honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time
Oh that certainly gets his gaze to simmer more, pulling his mind from the way he tries to deal with the sensations around him to focus on her and the feel of her hands against him, the weight of her as she presses against his chest. It’s enough to spark a soft breathy laugh. No, lucky me. He murmurs, tugging her shirt off, hands roaming now to her side and up to cup her breast, thumb brushing along her nipple, chin tilting up for the warpath she takes along his neck.
It reminds him of the mask as her hands dance along the fabric he wears, and he reaches up with the metal one to tug it off, tossing it to the side where he can grab it later when he’s more put together and not on a one tracked mind of wanting to fuck her. It’s a tight fit from where Isla’s hands work to unbutton the pants, his erection tenting the fabric and practically begging for her attention. It drives him wild too as she succeeds, a breath of relief shuddering out of him, his arms snaking around her suddenly to walk her back and back and back until she’s back against the wall, lifted so that she’s more level with him, hands now moving to tug at the skirt she wears much under the same impression that she is about his clothes.
He doesn’t even want to get it off of her, just wanting to hitch it up enough that there’s little to impede them. “I want you, Isla.” He says aloud for the first time, pressing against her. He dives in for a kiss, one that’s greedy and devouring, his cool metal hand pressing in against her thigh now that he’s hitched her skirt up while his other hand moves to help support her, despite how he’s pinned her against the wall between him and the wood.
It reminds him of the mask as her hands dance along the fabric he wears, and he reaches up with the metal one to tug it off, tossing it to the side where he can grab it later when he’s more put together and not on a one tracked mind of wanting to fuck her. It’s a tight fit from where Isla’s hands work to unbutton the pants, his erection tenting the fabric and practically begging for her attention. It drives him wild too as she succeeds, a breath of relief shuddering out of him, his arms snaking around her suddenly to walk her back and back and back until she’s back against the wall, lifted so that she’s more level with him, hands now moving to tug at the skirt she wears much under the same impression that she is about his clothes.
He doesn’t even want to get it off of her, just wanting to hitch it up enough that there’s little to impede them. “I want you, Isla.” He says aloud for the first time, pressing against her. He dives in for a kiss, one that’s greedy and devouring, his cool metal hand pressing in against her thigh now that he’s hitched her skirt up while his other hand moves to help support her, despite how he’s pinned her against the wall between him and the wood.
VARUS
