Her chest flushes crimson, her ears a rich rose, and her cheeks darken as she finds her rhythm with him. Her nipples, pale carnation buds, stand taut against his palms. Her parted lips are a bruised shade of raspberry and hang close enough to his that she and he share one-another's breath.
The bones of her corset cut red lines in the pale flesh of her torso, but by the time she is riding out their bliss the marks have faded somewhat. She lets her head loll to the side and he watches the wet red petals of her mouth form silent syllables. And when she pulses around him the pink of her sex darkens from the inside of a seashell to the rich coral of sunset. Roughly and in a tone colored with desperation, her whispers form the shape of his name. Over and over again she paints him with pleasure sounds.