dahlia
You can't buy this fineness
"If only they were inclined to let me taste them," Dahlia agrees, her tone lamenting, and while Dorian contemplates the fragile bones in her fingers and her forearm, she wonders what she might savour from the core of the man before her. Softness and sweetness she thinks not, knows not, and yet he'd be tantalising on her tongue nonetheless.
Humming low in her throat and raising her gaze to his own, if condescension could be considered a sweet nothing from Dorian, Dahlia would take it as such, and her breath flutters in her throat as his touch interlaces with her own. "Mm, not just fingers," she agrees. "Lips, tongue, and a whole host of other places too, I bet."
Her fingertips grow lax between his own, as if she means to slip them away from him, Dahlia reaching out with her free hand to snag at her wine glass for another drink. "Are you staying long?" she wonders, nodding to the large bag he'd arrived with.
Humming low in her throat and raising her gaze to his own, if condescension could be considered a sweet nothing from Dorian, Dahlia would take it as such, and her breath flutters in her throat as his touch interlaces with her own. "Mm, not just fingers," she agrees. "Lips, tongue, and a whole host of other places too, I bet."
Her fingertips grow lax between his own, as if she means to slip them away from him, Dahlia reaching out with her free hand to snag at her wine glass for another drink. "Are you staying long?" she wonders, nodding to the large bag he'd arrived with.
Let me see the heat get to it
