we're always running scared but holding knives
Isla is putty in Sunjata's hands as he frogmarches walks them towards a room she knows all too well. With a husband as an Ascended demigod, perhaps she should have known he would already be well aware about how to touch her, but she still huffs out a breath of surprise to feel firm hands squeezing at her hips, applying enough pressure for her to actually register that it's happening.
Of course, then he's holding the door open for her to step into the room, and everything else fades away. Sensation and arousal roar through her body, Isla almost snatching Sunjata away from closing the door so she can have more of him. "Fuck," she hisses, her tone one of need and frustration, and already she's pulling her shirt over her head so she can feel him against her properly.
With that done, she drapes herself up against Sunjata's chest, lips already seeking out his again, her deft fingers moving to unbuckle his belt.
Of course, then he's holding the door open for her to step into the room, and everything else fades away. Sensation and arousal roar through her body, Isla almost snatching Sunjata away from closing the door so she can have more of him. "Fuck," she hisses, her tone one of need and frustration, and already she's pulling her shirt over her head so she can feel him against her properly.
With that done, she drapes herself up against Sunjata's chest, lips already seeking out his again, her deft fingers moving to unbuckle his belt.
Isla
