Weaver
So precious is this life, this gift,
this temporary blindness.
this temporary blindness.
She doesn’t mind a little biting, a little pain, and her grin grows a slightly more feral. There is always something wild about Weaver, something untamed, but it is made vastly more clear in this moment. Raw and exposed, hair cascading in wild waves around her. ”And what is it you like?” she asks, her voice hitching slightly in her throat because she is not entirely functional as his fingers circle.
Still, she slips her free hand behind his neck to scratch lightly along his neck and into his hair, her other hand still brushing teasingly against his underwear. It’s as if her hands are waiting for an answer, for a preference, so they can comply. She rather likes watching him squirm in that pleasurable way.
Still, she slips her free hand behind his neck to scratch lightly along his neck and into his hair, her other hand still brushing teasingly against his underwear. It’s as if her hands are waiting for an answer, for a preference, so they can comply. She rather likes watching him squirm in that pleasurable way.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark,
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
