Foot of The Cross
09-01-2013, 12:46 PM
(This post was last modified: 09-01-2013, 10:52 PM by Karmen.)
She wanted him, in all his emotionless and malicious being, she wanted him. She wanted every fiber of his being next to her, in her mouth, inside of her. He made everything whimsical about unnatural attraction die when she just wanted it to burn alive, like polar opposites. She desired him to desire her, and perhaps he did, but it was evident that it was not in the same degree she yearned for him. But some womanly determination ignited her, and she was more than eager to play this game of his. He made her have goose-flesh, butterflies trapped inside her stomach, making her flutter those big, dark lashes. Saliva dripped from his jowls as he spoke to her in that molten chocolate voice, his stare hot with unintelligible intentions. She internally swooned. He moved forward to enclose her, to gather her in the cavity of his chest and she slipped barely out of his reach, letting his chin graze the curve in her back before she moved away and tried to drag the tip of her tail along his lips like a beckoning finger. "I just couldn't help myself." Her voice was gritty like Delta Blues, raw and decadent, reminiscence of a sultry jazz singer in a lonely bar. The heavens ripped with a guttural roar, announcing the arrival of the storm. A flash of lightning illuminated the atramentous skies, shedding a quick glimpse at the beast's strong jawline and wet lips. Even the environment was suggesting that the meeting of these two was infernal and possibly destructive. talking to you |
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