(SE) die a little to survive

Maeve

Since becoming queen, Maeve hasn't taken clients. She hasn't played this role. Yet it's a role that she'll always be able to slip in to. For him? For him she's more willing than most. His voice vibrates through the air, words curling through her veins and bringing a heat to her stomach as he makes his request. No, his demand. It isn't a question. It's a direction, pure and simple. As he rolls to lounge on his side, bracing against his elbow as steel drinks her in, Maeve dips her chin and almost appears demure. They both know she's anything but.

The Nightshade doesn't have music. No other beat aside from that of her heart against her ribs and the waves against the shore. She doesn't need it, though. Delicately she begins to draw the fabric up, revealing inch after inch of pale skin, awash in the glow of the world around them. Her hips sway minutely to a rhythm her body and the waves conjure. The shirt in her grasp finally revealing the dark lace that covers her breasts, maintaining a hint of modesty as she flicks her eyes down to him, a sweet smile playing on her lips.

Playfully she tosses the shirt in his direction, letting it fall into the sand before him before her palms skate down her torso, the tips of her fingers pausing to tease at the button of her pants. She doesn't move further. Not yet.

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet
Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth