[ little pinpricks of wind bite into her skin, exposed to the night air as his touch rucks up her sweater. her own fingers are unapologetically chilled as they greedily slide beneath his shirt, chasing away the heated drag of her nails down the plane of his abdomen and the fading white scratches they leave in their wake. alina's heart is still in her throat, and it's been so long since she's searched out the vulnerability that intimacy demands, since she's allowed herself to trust the hands that hold her. all factors that should make this moment messy and imperfect, but she knows there was never going to be any other answer other than: ]
It's perfect.
[ hinged on the edge of a sharp intake of breath, stirring strands of hair as she nuzzles his temple. perfect and unfair; his mouth should be a weapon for how easily it targets the sensitive slope of her neck, as if already aware of where to lick and suck and kiss to coax out the low whine from her throat. and still it's not quite so addicting as the groan that flies from his mouth, that makes her wonder if the champagne is already coursing through her system with how intoxicating she finds that single sound, and how desperately she wants to be the reason he makes those pretty noises again and again and again.
her hands push his back into the loveseat so she can work the sweater over her head and carelessly toss it aside, waiting for the self-consciousness that never comes. there's something too empowering in the flush overtaking him, in being undeniably wanted by him, for her to cover herself — even as her mouth parts around a gasp while her eyes lock to his, a callous catching on the pebbling bud of her nipple as his thumb teases it. ]
I want you. [ it sighs out of her as she devours the sight of him, her hands guiding the glide of his fingers down the dip of her waist, the sharp divot of her hips, back to her breasts as she pushes herself into his palms. she tightens his grip until their fingers dig into her skin and then releases him, thumb tugging at his lower lip as she swirls her hips in slow circles over his lap — a glide to tease him with the promise of friction, despite the weight of open honesty in her voice when she murmurs, ] So much.
no subject
It's perfect.
[ hinged on the edge of a sharp intake of breath, stirring strands of hair as she nuzzles his temple. perfect and unfair; his mouth should be a weapon for how easily it targets the sensitive slope of her neck, as if already aware of where to lick and suck and kiss to coax out the low whine from her throat. and still it's not quite so addicting as the groan that flies from his mouth, that makes her wonder if the champagne is already coursing through her system with how intoxicating she finds that single sound, and how desperately she wants to be the reason he makes those pretty noises again and again and again.
her hands push his back into the loveseat so she can work the sweater over her head and carelessly toss it aside, waiting for the self-consciousness that never comes. there's something too empowering in the flush overtaking him, in being undeniably wanted by him, for her to cover herself — even as her mouth parts around a gasp while her eyes lock to his, a callous catching on the pebbling bud of her nipple as his thumb teases it. ]
I want you. [ it sighs out of her as she devours the sight of him, her hands guiding the glide of his fingers down the dip of her waist, the sharp divot of her hips, back to her breasts as she pushes herself into his palms. she tightens his grip until their fingers dig into her skin and then releases him, thumb tugging at his lower lip as she swirls her hips in slow circles over his lap — a glide to tease him with the promise of friction, despite the weight of open honesty in her voice when she murmurs, ] So much.