Isla
Sunjata's fingers in her hair earns him a soft moan for his trouble, Isla feeling every touch as somehow more than for its tenderness. Parting just enough to let him readjust, she welcomes his lips back against her throat, fingers skating down the nape of his neck and across ink and scars alike. Surprising herself with a breath of laughter, it's through blue eyes made darker by the moonlight that she gazes down at him. "It sounds better coming from you," she admits in a whisper, shifting back so he might pull his shirt over his head.
As she's clasped close again, it's the heat as much as the feel of him that has her fingers flinching against his shoulder blades, Isla happily pressed against the length of his body, draped about him like a blanket. "Let me, this time," she whispers; so often she finds Sunjata taking the lead, both in and out of the bedroom, that it feels like he doesn't know how to not to carry everything on his own shoulders, where even pleasure becomes a responsibility.
And so, if he allows, Isla guides him back onto the bed, her lips finding his own once more to write promises she fully intends to keep.
As she's clasped close again, it's the heat as much as the feel of him that has her fingers flinching against his shoulder blades, Isla happily pressed against the length of his body, draped about him like a blanket. "Let me, this time," she whispers; so often she finds Sunjata taking the lead, both in and out of the bedroom, that it feels like he doesn't know how to not to carry everything on his own shoulders, where even pleasure becomes a responsibility.
And so, if he allows, Isla guides him back onto the bed, her lips finding his own once more to write promises she fully intends to keep.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
