[the hand that wraps around shauna's neck feels huge, making her throat work beneath it, a shuddery gasp, a gulp that makes her recoil, even as a part of her thrills at it, at biting and finally being bitten back, something to push against, something to fight. she tightens her knees on either side of the guy's waist, chest heaving, hair tousled, and she feels the bob of his throat, the rumble of his voice beneath her palm.
and maybe he'd let go on purpose, maybe he'd surrendered, but that streak of sharp, dark wrong that shauna feels at the marrow of who she is doesn't care about shit like that, just about the fact that she's the one squeezing, the one in control. if she had her knife, she would've had it pressed to his throat instead, would've angled the blade just so, over the work of his throat and the pulse of blood in his jugular. if she had her knife, maybe she would've slid it where her hand is pressed, would've watched it well up red and hot and --]
Kiss you?! [shauna's squawk is unmistakably small town teen girl, accompanied by her jerking back and scrambling off of the man, suddenly aware of her tank top and shorts, of the rat's nest of her hair, coarse from months in the wilderness, the ragged sunburnt mess that is her face. she nearly tumbles off the bed, on legs as shaky as a deer's, ears crimson, eyes narrowed.] No, I don't want to fucking kiss you! I don't know you!
hehehe a gift 2 Meeeee
and maybe he'd let go on purpose, maybe he'd surrendered, but that streak of sharp, dark wrong that shauna feels at the marrow of who she is doesn't care about shit like that, just about the fact that she's the one squeezing, the one in control. if she had her knife, she would've had it pressed to his throat instead, would've angled the blade just so, over the work of his throat and the pulse of blood in his jugular. if she had her knife, maybe she would've slid it where her hand is pressed, would've watched it well up red and hot and --]
Kiss you?! [shauna's squawk is unmistakably small town teen girl, accompanied by her jerking back and scrambling off of the man, suddenly aware of her tank top and shorts, of the rat's nest of her hair, coarse from months in the wilderness, the ragged sunburnt mess that is her face. she nearly tumbles off the bed, on legs as shaky as a deer's, ears crimson, eyes narrowed.] No, I don't want to fucking kiss you! I don't know you!