there were very few things that quickly turned rowan baker’s to jelly, but diwata’s self-confidence and the velvet in their voice when they talked to her like this was definitely on top of the short list. " i wasn’t— i didn’t— dee, " the nickname in itself is a plea, not yet desperate but surely and unavoidably heading there under the trail of kisses being left along the sensitive skin of her neck. it’s the way diwata touches her, really. so assured and firm yet also so soft in a way that drives her insane. the way her fingers seem to know exactly where to push and pull, were to press and how. so it’s unavoidable, in the end, the way her hips move when a thigh gets shoved between her legs, the despair with which they wave against the firm muscle pressing against her center, the way the contact eliciti a chorus of pathetic moans — it is driving her to madness, all the stimulation has every one of her nerves alight like a bonfire and the way she responds to the kiss ( desperate, eager, absolutely hungry ) is nothing but pure evidence of it.
" diwata, please, " they beg again, dignity be damned, when their lips part and they’re left breathless and starving for more. a heady jesus, fuck falls from their kiss-swollen mouth when the mechanic gets on their knees, a sinful sight that makes rowan’s hips buck in anticipation, the ache between their trembling thighs almost unbearable. " god, baby, i— i… no, no, you’re not mean, " you’re gorgeous, she wants to say, but they don’t do this like that. " i was, " she finally admits, wetting her lips, hips still moving almost unnoticeable when her leg being thrown over diwata’s shoulder makes a new wave of desire ignite her bloodstream. " i wanted you like this so badly, you’re so… so easy, baby, see ? " and maybe acknowledging it is a mistake, but she can’t help holding to the last straw of power she holds.