Yeah. [It's a heady, low confirmation that can be felt purring in the hollow of her throat. Yeah, they are compromised. Yeah, she wants to fuck her just as badly. Her own hands position themselves on Hilda's hips, keeping her to her rhythm. Her breath just about completely stops whenever teeth graze her skin.
Never mind that they haven't kissed; they haven't even met, not properly. What does that matter now, though? Her desire is simultaneously fixated and indiscriminate. Her attention is wholly centered on Hilda, on the flush heat of being nestled between her thighs and the meandering of her fingers, but it doesn't matter that it's her. Not much matters - not the slow exploration that would make them more than strangers, not even her own belief that she isn't entitled to this sort of stupid, frivolous indulgence.
How does Hilda feel about kabedons? Well, it's a pillar holding up the thatched roof of the cabana booth, but that basically functions as a wall here. Rahu pulls her around the corner into the shade provided by the thatching, guiding her back against one such wooden pole. It's a little more private - by a percentage or so, little more than "not on the main walkway."]
Right now? [Rahu repeats with a soft curve to her mouth, pressing that smile to the delicate shell of her ear.] Right here? [It's pushing the statement to find the truth of it before there simply isn't another option than "right here, right now." Her own common sense is being pushed in the same way, every possible inhibitor disabled by spontaneity and impulsivity and need. Rahu's fingers find the dangling tie of Hilda's bikini bottoms, hooking but not unraveling.] Like this? If that's the case, I shouldn't have any trouble meeting your needs.
no subject
Never mind that they haven't kissed; they haven't even met, not properly. What does that matter now, though? Her desire is simultaneously fixated and indiscriminate. Her attention is wholly centered on Hilda, on the flush heat of being nestled between her thighs and the meandering of her fingers, but it doesn't matter that it's her. Not much matters - not the slow exploration that would make them more than strangers, not even her own belief that she isn't entitled to this sort of stupid, frivolous indulgence.
How does Hilda feel about kabedons? Well, it's a pillar holding up the thatched roof of the cabana booth, but that basically functions as a wall here. Rahu pulls her around the corner into the shade provided by the thatching, guiding her back against one such wooden pole. It's a little more private - by a percentage or so, little more than "not on the main walkway."]
Right now? [Rahu repeats with a soft curve to her mouth, pressing that smile to the delicate shell of her ear.] Right here? [It's pushing the statement to find the truth of it before there simply isn't another option than "right here, right now." Her own common sense is being pushed in the same way, every possible inhibitor disabled by spontaneity and impulsivity and need. Rahu's fingers find the dangling tie of Hilda's bikini bottoms, hooking but not unraveling.] Like this? If that's the case, I shouldn't have any trouble meeting your needs.