You bury me

Ahem. Some erotica or something. Have fun, little ones.

Fingers gripped, and her mouth found the smooth, hard flesh of where the shoulder meets the clavicle. Strange, slow rhythms shook her, moulded her against lean plains and infinite warmth.

He was deep and dark and lava against her hands, hips, lips, chest, stomach… With each breath, she was pulled closer, wrapped in the heat of the moment, in the curve of an arm and slope of the neck.

Pushing up, she found his gaze. Like water, it felt as if he was slipping from her grip but he pulled her back. Steel and blue and beautiful. With a smile, a curl of the tongue, and the shape of glides and fricatives, his words grazed against her lips, leaving promises behind.

“You bury me.” Soft. Of shared breath. She sealed it with a kiss.

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About sonneillon

Avid reader (of sometimes dubious literature), word-lover and crazy TV series watcher. If I could live in a library, I would.

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"We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown."

- T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (1917)

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