(better, she feels like she can breathe again. nothing is restricting them, not even their bodies now that she can feel irene's hands along her body. along her chest, her pounding heart in their closeness. if she wasn't being tortured by longing earlier, she'd almost surely call it more torture to hear the way irene slips out her name. a sharp exhale, a shiver while irene's hands take hold of her bare breasts. they're soft as expected, hardly hiding the warmth that she feels or the steady hammering of her heart while cellinia can't help the moan that escapes her lips whenever the other woman starts again her kisses. her ascent from her belly, her toned abs and along her ribs.
she shifts back for her, pulling irene along to let her be on top this time. her hair, the black and red strands, can be seen strewn about beneath her, beside her. like a halo almost in how beautiful she must look. this wolf can be a thing of beauty whenever it suits her. not just in the men's suits and clothing that she'd wear on occasion, but within dresses that she might rarely be seen within. her body is there, for irene to take as long as she wants with. to take her time memorizing every soft spot, every scar, and every inch of her that the other woman desires to.
even if she's quiet, she looks at her with desire in her eyes. those amber eyes that often are striking enough to frighten away most, but that's fine. she doesn't need to say anything else. her neediness in how she sighs for her should speak enough when irene's lips pause between the valley of her breasts. despite her desire to not label it, she wants to put to words everything. some day she might try to. that she likes her more than cellinia thought possible and she isn't sure what to do again if irene were to be gone like that once more in an instant.
that she might truly feel like she's dying without her. who knows, she might finally admit to herself that she feels something deeper. that she wants more than they should ever want in this hell that is called the golden peacock. love really is, if it is that, a frightening thing.)
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she shifts back for her, pulling irene along to let her be on top this time. her hair, the black and red strands, can be seen strewn about beneath her, beside her. like a halo almost in how beautiful she must look. this wolf can be a thing of beauty whenever it suits her. not just in the men's suits and clothing that she'd wear on occasion, but within dresses that she might rarely be seen within. her body is there, for irene to take as long as she wants with. to take her time memorizing every soft spot, every scar, and every inch of her that the other woman desires to.
even if she's quiet, she looks at her with desire in her eyes. those amber eyes that often are striking enough to frighten away most, but that's fine. she doesn't need to say anything else. her neediness in how she sighs for her should speak enough when irene's lips pause between the valley of her breasts. despite her desire to not label it, she wants to put to words everything. some day she might try to. that she likes her more than cellinia thought possible and she isn't sure what to do again if irene were to be gone like that once more in an instant.
that she might truly feel like she's dying without her. who knows, she might finally admit to herself that she feels something deeper. that she wants more than they should ever want in this hell that is called the golden peacock. love really is, if it is that, a frightening thing.)