Won't have to give what up? What does she mean?
He sees soon enough. More than seeing and perhaps more powerful he feels the arc between the maroon and blue of their eyes. In hers he sees reflected the flame of the roaring fire, and half-hears, half-imagines a thin wail of despair. He blinks once, and places the sound as an auditory reminder of a past blocked out but no, most definitely not left behind.
Whine and wine, this thought pushed through all others and he had an inexplicable urge to cackle. All this in a fraction of a second and then her breast was exposed to the air, the cool of the room (despite help from the hardwood logs fueling the fire), and exposed to his penetrating gaze and senses. Another phantom voice, this time a whisper which resembled a wild low hiss from a moist spot in the wood, in his ear "Boticelli".
She waits, and feels the cool of the air caressing her moistened nipple. Her breathing is labored, and the drop of wine suspended from her flesh quivers, a liquid jewel. A litany passes through her mind, feed from me, feed from me, let me feed you, and a shiver passes again through her body as he stares into the core of her.
The trip-hammer of her heart fuels the blood to her face as she sees him move forward slowly and deliberately, as if after much strain, he is freed from his moorings.
He sees soon enough. More than seeing and perhaps more powerful he feels the arc between the maroon and blue of their eyes. In hers he sees reflected the flame of the roaring fire, and half-hears, half-imagines a thin wail of despair. He blinks once, and places the sound as an auditory reminder of a past blocked out but no, most definitely not left behind.
Whine and wine, this thought pushed through all others and he had an inexplicable urge to cackle. All this in a fraction of a second and then her breast was exposed to the air, the cool of the room (despite help from the hardwood logs fueling the fire), and exposed to his penetrating gaze and senses. Another phantom voice, this time a whisper which resembled a wild low hiss from a moist spot in the wood, in his ear "Boticelli".
She waits, and feels the cool of the air caressing her moistened nipple. Her breathing is labored, and the drop of wine suspended from her flesh quivers, a liquid jewel. A litany passes through her mind, feed from me, feed from me, let me feed you, and a shiver passes again through her body as he stares into the core of her.
The trip-hammer of her heart fuels the blood to her face as she sees him move forward slowly and deliberately, as if after much strain, he is freed from his moorings.