@untamedtempest submitted: The process of waking up often a slow one, her breath softly fanning against the jeweler’s neck, tactile fingers wandering an expanse of olive skin, tracing the cuts of muscle here and there while she waited for dark lashes to flutter, a rousing sound, possibly a gruff (short-lived) complaint. And sometimes like this fine morning, the wait seems longer than her patience, and so her body slides down over his. Lips and teeth brought to a sensitive nub where they tease with light grazing before latching on.
Pushing his face into the retreating headscarf beneath his nose is half-awake and petulant for an unguarded second. A raw huff, darkly bemoaning the appeal to wake him when he had actually slept some. So sue him. The man wasn’t going to complain about his King-sized mattress, and her choice to ignore the free space around them. The heat and the strong smell of shea on everything he owned, and those long, luxurious limbs that had him monkey-wrapped in a, woman-and-her-preferred-matress, type drape, were the reason he had even slept in the first place. He liked that. The weight of her. Heavy, and real.
But the goddess giveth with one hand, and take it away with … her mouth. Her Norns. Damned. By the gods-
“Ro-” Loki’s head thunked back onto the pillow, chest arching and straining into the bites. Black gaze in the curtain-drawn room liquid and sleepy where it now focused, an unconvincing glare under half-masted lashes. One heel cocked automatically then, knee bent as if to move, but he realised in a blink the mistake of that; her soft belly and hips dropped, pressed even more intimately between his thighs.
“-tælandi.”
