[ it's hard to think about how the wings should look, even with her natural eye for detail as an artist and even if she'd spent more than a few hours obsessing over, touching and studying the ones rhys has. she'd also been around the other illyrians enough to know how they should move, where they should be positioned.
it's a little hard to think about anything other than her mate pistoning himself into her, the sounds of their bodies colliding, wet slaps of skin meeting skin. but he asks her to try. and even if a wicked part of her, the hurt, shitty part of her wants to tell him no, she relents after he reminds her that she is his.
she lets out a breath, even as a part of her recoils at the idea of shifting like tamlin could, that was his gift to her after all. she doesn't let herself think of him in this moment as she forms the wings as she remembers them, her body starting to sag at the unfamiliar weight of them, the front half of her body falling forward a bit until she's balancing on her elbows instead of her hands, panting, rasping for breath and suddenly covered in a thin sheen of sweat herself.]
no subject
it's a little hard to think about anything other than her mate pistoning himself into her, the sounds of their bodies colliding, wet slaps of skin meeting skin.
but he asks her to try. and even if a wicked part of her, the hurt, shitty part of her wants to tell him no, she relents after he reminds her that she is his.
she lets out a breath, even as a part of her recoils at the idea of shifting like tamlin could, that was his gift to her after all. she doesn't let herself think of him in this moment as she forms the wings as she remembers them, her body starting to sag at the unfamiliar weight of them, the front half of her body falling forward a bit until she's balancing on her elbows instead of her hands, panting, rasping for breath and suddenly covered in a thin sheen of sweat herself.]