Two Eyes Cenote [M] A call from Olympus, ringing off the hook

A stuttering heart. Veins, and sunlight eyes in a chamber shadowed in empty. Where two bodies met in a falling spiral. His wrist, strangling her own. A man she had wronged. His scent was rich with iron, and when he spoke she could see no color. Only waves she could not decipher. Breath, thicker by second as she inhaled his own and tasted the sound of his tongue.

A twitching tail, a chest beating itself out, and her pads would not stop insistently sweating. A man she had wronged. 
A warm body, wrapped now in a scattered bed. 
A man she had wronged.
Her muzzle turned to the heat of his, with neared lips. A rough swallow, falling down her throat. 

Then your first time should not be with me.

Her pupils flickered over as if a curtain had been ripped from them. Stuck in a slow limbo, as if she could not move once he had. Not her head, but her eyes, they darted to him and his motions. He moved away. Left. And there left her, too. Stuck.

The foreleg of the prism man extended. Shifting upon her belly, low to the ground in near bow, a stalled crawl, she waited. Watching, silent, Machiavelli pinned into her vision, and her tail sweeping the floor in a pit of nerves. Yet he did nothing.
Nothing at all.

Quickly crawling forward, she snuck herself under the offer his arm. "Yes," a whisper. Tired. So, so very tired. "Tell." Again. "Tell." Tired. Pressed into warmth. Into—a safety.