CHIONOPHILE - Coriolanus Snow

USTULATION

Ustulation(n.) A burning lust.

"I'd like to taste you in ways even my tongue dares not speak."

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Perched on Coriolanus's bed, Calida felt her mind teeter on the edge of overload as if a surge of electricity had short-circuited her thoughts.

Her dress, a constant source of frustration, demanded her attention.

With every subtle shift, she found herself tugging it down, its fabric daring to reveal more of her thigh than she intended.

Despite her efforts, she couldn't shake the worry that Coriolanus might notice, especially considering the close quarters they shared on his bed.

As they sat side by side, their proximity became increasingly intimate.

Coriolanus, engrossed in the contents of the journals Calida had brought, scanned the pages with swift motions.

Though comprehension seemed elusive, he focused on deciphering her intricate scribbles and drawings, offering her a respite from his gaze.

Calida perused her journals to maintain an appearance of productivity, even though their contents were etched in her memory.

As time wore on, however, monotony set in, and she grew weary of the rhythmic sounds of Coriolanus's breath and flipping pages.

Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she posed the question that lingered like a puzzle piece waiting to be placed.

"Why are we doing this in bed?" Calida's inquiry cut through the air, her scepticism palpable. "Last I checked, you have an office."

A sly grin played on Coriolanus's lips as he replied, "Perhaps I just wanted to get you in my bed."

Calida shot him a narrowed look, wearied by his flirtatious banter.

While part of her might have enjoyed his playful advances, an unsettling feeling persisted—a nagging suspicion that his charm masked ulterior motives.

What game was he playing, and what was the prize?

Her gaze remained fixed on him as he lifted one of her papers, his comment delivering a pointed critique.

"Your notes are so sloppy.»

"How people find you charming is beyond me," she muttered.

"Oh, we both know that's not true," he countered. "You kissed me."

"No, you kissed me," she retorted swiftly.

"Well, I didn't hear you complain; I remember you moaning into my mouth," he teased, clearly revelling in her flustered state.

"Shut up. It was a lapse of judgment," Calida asserted, crossing her arms.

"So you wouldn't kiss me again?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow sceptically, refusing to believe her.

Silence lingered; she couldn't say no, for that would be a lie.

And she was a terrible liar.

"I asked you a question, flower," he continued his hand under her chin, the other resting on her thigh, where her skirt had ridden up.

The sensation made her involuntarily clench her thighs together.

"Do you want me to kiss you again? I'm sure you've dreamt about it, laying in bed thinking about my hands roaming your body, huh? Do you want that?" he said with that usual mocking tone.