Two Eyes Cenote fifty-seventh

Could he see? See. See how infatuation ran wild across her eyes, and how the smile upon her mouth was molded into rough-cut gold. Her wrist bent to his push, his mouth riddling kisses along her face until there was the delicate, amping waves of a sinners tail.
Refreshed by his liquid touch, she drank from the cup of it. The imps tongue touched loosely to her nose. A seed tucked under soils.

“Reward?” Wag, wag. His lips, tongue, she did not dare return it, did not take the reward not given to her that was soiling his coat with her own affection. To simply touch him, their Erpa-ha, their Sphinx, in such a way.

“My priest, I’ve seen so many things,” she whispered, a great wonder, joy, to her voice now, sealed with his pride. His touch. His validation.