Koa
There's an art to life's distractions
Her fingers skip like smooth stones over his skin, leaving behind ripples of warmth that spread through his body to settle in his groin, embers of desire fanning calm coals into fire-bright flame. He aches for her, yearns for her, his left hand following the curve of her neck, the pad of his thumb carving a path down the razor's edge of her jawbone, ever closer to her lips. Each breath they share feels like an eternity of bright anticipation---
---but it is nothing compared to the eruption of lust when at last, they collide.
Koa does not need the excess prompting. As soon as she arches up against her the dragoon crashes down, lips meeting cheek in fervent kisses, his desire clear against her back. The strings of her shirt are swiftly abandoned; now Koa's only goal is to tug the damn thing off, to wrap his arm around her waist and oblidge her, to cup that promised, perfect breast in clever, calloused hands.
"Flora." His voice is a growl against her neck, groaned into the secret space behind her ear. He pulls her to him, sitting back to better take her weight into his lap. One thumb grazes coral lips; the other strokes over her nipple, a little lingering, a little rough.
---but it is nothing compared to the eruption of lust when at last, they collide.
Koa does not need the excess prompting. As soon as she arches up against her the dragoon crashes down, lips meeting cheek in fervent kisses, his desire clear against her back. The strings of her shirt are swiftly abandoned; now Koa's only goal is to tug the damn thing off, to wrap his arm around her waist and oblidge her, to cup that promised, perfect breast in clever, calloused hands.
"Flora." His voice is a growl against her neck, groaned into the secret space behind her ear. He pulls her to him, sitting back to better take her weight into his lap. One thumb grazes coral lips; the other strokes over her nipple, a little lingering, a little rough.
To somehow escape the burning weight, the art of scraping through
