Maeve
We'll never get free
Lamb to the slaughter
Lamb to the slaughter
His words dance across her skin, sending a shiver up her spine and making her fingers tighten in his shirt as she arches closer, head tipping back to expose the column of her throat to the heat of his mouth. Not that it's necessary with the way he searches for it without hesitation, sucking a mark into her pale skin, a splash of purple against milky white. "You cannot. I think she might have to have your head if you do." It's an underlying threat. A promise she'll make good on. Don't you dare run again, Locke or gods help the consequences.
Maeve gets his shirt open, pushing it off of toned shoulders and arms, drawing back enough to get a look at him. His tattoos are a splash of color across his skin, winding across his chest and down his arms, curling over his shoulders and she wants nothing more than to trace every line with her tongue. She doesn't deny herself the opprotunity to run her hands across them, the tips of her fingers barely featherlight as she licks her lips, "I like them. Ink looks good on you." Maeve breathes, dipping her head forward to catch his lips in another searing kiss as his fingers find the heat of her cunt, fumbling for only a moment before he finds his rhythm.
Her breath catches, a hiss pushing past clenched teeth, lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. She rocks her hips of her own accord, shivering at the rush of heat that fills her belly, but she doesn't lose herself there. If only because she's just as desperate for him as he is her. She wants to take her time and relearn all of those spots he loves her to touch so much, but the need for him is just too much to ignore. Her fingers trace down his chest, fumbling with his belt and the button of his pants, reaching inside to find him just as eager as she is.
Maeve gets his shirt open, pushing it off of toned shoulders and arms, drawing back enough to get a look at him. His tattoos are a splash of color across his skin, winding across his chest and down his arms, curling over his shoulders and she wants nothing more than to trace every line with her tongue. She doesn't deny herself the opprotunity to run her hands across them, the tips of her fingers barely featherlight as she licks her lips, "I like them. Ink looks good on you." Maeve breathes, dipping her head forward to catch his lips in another searing kiss as his fingers find the heat of her cunt, fumbling for only a moment before he finds his rhythm.
Her breath catches, a hiss pushing past clenched teeth, lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. She rocks her hips of her own accord, shivering at the rush of heat that fills her belly, but she doesn't lose herself there. If only because she's just as desperate for him as he is her. She wants to take her time and relearn all of those spots he loves her to touch so much, but the need for him is just too much to ignore. Her fingers trace down his chest, fumbling with his belt and the button of his pants, reaching inside to find him just as eager as she is.
What you gon' do when there's blood in the water?
