secret by any means. One of her hands digs her nails into his shoulder as he picks up speed, the other rising to tangle in his dark hair, keeping him against her skin as he drives himself into her deeper and deeper, rising the start of the burn within her.
Her back arches with the marks sucked into her skin, her hips bucking against his. And when he shifts his head to press more marks into her skin, both met with a quickened pulse and sharp edged moans that leave her. She dives toward him, then, tucking her head against his shoulder to leave a mark there, to leave another along his neck, before dotting it with kisses soon after, panting against his neck. “Faster…” Her breath rakes in quickened bursts against his skin.
Her back arches with the marks sucked into her skin, her hips bucking against his. And when he shifts his head to press more marks into her skin, both met with a quickened pulse and sharp edged moans that leave her. She dives toward him, then, tucking her head against his shoulder to leave a mark there, to leave another along his neck, before dotting it with kisses soon after, panting against his neck. “Faster…” Her breath rakes in quickened bursts against his skin.
you got it out for me, like strangers in the night
holding close their sharpened knives
holding close their sharpened knives
