Speak For Yourself
The way Milla rolls atop Leia is nothing less than majestic—swift, and fluid, and powerful, as if she is water coursing down a creek and Leia is just debris that's been swept up by the rushing tide. Leia is sinking, too, the mattress sagging beneath her back as she's thoroughly pinned down, each wrist held down by a firm hand and hips straddled securely between Milla's thighs. Pink eyes glimmer down at her playfully, flowing blonde hair shines in the light so that Milla is surrounded by a golden glow, and even though Leia is more than familiar with the sight, it still never fails to make her breath catch in her throat every time.
You're gorgeous, Leia thinks, and so entranced is she that it isn't until Milla starts chuckling that Leia realizes she just said that out loud.
Hands release her wrists, then, and move to loosen the first few buttons of Leia's blouse as Milla bends down, breath washing warm over sensitive skin. "As are you," Milla murmurs in between kisses to Leia's collarbone, and the other flushes hot beneath her.
"Not really," Leia mumbles, not even entirely aware that she's saying it until it's already left her lips. Oh, she's decently pretty, she's sure, and she's definitely outgrown a lot of the teenage awkwardness that she had back when she and Milla first met, but Milla is the Lord of Spirits and still a total bombshell and by comparison, Leia is just…plain old Leia.
But then the lips on her flesh cease in their movement, and when Leia glances down to see what's wrong, Milla meets her gaze and furrows her brow.
"Why not? You're beautiful, Leia."
She doesn't even say that like it's a compliment, no. Milla speaks with all the casual air of someone reporting that it's raining outside, like it's an objective fact and nothing more, nothing less. Leia isn't sure whether that leaves her feeling oddly flattered or simply flat-out stunned—just how can Milla say these things so easily?
"I…I'm not really…"
"Charming? Appealing? Aesthetically pleasing to look at?" Milla smirks, slinking forward again until she's looming right over Leia, tracing a teasing finger along the curve of her chin. "Because I beg to differ."
Leia huffs. "Now you're just trying to embarrass me."
"I am doing no such thing," Milla claims, though her voice resounds with telltale amusement. "Would you prefer I utilize different words? You are attractive." Fingers slide beneath Leia's already half-open shirt and trail up her stomach, making her gasp right as Milla lightly nuzzles their noses together. "Adorable. Exquisite. Ravishing…"
"S-stop it." Leia whimpers, rolling her head to the side to avert Milla's gaze, then squealing when she discovers just how vulnerable that leaves her neck to surprise bites. Teeth gently scrape along the thrum of Leia's pulse once, twice, before pulling away, and Leia pouts up at Milla, who only chuckles in response.
Stupid Milla and her stupid sneaky tactics. The damned smooth-talker is really enjoying this, isn't she?
"You are beautiful," Milla repeats, soft and genuine. "If you will not believe it from me, perhaps you should try saying it yourself."
Leia almost immediately shakes her head. She couldn't do that—not when she still isn't convinced that the adjective even really suits her that well, not when the mere thought of it saying it has her considering the option of burying her face in her hands and curling up into a mortified little ball. "I…I can't say that."
Milla quirks a brow. "Can't you?" The hands that are already beneath Leia's shirt start stroking at her skin again, this time scratching fingernails lightly but pointedly over lower ribs—and Leia gives a frantic gasp.
"No!" Leia yelps, a panicked giggle underlain in her voice, because she knows exactly what that is a precursor to. Milla has tickled her into submission before and she totally would be evil enough to do it again and if she did, Leia would be helpless to stop her. "I give, I give, please don't!"
Milla laughs, her fingers maintaining their threatening position at Leia's sides as she bends down, whispering directly into her captive's ear. "Say it."
Leia's whole body is already flushed and warm, hypersensitive, buzzing with electricity—and Milla's sharp words in her ear and hot breath on her skin has tremors instantly running down Leia's spine. Shyness renders her reluctant but Milla's unashamed urging easily lures her in and Leia feels suddenly like a child in the kitchen, facing the open door of a burning oven, instinctively scared of the red-hot danger but simultaneously intrigued by the promises held within.
Milla pulls back from Leia's ear and grins down at her, hands trailing slowly down from ribcage to stomach to hip, until finally, Leia is set alight.
"I-I…" Leia stutters, because it's honestly hard to say, but the way Milla is gazing at her encouragingly and expectantly somehow makes it easier, "I'm…beautiful."
Saying it out loud is like reaching her hand right into the oven, her whole body heating up what must be several degrees as the initial embarrassing wave of oh spirits I said it burns through her mind—but it's soon followed by a strange sense of relief, and satisfaction, and when Milla beams brightly down at her, Leia can't help but smile gratefully back.
She really is no match for Milla Maxwell.
Then again, she doesn't need to be.
"That's right," Milla proclaims, her hands quickly sliding back up to massage at Leia's breasts, thumbing the nubs through the fabric of her bra. Leia squeaks in surprise, arches her back from the sensation until she's bucking her hips up instinctively, and when Milla starts grinding her own hips down in turn, Leia can't help her shuddering moan.
"And now that we have settled that," Milla continues, her tone wicked and ominous in a way that makes Leia's toes curl, "let us move on to how marvelous you look while bare, breathless, and begging."