oh my goddess

His hands encircle her waist and Isla arches her back, heat seeming to flare and spread wherever he touches. And she'll happily let it, her skin flushed and her fingers eager to explore in the wake of all she sees. "I've been missing out," she remarks, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to the constellations of freckles on his face, and another to the jagged silver crescent of a scar that decorates his cheek. Sunjata smells like citrus and spices, and as he paints fire up and down the length of her spine it sends a plume of heat further south, straight to Isla's core. The arm draped around his shoulders is busy mapping the pathways of ink and old scars, while the other slips up through the back of his hair. "Show me where you like to be touched," she invites in a voice that's barely more than a whisper. It's been so long that Isla has no idea about herself any longer, and while she's got plenty of, er, self-exploration to look forward to, that's for later. ISLA when it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die