The Desert's Edge ➣ Gloss/OC

Nor calmed with any word that's known to man,

Chapter Twenty Three | Nor calmed with any word that's known to man,

"A villain, that is hither come in spire

To scorn at our solemnity this night."

1.5, 63-64 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

Soft pants fill the air, gasps full of shaky sounds that crest the edges of their physical bodies. It's a sound that Gloss very much likes, especially when his name gets trapped between the breathy noises.

"Don't stop – " Elara moans, throwing her head back as her fingers clench into his hair. Her legs tighten around his face, but he forces them open with one heave of his hands, sending her a smirking glance as he does. His tongue continues his efforts, lapping against her clit with abandon as if he's never tasted anything so good in all his life. He sucks at her, draws her skin between his teeth very gently, circles a thumb over the top of her clit and watches as she shivers into the mattress and tries to clench her thighs around his head again.

He chuckles against her and she moans, "Gloss – mmm! Please – "

His touch slows and he raises himself up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he raises his eyebrow at her. "Please? You're being very polite this evening, Winston."

He squeezes her thigh playfully, and she moans, "I want you inside me." There's a touch of demand in her voice that is far more addicting than he's prepared for, and he swallows as a shudder tries to overpower him.

He can't help himself. When she gets like this, insisting for him – when she opens her legs and tries to pull him towards her – he changes from a stubborn, obstinate man to a fool with no willpower at all. He falls into her every time, with no hesitation. He can't deny her, because denying her would be denying himself, and he's clearly never been very good at doing that otherwise he wouldn't even be here right now.

"Please, Gloss," she breathes, looking up at him with eyes far softer than any he had ever seen. What emotion colors the blue tones of them? He pauses. There is a word that comes to mind. A word that shudders against his own heart, too, despite his best efforts.

He crawls into her arms and nearly sighs out as he presses himself against her body. She's warm and soft, and she provides a type of comfort that he cannot seem to find anywhere else. When he slides into her, he knows why.

There is no one in the world like Elara Winston.

Her legs open for him, hands tracing down his body as he thrusts into her. Her fingertips trace the muscles of his chest and spiral down his abdomen, delighting in the flex of his skin beneath her touch. She watches him through half-lidded eyes, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, moaning indelicately as he increases his pace. It's like she can't get enough of him. Like the mere thought of him stopping would be sheer agony.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what he does when the phone suddenly rings, splintering through the room.

Elara immediately throws herself into a sitting position. Their bodies separate. He grumbles, but can't exactly stop her when she reaches over to grab the phone on her bedside table. She turns away from him when she answers it, pausing only a moment to ensure that her voice isn't filled with the dark undercurrents of her desire for him.

Then she warily asks, "Hello?"

Gloss glowers at her back, not necessarily upset at her for answering the phone, but more so at the fact that whoever this dumbass is whose calling her, they had interrupted what was going to be a very good time. Also, because nothing good comes from a telephone call at night in the Capitol, and they both know it.