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f o r t y s i x » y a ' a r b u r n e e

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— ya'arburnee —
(n) the hopeful declaration that you will die before someone you love deeply because you cannot stand to live without them
origin ; arabic

« T H I R D P E R S O N P O V »

"Phoenix! You arse, give me back!" She yelled and chased after him into his room.

"What could you have been writing about that you didn't want me to see?" He asked rhetorically.

Phoenix and Adrianna had sex last night, that was no bloody dream. This morning now, she woke up to find his side of the bed empty; only to learn he was in the kitchen, shirtless, making us breakfast. So she made her way back to her room and decided to write a poem. And how bloody foolish of her think he wouldn't know.

He turned around and started to walk backwards, shutting his door closed in the process. She walked up to him calmly and tried to grab her velvet bound notebook. "Phoenix please!" She almost yelled, she was slowly losing her patience.

"No not that page," he muttered, ignoring her, "no not that page either."

"Phoenix!" He was more or less going through every page and she's never felt more vulnerable. Her body was entirely aligned against his and she had no chance against him to get my notebook back. His arm immediately went around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest while he one handedly flipped through the pages.

His hand trailed down under her arse and right then, his grip tightened and she jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist and hands around his neck. She gave up trying to get her notebook back; oh well if he found the bloody poem.

"Mmm baby," he let out a guttural moan and it did wanders to her. She buried her head in his neck and breathed in his much intoxicating scent. And unknowingly to her, he was doing the exact same because she was just too bloody addicting and he couldn't get enough. He felt her warm breath on her neck and goddamn the things he wanted to do to her.

"Wait! Oh yes! I've found it, this is it, isn't it?!" He exclaimed. Adrianna didn't pick up her head and instead muttered against his neck, "What's the title on the page?"

"Exotic Passion."

"That's the one," she muttered.

"Hm," she could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Epigraph," he began again.

"Oh my god, Phoenix," Adrianna groaned.

"What're you so afraid of, baby," Phoenix questioned in a soothing voice.

"N-nothing," she stuttered quietly, which he found cute.

"What's bothering you, étoile filante?" Instead of giving him an answer right away, she placed soft kisses along his neck.

"Just read the bloody poem." However, the idea of reading the bloody poem was momentarily forgotten as Phoenix forgot all rational thoughts and moaned at the sensation of her soft lips.

"Étoile, look at me," he whispered huskily. She listened, picking her head up slowly and meeting his oceanic irises. He, however, didn't waste anytime in claiming her lips in his. Her fingers threaded through his luscious hair as a loud and sweet moan erupted from her, and it drove him insane. And all throughout the kiss, his arm never left her arse while his other kept the notebook open.