tell the wolves I'm home
Pleasure for pleasure, exposed to only one another; moments he’d only give and grant to her – garments taken and removed and gone somewhere that his mind clearly wasn’t focusing on. Perhaps now Evie would see the reward in slow, meticulous designs, but as he was now on the receiving end, his eyes narrowed, waiting, watching, for the snares to play out. A mesmerizing haze, intertwined and woven with something feral and carnal, head tilting vaguely as his eyes became vastly hooded and piercing. It’d be even more enticing if he could touch as well – but Evie would know her time was becoming more and more limited.
She could laugh all she wanted, he supposed, gaze catching her in firelight and not much else, the pulse of warmth and air skimming over his skin sending a ripple effect through muscles and flesh, an abrupt snort to follow. He’d like to, if he wasn’t quite so enamored and besotted and keen with other efforts. Sinking further into the sheets and petals, and shaking his head as she maneuvered further downward, he strived some speech with maximum effort, murmuring something guttural and muffled. “This is torture,” in some amused sense; she probably knew it too –
Only to be made worse and better simultaneously as her hands explored, and then her mouth. Bewitching and without guile, his breath became a restless hitch, a hiss of indulgence warring between his teeth, hands clenching very close and hovering nearby. Desires and restraints and everything else mixed within had steady moans and inclinations rising through his chest, a shaking of his head as he fought the urge to maneuver and chase and plunge. His hips bucked and rippled instead, especially as her tongue reached certain points. At some measure he managed to choke out other words, but they may not have held much meaning; he couldn’t recall. “Your time is nearly up.”
She could laugh all she wanted, he supposed, gaze catching her in firelight and not much else, the pulse of warmth and air skimming over his skin sending a ripple effect through muscles and flesh, an abrupt snort to follow. He’d like to, if he wasn’t quite so enamored and besotted and keen with other efforts. Sinking further into the sheets and petals, and shaking his head as she maneuvered further downward, he strived some speech with maximum effort, murmuring something guttural and muffled. “This is torture,” in some amused sense; she probably knew it too –
Only to be made worse and better simultaneously as her hands explored, and then her mouth. Bewitching and without guile, his breath became a restless hitch, a hiss of indulgence warring between his teeth, hands clenching very close and hovering nearby. Desires and restraints and everything else mixed within had steady moans and inclinations rising through his chest, a shaking of his head as he fought the urge to maneuver and chase and plunge. His hips bucked and rippled instead, especially as her tongue reached certain points. At some measure he managed to choke out other words, but they may not have held much meaning; he couldn’t recall. “Your time is nearly up.”
the ressurected sword
