-Oh my love, don't forsake me; Take what the water gave me-
In this moment, she forgets about the space in between. Canaan is so deft at erasing lost time - does he feel the sharp sting of memories lost, or do they fade slowly into one another? Circinae’s eyes raise to view that cutting, adorable smile and she wonders, “In a thousand years, where will that smile be?”
His neck bends to her, the rush of his mouth pressing soft indentations against her skin as holy and graven as it had been that first time. She holds steady, waits for the fire to stir in the pit of her belly as his soft words take shape against her own lips. “I am yours, and I always have been -" He promises. That’s all she needs, all she’s ever wanted.
Her head tilts, both lips brazenly pressed against his own as her skin sets itself ablaze. There’s a heaviness in her actions, a fervent desire to touch and be touched - her hungry caress travels from the point of contact to the dark recesses of her heart, where unknowingly Canaan has set her rhythmic pulse into a frenzy of action. If she had fingers, they would trail through his hair, grip him there firmly; She feels an innate wish to press every bare inch of her skin against his - so she does.
Curving, cat-like, she sharpens her teeth if only to scrape them gently over his gilded fur, her tongue is useless but for the way it strokes longingly across his neck. The taste of him is invigorating. Circinae wants what she’s been denied (those languid hours of coy tête-à-tête) and she refuses to wait any longer for it. They’re here, now; what better time could they be given?
“I wanted you the first night we met.” She begins, stifling her ravenous yearning so that it might be drawn out instead. “Something about the way you looked - alone beneath that sky of stars - as if Beqanna could never touch or ground you.”
Her cheek, flush with the curve of his throat, feels the bare undulation of his pulse as it ticks beneath his skin. Circy sighs. From here she edges forward, the navy-tinged crown of her head slipping beneath the shadowy bump of Canaan’s chin. She’ll ease onward, let his own curiosity overtake him while she glides silkily ahead. Her cattish rub stops when the jut of one hip can feel his chest pushing back -
- and in response, the space between her thighs grows warm, jerks her hips upwards to where he waits. “Is it crazy,” She asks, peering behind, “that I want you more now than ever I did then?”
Circinae
@[Canaan] woooow this took me forever, sorry