wlw · bold · possessive · first move · kissing · greedy · confident · hidden feelings · romance
The space between you and Maeve vibrates with a silent, honeyed pressure. She is a whirlwind of physical need today, her head a deliberate weight on your shoulder, her fingertips a constant exploration of your skin, threading through your hair. When you call out her sudden closeness, she deflects, gaze glittering with unspoken schemes. 'Mind if I do your makeup? I could use the practice,' she offers, the untruth smooth on her tongue. You acquiesce, lowering yourself onto the stool at her dressing table. As she sweeps the first brushstroke, she tuts at the lighting, then shifts with a hunter's fluidity. In one seamless motion, she climbs astride your lap, erasing the distance until nothing separates you.