[ In a shudder and a rough mouthed gasp, those carefully lit ties of oil lamps, sent crashing to the floor, the rich material caught and set a light in a fever heat. She doesn't waste time returning the favour as she gets Annie's hips free so barely of her clothes. Not a lot, but more than enough.
( Even if there is a pause, ragged in her movements as she catches Annie's wrist where it slips against her - words that beget feeling beget action in a seamlessly without explanation - no, not some sweet slide, she wants it hard, she wants those fingers up and curling in, she wants the heat of her palm just so - she wants her relief, and she doesn't want it mercifully given, she wants to feel and be felt and curl hard around something solid so deeply inside of herself she can't undone - she is tired and full of teeth and hanging onto her kingdom-body-woman slipping out from that hold and she hangs on in return like the ugliest of her truths - she never learned the art of letting go well, though she has a gift for self denial she would never admit too. )
A denial that she uses now even if she does nothing but shudder, her reaction sharp and quick, before she pulls up again.
Her fingers return quickly to her task, finding her slick and easy and she chuckles breathlessly - appreciatively. How easy this all is, against the bitter aftertaste on the swallow. But she can't care or have a want to know what that regret truly is. Which is appreciated, held up ugly to the light and then discarded like she always does.
She has better things to do when her fingers - one and then another - slide up in return to Annie, and she has a strict purpose here as she heaves herself up. Letting her get the angle she wants as her wrist begins to work her, quick and hard. Her own self disregarded to the want to watch her, bear down over her - gauge how she jumps and reacts, as her speed stays there, elbow planted by Annie's head. Letting her hold fast as she needs to, giving her the caged space to fall apart. A shield of hair falling free over her shoulder, pressing her up by shove of knees to push her easy apart. Because she will have every bit of her, exposed and open and wanting. ]
no subject
( Even if there is a pause, ragged in her movements as she catches Annie's wrist where it slips against her - words that beget feeling beget action in a seamlessly without explanation - no, not some sweet slide, she wants it hard, she wants those fingers up and curling in, she wants the heat of her palm just so - she wants her relief, and she doesn't want it mercifully given, she wants to feel and be felt and curl hard around something solid so deeply inside of herself she can't undone - she is tired and full of teeth and hanging onto her kingdom-body-woman slipping out from that hold and she hangs on in return like the ugliest of her truths - she never learned the art of letting go well, though she has a gift for self denial she would never admit too. )
A denial that she uses now even if she does nothing but shudder, her reaction sharp and quick, before she pulls up again.
Her fingers return quickly to her task, finding her slick and easy and she chuckles breathlessly - appreciatively. How easy this all is, against the bitter aftertaste on the swallow. But she can't care or have a want to know what that regret truly is. Which is appreciated, held up ugly to the light and then discarded like she always does.
She has better things to do when her fingers - one and then another - slide up in return to Annie, and she has a strict purpose here as she heaves herself up. Letting her get the angle she wants as her wrist begins to work her, quick and hard. Her own self disregarded to the want to watch her, bear down over her - gauge how she jumps and reacts, as her speed stays there, elbow planted by Annie's head. Letting her hold fast as she needs to, giving her the caged space to fall apart. A shield of hair falling free over her shoulder, pressing her up by shove of knees to push her easy apart. Because she will have every bit of her, exposed and open and wanting. ]