Lion Head Mesa [M]No filter on your mouth

Her breath, smoothed through every curve. He could leave her there. Cold after begging with a screaming heat in her chest. A sickening, vile churn in her stomach that was filthy and fearful in every way. It was how she knew things were okay again. How these pretty ideas could flourish now, and only now as her heart pushed to her throat. This was love. Affection. Adoration. She had been confused, once, by the emerald eyes of a red prince who brought calm.  Then, if that was not intimacy, this was. This was true. As it had always been.

When the devil child's pupils constricted at Machiavelli's voice, when her heart beat himself to its death and she could not speak, she thrived. This must be life. This must be living.

"Yes."

Her belly moved under her body. On her knees. Her voice stayed down, and so did she. "I want you-- stay. You'll stay, yes, Machi? While I am on my knees? Yes?"