The heat of his skin is searing her own with a dripping humidity. He is a slow burn of garbage in a long forgotten landfill, seething and dangerous, and just will not fucking die. Epithet rolls her eyes in an exaggerated motion when he attempts to unnerve her. She would not let him have the satisfaction of seeing her whimper away like a beaten bitch by her master. No, she easily will not let him have the visual memory of their past and his harmful words to orgasm to later in the comfort of his own dark mind.
Epithet lifts a brow, her lips thinning with a small consideration for his threat and she shrugs. 'Oh do, Gunny love, please." The words are thick, sweet honey dripping from her dark lips as she opens her eyes wide and gazes up at him with the perfect innocence of a young girl, begging for her lover to be inside her except she spreads her lips to a grin as he slips away to into the darkness.
...Epithet debates how long she will let him have this side of her. How long she will permit his nuisance before she shows him what she can do too. "Oh Gunny..." The voice she expels is liquid sex, her smirk tugging at her eternally pretty lips. She looks off towards where he disappeared as though a musing wife after her dumb but sweet husband when he tries hard at something and fails miserable. 'It's the thought that counts.' She hypothesizes. Epithet wonders if he will appear again or perhaps dissipate like the summer's heat.
Epithet lifts a brow, her lips thinning with a small consideration for his threat and she shrugs. 'Oh do, Gunny love, please." The words are thick, sweet honey dripping from her dark lips as she opens her eyes wide and gazes up at him with the perfect innocence of a young girl, begging for her lover to be inside her except she spreads her lips to a grin as he slips away to into the darkness.
...Epithet debates how long she will let him have this side of her. How long she will permit his nuisance before she shows him what she can do too. "Oh Gunny..." The voice she expels is liquid sex, her smirk tugging at her eternally pretty lips. She looks off towards where he disappeared as though a musing wife after her dumb but sweet husband when he tries hard at something and fails miserable. 'It's the thought that counts.' She hypothesizes. Epithet wonders if he will appear again or perhaps dissipate like the summer's heat.
Epithet
So I know Calcifer is going to pm you! We can wait here if you like since we can roll this all over to another thread or you are welcome to post!