Yesterday, 04:14 PM
She rolled her eyes as he scrambled for the bag of drugs inside his jacket, like he thought the offering might placate her. But this wasn’t temper, and nor was it impatience to get high. Sasha’s breathing was still fast, but the pierce of his eyes was black as the abyss. Maybe he thought it was a bargain he offered, but it wasn’t one she’d take.
She pushed to straddle the rest of her way on his lap, high on his hips, so that he’d have to push back to properly sit up or else throw her off entirely. Her hold shifted just enough to angle his chin slightly up and to the side. Her body pressed close. Blood-washed lips leaned to warm a whisper in his ear.
“Oriena,” she said, knowing he was unlikely to ever forget it now.
She could feel the rushing of his pulse, the way he leaned into her grip like the hollow of her hand was exactly where he belonged.
“For a woman it requires submission.” Her tone was low and sultry, intentionally provocative for the imagery it invited. Yet the way she held him right now radiated dominance as much as it did danger. Ori was the kind of hellion most could never imagine on her knees, certainly not willing, and there was both promise and challenge in the way she whispered it like a secret. “She finds the maelstrom, and she lets it take her.”
The pressure in her grip changed; she angled him back to see her face, met his eye under the tangled shadow of his hair. “But not for you. Look for it, that anger, that fire – the one you felt when you levelled those warehouses. That’s power. Feel how wild and dangerous it is; how easily it’d burn you apart if you gave into it.” Her thumbnail slipped as she spoke, running a teasingly sharp line against his skin without releasing her hold. There was a smirk on her lips, dark with dare. She knew she scared him. “And then you force it to obey your will; grab it by the throat, and you make it yours.”
She pushed to straddle the rest of her way on his lap, high on his hips, so that he’d have to push back to properly sit up or else throw her off entirely. Her hold shifted just enough to angle his chin slightly up and to the side. Her body pressed close. Blood-washed lips leaned to warm a whisper in his ear.
“Oriena,” she said, knowing he was unlikely to ever forget it now.
She could feel the rushing of his pulse, the way he leaned into her grip like the hollow of her hand was exactly where he belonged.
“For a woman it requires submission.” Her tone was low and sultry, intentionally provocative for the imagery it invited. Yet the way she held him right now radiated dominance as much as it did danger. Ori was the kind of hellion most could never imagine on her knees, certainly not willing, and there was both promise and challenge in the way she whispered it like a secret. “She finds the maelstrom, and she lets it take her.”
The pressure in her grip changed; she angled him back to see her face, met his eye under the tangled shadow of his hair. “But not for you. Look for it, that anger, that fire – the one you felt when you levelled those warehouses. That’s power. Feel how wild and dangerous it is; how easily it’d burn you apart if you gave into it.” Her thumbnail slipped as she spoke, running a teasingly sharp line against his skin without releasing her hold. There was a smirk on her lips, dark with dare. She knew she scared him. “And then you force it to obey your will; grab it by the throat, and you make it yours.”
![[Image: orianderis.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/orianderis.jpg)