isolt griffin
I'm more alive than I've ever been
Her body had experienced few instances of nirvana that matched the splendidness of this, the sensation of his body meeting hers, the erotic and consuming pressure as he accepted this invitation that required no words. In this moment was her trepidation precluded, coalescing into the shaded abyss of a thoughtless nether along with all of the not-inconsiderable doubt that had buried itself into her heart. There was only him, the bulges of his muscles growing taut beneath her fingertips as she dances atop him. His proclamation seemed only to stoke the conflagration of lascivious yearning already ablaze beneath the pallor of her skin, Isolt reclining her frame just so that he may view her all the better; plains of lean muscle ripple seductively beneath the silk-like surface of her flesh as her hands rise to tangle within her waterful of auburn locks. She would offer him a show, the rosy buds of her breasts quite prominent as she pressed both her and her partner with a faster tempo, teeth nibbling upon her bottom lip in a fallacy of coyness. How long would he be able to battle the urge to lay his hands to her? How long was it possible for him to resist the dark allure of her cerulean gaze as it finds his, an almost daring glimmer skittering across their glossy surface?
It is an inquiry the answer to which she does not bide time to discover, instead pulling Damon up so that her lips might find his, the supple tip of her tongue flicking against his in a gesture that is naught but taunting in its very essence. The bulbs of her fingertips skate along his arms, cords of muscle pulsing beneath the surface, to bring his hands to the body that, for this moment, she shares with him. Only then do her hands reach up to frame his jaw, bringing his eyes to hers, as Isolt voices to her lover the very last command she will impart upon him this evening. A command she had heretofore not dared make of him and one that she issues in naught more than a whisper.
"Bite me."