[ jinx watches the taller girl tip back, enthralled by the arch of her neck — the way the movement pushes out her tits just so. pretty pretty pretty, a recursive loop in her brain, drowning out the crueller voices that plague her. yours yours yours. she hums in answer, her mouth watering, no, aching to bite down on her tanned flesh. she leans forward, as if lottie has the lead in hand, and noses into her neck. scenting her. lips barely brushing her pulse.
her hand splays at lottie’s hip, the collar sliding down jinx’s arm to rest against her supple skin. a reminder of its presence. dauntless, she presses their bodies into alignment, craving the warmth of her. jinx kisses along her jawline to see if she squirms, if she tries to seize her hand or push away. she kitten nips at the tender spot beneath her ear, just to keep her on her toes. ]
[ husked low, ] If I’ve won, that makes you my prize.
[ mine mine mine better than any chorus. has anything ever been hers? too much slips from her grasp. she lets the collar fall to her fingers once more, dragging it up lottie’s sternum, between her breasts, pressing it to her throat when she tips back, dainty feet flattening against the dirt. all so her prize can wrap her mind around the leather, how it might feel cinched at her neck, the cool metal of the loop where she’ll hook the lead and tug. the image of it in jinx’s mind seems right. perfect. ]
That’s what I want. My pretty prize. [ staring up at her now with unrestrained hunger, pupils blown wide. her other hand draws idle circles on lottie’s stomach, drifting lower and lower. teasing, yearning — ] So, have I won?
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her hand splays at lottie’s hip, the collar sliding down jinx’s arm to rest against her supple skin. a reminder of its presence. dauntless, she presses their bodies into alignment, craving the warmth of her. jinx kisses along her jawline to see if she squirms, if she tries to seize her hand or push away. she kitten nips at the tender spot beneath her ear, just to keep her on her toes. ]
[ husked low, ] If I’ve won, that makes you my prize.
[ mine mine mine better than any chorus. has anything ever been hers? too much slips from her grasp. she lets the collar fall to her fingers once more, dragging it up lottie’s sternum, between her breasts, pressing it to her throat when she tips back, dainty feet flattening against the dirt. all so her prize can wrap her mind around the leather, how it might feel cinched at her neck, the cool metal of the loop where she’ll hook the lead and tug. the image of it in jinx’s mind seems right. perfect. ]
That’s what I want. My pretty prize. [ staring up at her now with unrestrained hunger, pupils blown wide. her other hand draws idle circles on lottie’s stomach, drifting lower and lower. teasing, yearning — ] So, have I won?
[ do i get what i want this time? ]