Inbox

May. 8th, 2035 09:06 pm
thethirteenthchild: (Default)
[personal profile] thethirteenthchild
Inbox of Dahlia Leeds
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Date: 2024-09-06 02:20 am (UTC)
hadnoright: (136)
From: [personal profile] hadnoright

"Mmmaybe," Daisy hums, punctuated by another sharp nip. Her leg never moves to grind back against Dahlia's rolling hips, perfectly content, for now, to let her do the work herself. "Could fuck you on my fingers 'til you've had enough... Could get my head down between your thighs and devour you 'til you push me off..."

The tip of a claw brushes ever so lightly against the curve of one of Dahlia's breasts, just a hint of a touch.

"Could just let you keep at it. Watch you get yourself off on me. Barely have to lift a finger."

Date: 2024-09-06 02:30 am (UTC)
hadnoright: (74)
From: [personal profile] hadnoright

"Encouragement, huh?" comes out as amused as it does prompting. Still, her leg stays planted firmly in place, but that wandering hand travels far enough to cup just beneath Dahlia's breast.

Date: 2024-09-06 02:38 am (UTC)
hadnoright: (h117)
From: [personal profile] hadnoright

Those teeth flash behind a pleased, and slightly smug, little smirk that's still on her lips when she catches Dahlia's own in a sharp, brief kiss, then grazes her teeth against her jaw. That hand strays just that little bit further to sink its fingers into the meat of her breast.

"Mm. Alright. Think I can manage that."

Date: 2024-09-06 02:43 am (UTC)
hadnoright: (111)
From: [personal profile] hadnoright

For all of Daisy's apparent composure, of the purposefulness behind every action or lack thereof, there is still a healthy flush beneath her skin and a hungriness in her gaze every time she looks down at Dahlia laying there beneath her. There's a thrill to having a woman—having Dahlia—so content to get off like this, with barely more than Daisy's leg to grind against, all the while exposed and vulnerable to the Hunter's gaze.

She drags her teeth down Dahlia's throat, traces the delicate path of the jugular that it would be effortless to sink them into, always careful not to draw more than the faintest beads of blood at best. She circles a claw around the outline of Dahlia's nipple and tweaks it between the soft pads of her fingers, then lets her palm provide friction as she grasps and squeezes the breast itself.

"Fuckin' hell, Dahlia..." she murmurs, almost more to herself than to Dahlia. That the only touches she's receiving in turn are Dahlia's grasping hands and the wetness against her leg certainly doesn't mean she's enjoying herself any less.