Chaotic_Emerald
What even am I?
- Local Time
 - 5:24 PM
 
- Joined
 - Aug 12, 2025
 
- Messages
 - 99
 
- Age
 - 18
 
Isolde lay beneath him, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax, her breath shallow and uneven. Her skin was flushed, damp with sweat, and her limbs felt heavy in the most satisfying way. Elijah’s release still lingered inside her, warm and thick, and she could feel the slow pulse of his body against hers - the way his chest pressed to hers, the way his lips moved gently across her neck. She didn’t speak at first. She simply let herself feel everything. Her fingers traced lazy patterns along his back, nails grazing lightly over the curve of his spine. She could hear his voice, low and tender, and when she opened her eyes, she saw him bite into his wrist, offering her his blood.
Her gaze flicked from the wound to his face, and for a moment, she just watched him. There was concern in his eyes, a softness that hadn’t been there earlier. He was worried, he feared it might have been too much. Isolde reached up slowly, her hand wrapping around his wrist, guiding it toward her mouth. She didn’t hesitate. Her lips parted, and she drank. The taste was sharp and metallic. It warmed her instantly, spreading through her limbs like fire, chasing away the dizziness that had begun to creep in. She could also feel any marks he left unhealed close from the healing properties of his blood.
She pulled back after a few swallows, licking the remnants from her lips, then pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist before lowering his arm. Her eyes met his again, steady and clear. “I’m alright,” she said softly, her voice still rough from moaning his name. She could see the worry in his face and wanted to reassure him that she was fine. She could feel the faint twitch of him, the lingering tension that hadn’t fully faded. Her legs relaxed around his waist, but she didn’t urge him to move. She liked the weight of him there. The closeness.
				
			Her gaze flicked from the wound to his face, and for a moment, she just watched him. There was concern in his eyes, a softness that hadn’t been there earlier. He was worried, he feared it might have been too much. Isolde reached up slowly, her hand wrapping around his wrist, guiding it toward her mouth. She didn’t hesitate. Her lips parted, and she drank. The taste was sharp and metallic. It warmed her instantly, spreading through her limbs like fire, chasing away the dizziness that had begun to creep in. She could also feel any marks he left unhealed close from the healing properties of his blood.
She pulled back after a few swallows, licking the remnants from her lips, then pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist before lowering his arm. Her eyes met his again, steady and clear. “I’m alright,” she said softly, her voice still rough from moaning his name. She could see the worry in his face and wanted to reassure him that she was fine. She could feel the faint twitch of him, the lingering tension that hadn’t fully faded. Her legs relaxed around his waist, but she didn’t urge him to move. She liked the weight of him there. The closeness.