#*zoya.

she has to admit, cross looked absolutely scrumptious like this. worked up and frantically pleading to get some kind of relief. swipe of tongue across her lips.

leaning down, the brunette places a kiss to her collarbone.

as if to say: don't worry, i've got you.

zoya makes sure cross is watching as she secures the harness and strap into place. before she plants one more kiss to their inner thigh, guiding the strap inside.

‘ that what you needed, hm? ’

@sorrowsick continued from HERE.

send “🌿🍒” (or "mistletoe") for my muse's reaction to standing under a mistletoe with your muse  ♡

the fact that zdeslav has mistletoe dangling just above the bed doesn't really make her even bat a lash. the only question that it brings to mind is if he even bothers to take it down.

often, zoya's initial response is infact, the worst decision made. she's tempted, sorely tempted, to bite the offensive finger. hard enough to make contact, not to tear the skin. but on second thought...

the brunette wraps her pointer finger around cross', guides it between her parted lips...

and without breaking eye contact, sucks the digit. making the most obscene noises as she does it, before releasing it with a lewd pop.

very effective.

zoya could be read as frustrated; not enjoying when she doesn't have the upper hand in most scenarios. however, despite her mood and with the gentle reassurance of artemus' words, her feathers become slightly less ruffled.

the wound itself was ugly. jagged. it would be better, she rationalizes, that a separate set of hands would be beneficial. as the vampire lifts her right leg to settle it, she concedes to his delicate touch.

though she does wonder if it's wise.

all that blood. a self-starving vampire.

he is practicing impressive restraint, she observed through half-hooded eyes. there's a part of the brunette that wants to lecture, but she's in no place to do so.

the wound now patched, she's effortlessly lifted from the chair and settled upon the bed without a word. curling her fingers around the band of his clerical collar and kisses him. it's lingering and appreciative.

words weren't needed, were they?

fingers clench against taut wrists. zoya was expertly bound, not too tight, not too lose. completely at the mercy of the sorceress. not often one to enjoy the loss of control, there were times and others that gained that level of respect.