Send me ‘I want the K’ and I’ll generate a number
She’s been craving for this, the closeness, the heat. The competence has been extended to heavenly levels she never assumed they would reach. It’s about hierarchy and shattered hearts. Its about desperate hands and rough grips.
Its skin against skin, its friction and it’s a hell they both belong in. From humans to soldiers, kids looking for a stolen love. He was his and became hers. He was the sun and he became the moon. And an eclipse is what they can make.
Desperation, always that rivalry. It’s a challenge; it’s about proving each other what they’re capable of. It’s heat and touches that are far from being tender. And there’s attraction too, and desire that has been well hidden between suggestive looks and teasing smiles. How it took them so long to reach a boiling point is beyond her knowledge. She’s up por proving what she can handle. She deserves him, and the one that’s gone.
Situations turn out to her favor, his fingers tangled around the hem of her skirt; taking advantage of someone’s doings is not part of the loyal and valiant child, but she’s craving for more, she’s going to have it her own way. And even when roughness and a maddening impulse for possession is circling around her system and injecting on the swollen channels that are her veins and heated blood – the tenderness that’s part of her entire being can’t help but come to surface. Her fingers – on the way, are buried over the skin of his shoulders. And crimson lips come to taste all that Fitz is. He’s hormones and testosterone and he’s sweat and salt. Dizziness follows, crimson spots of the eagerness of swollen lips sprawled across a line that cuts her insides, that makes her shiver in anticipation, that melts everything that makes her a woman. Along, and back and forth, over and over again; so close to his ear, and her, so close to the end.
