05-15-2016, 02:49 PM
Oh my. How cute, she's speechless. A grin spreads slowly across my lips as she stares, her eyes lingering on my skin, my hair, not quite managing to meet my gaze. I snort and roll my eyes in sympathy at her mention of a sister with a temper. “I understand. I have siblings of my own, and they aren't all as delightful of temperament as I am.” Some tore themselves apart, others were too cowardly to show their damn faces, and still others set people on fire for getting a little carried away with a tall, dark, and sexy as hell stranger. My family has its share of darkness, and nowhere near all of it comes from the mother we once called the moon.
Ah, but now is not the time. Far better to let my eyes linger on the fall of black hair as it brushes against the curve of her neck. To trace the shape of her lips, to ponder the taste of her skin. She would be so tentative at first, touches light as a feather, hardly daring to close the last whisper of distance between our bodies. Or maybe she'd surprise me, and heat would kindle in her belly and spark daring into her touch. I don't feel lightning between us, no crackle of electricity dancing along my skin as her eyes roam my skin, just a gentle flicker of curiosity inviting me to play. Or at least to indulge in a little imagining.
“Lexa. What a lovely name.” And when they finally meet mine, I see she has lovely eyes to match that lovely name, eyes a rich brown a few shades lighter than mine. Light enough that the sunlight catches just so and highlights the brown, finding subtle notes of honey and amber in the flecks and swirls of her irises. “Strength, softened by a touch of femininity. I like it. It suits you, I think.” There is strength in the muscled lines of her body, strength the Jungle has always called out of its women and men alike. But that strength does nothing to detract from soft curves or the sweetness of her scent.
“Tell me, lovely Lexa,” I say with a hint of a purr, “where would my eyes need to linger on your skin to find the other tattoo? My mother's hid behind her ear, tucked away out of sight below her mane. I never wore them myself, never felt called to take the vows and declare myself a Sister. Too much of a wanderer even at such a young age, you know. But I was always curious what marks my skin would bear if I did. Something bold and garish, painted across my skin for all the world to see? Or something secret and subtle like yours, one that demands a quieter, more intimate attention before revealing itself?”
Ah, but now is not the time. Far better to let my eyes linger on the fall of black hair as it brushes against the curve of her neck. To trace the shape of her lips, to ponder the taste of her skin. She would be so tentative at first, touches light as a feather, hardly daring to close the last whisper of distance between our bodies. Or maybe she'd surprise me, and heat would kindle in her belly and spark daring into her touch. I don't feel lightning between us, no crackle of electricity dancing along my skin as her eyes roam my skin, just a gentle flicker of curiosity inviting me to play. Or at least to indulge in a little imagining.
“Lexa. What a lovely name.” And when they finally meet mine, I see she has lovely eyes to match that lovely name, eyes a rich brown a few shades lighter than mine. Light enough that the sunlight catches just so and highlights the brown, finding subtle notes of honey and amber in the flecks and swirls of her irises. “Strength, softened by a touch of femininity. I like it. It suits you, I think.” There is strength in the muscled lines of her body, strength the Jungle has always called out of its women and men alike. But that strength does nothing to detract from soft curves or the sweetness of her scent.
“Tell me, lovely Lexa,” I say with a hint of a purr, “where would my eyes need to linger on your skin to find the other tattoo? My mother's hid behind her ear, tucked away out of sight below her mane. I never wore them myself, never felt called to take the vows and declare myself a Sister. Too much of a wanderer even at such a young age, you know. But I was always curious what marks my skin would bear if I did. Something bold and garish, painted across my skin for all the world to see? Or something secret and subtle like yours, one that demands a quieter, more intimate attention before revealing itself?”
Daeryssa
of the restless heart