[ her pupils blow at the combination of (finally) feeling the girth of him in her palm, but she doesn't have room to do much else before he's driving down against her. she arches up, rot dripping from the back of her dress and clinging to her hair when she leans up to snatch his words right from his lips with her mouth. the kiss is far from chaste, more teeth and tongue than anything else, and the heel of her dirtied boot finds the back of his thigh, locking him against her.
when she pulls away from his mouth she does so with a gasp, half wincing as his belt buckle presses bruising against her thigh, but even the pain of it is welcome in the face of her adrenalin, the unbridled want that's spent centuries building and building.
it might say something, that it took his switching sides, returning them to a state of rivalry, that finally pushed the both of them over the edge. the in stripping some of the respect that held them at arm's length, his trousers are around her knees and her skirts up at her belly. ]
Tá mé ag dul a mhilleadh duit. [ I'm going to destroy you; she breathes it like a promise, like a confession, voice made hoarse by lust and her eyes so dark they rival the shadows that crawl around them. her lips are bruised and slick from kissing him, and in some dark way, tangled up at the base of the mountain, she almost looks obsessively in love— the kind of love that sends people to war. ]
no subject
when she pulls away from his mouth she does so with a gasp, half wincing as his belt buckle presses bruising against her thigh, but even the pain of it is welcome in the face of her adrenalin, the unbridled want that's spent centuries building and building.
it might say something, that it took his switching sides, returning them to a state of rivalry, that finally pushed the both of them over the edge. the in stripping some of the respect that held them at arm's length, his trousers are around her knees and her skirts up at her belly. ]
Tá mé ag dul a mhilleadh duit. [ I'm going to destroy you; she breathes it like a promise, like a confession, voice made hoarse by lust and her eyes so dark they rival the shadows that crawl around them. her lips are bruised and slick from kissing him, and in some dark way, tangled up at the base of the mountain, she almost looks obsessively in love— the kind of love that sends people to war. ]