[se] beyond imagining

Deimos

He didn’t quite have the right words; never did, never would, not taken aback, but encouraged, treading momentarily in the absolution of her meaning. Evie’s ability to utter her truths without preamble or hesitation was something to be admired, and if he hadn’t been hidden, tucked away, and guarded for so long, he might have been able to follow the paths so fearlessly. Instead, he permitted the gestures of so many walls down, gave himself over to her, tacit trust, sacred devotion, amidst the desires, the affection, the adoration. Actions said more than he’d ever be able to – heart open, assurances rendered – in the rush of his lips against the skin of her neck, in the distant rumble in his chest. To leave no doubt in her mind either: irrefutable and definite.

Hips rolled and bodies met; a groan uttered along the pale junctures of her flesh, a hiss soon following. A flicker of all the fire behind his eyes, before he ached to match her tempo, wanton and covetous, grasping and rapacious, thrusting upward as she hovered, ghosted, plunged, settled for half an instant more. A piercing pace, sometimes purposefully drawn out, to reach heights and tease, taunt and relish, consume and devour – sometimes perilous and dangling on an edge. Hands roamed with the same intensity, reaching and seeking, sliding along hips to steady or maneuver.; acquisitive, yearning.

it's not the waking, it's the rising
It's the fire it ignites