10-15-2017, 09:33 PM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
Her breath is quiet, but quick, as her agile limbs carry her through the woodland with ease –weaving through the thicket with deft refinement – she is slim, slender, and yet lined with heavy muscle along her haunches, where the indigo of her silhouette fades into the very same blackness of the impenetrable copse of trees, and she is an unstoppable, unmoving force – as wild and as unwieldy as the ravenous, roiling river itself.
Her dark gaze – two-toned, one a dull and dreary gray, the other as dark as the blackness surrounding her – glitter dangerously at the sight of a familiar shadow, outlined by the softness of a celestial sky, still awash in remnants of a vivid and lustrous sunset. A wry smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as her gaze studies the roundness of her hip, the curve of her thighs – parted, but not splayed – and the soft swell of her barrel. She is carved of thick muscle and fortified bone; a sight to behold – with sharp wit and a sharper tongue, mischief dancing within the gleaming light of her soulful stare.
Quietly, she emerges from the thicket, breathing softly across the ridge of her hipbone, yearning to taste the sunlight and wisteria that is so heavily infused into the very flesh wrapped around her broad, but feminine bone structure. The darkness of dusk does hide away her wicked smile, drawn along the edge of her dark lips, as her insidious gaze lingers too long where it should not.
”Dark-Moon,” she muses aloud, her voice a sultry hum along the surface of her skin, as her mouth brushes tantalizingly close to her shoulder – stirring a warmth within her chest; the sheer magnetism of her presence luring her closer. ”you called me Dark-Moon. And what should I call you?”
Her dark gaze – two-toned, one a dull and dreary gray, the other as dark as the blackness surrounding her – glitter dangerously at the sight of a familiar shadow, outlined by the softness of a celestial sky, still awash in remnants of a vivid and lustrous sunset. A wry smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as her gaze studies the roundness of her hip, the curve of her thighs – parted, but not splayed – and the soft swell of her barrel. She is carved of thick muscle and fortified bone; a sight to behold – with sharp wit and a sharper tongue, mischief dancing within the gleaming light of her soulful stare.
Quietly, she emerges from the thicket, breathing softly across the ridge of her hipbone, yearning to taste the sunlight and wisteria that is so heavily infused into the very flesh wrapped around her broad, but feminine bone structure. The darkness of dusk does hide away her wicked smile, drawn along the edge of her dark lips, as her insidious gaze lingers too long where it should not.
”Dark-Moon,” she muses aloud, her voice a sultry hum along the surface of her skin, as her mouth brushes tantalizingly close to her shoulder – stirring a warmth within her chest; the sheer magnetism of her presence luring her closer. ”you called me Dark-Moon. And what should I call you?”