„gods.“ making out with Luke was always rather … 'messy'. the boy kissed you like he was starving ― hungrily devouring his last given meal. groans would spill over his swollen lips, like it physically pained him to separate from your touch ― your mouth, you.

stumbling through the doorway of his cabin ― thankfully empty, still ― the demigod had no plan of stopping what he was doing to you. his teeth and tongue were deviously licking into your mouth, leaving you gasping and groaning, and yearning, just like it did himself.

"can i?" his hands were already tugging on your shirt ― hoping to disregard it onto a heap on the floor..., but only if you allowed him.