[ When she sinks onto him β excruciatingly slowly, pure torture until she finally settles onto his lap β that alone is nearly enough to push him over the edge. His brows rise in near-surprise, whatever slim measure of control he'd had over himself having dissipated as soon as he'd felt how wet she isβ for him. It feels like the first time, the both of them made anew and made for each other, meant to be joined like this, with any memory of anyone else rendered null and irrelevant. (Faintly, he thinks he could stay like this forever, buried inside her to the hilt, her pulsing heat tight and needy around him.
Even her cunt is perfect.)
The hand he has on her face slips down, around, until his fingers find the rope of one of her braids, curling the length around the set of his knuckles though he doesn't yet pull. It's not for him to lead or demand, here β when his hand settles over the round of her ass, it's to anchor himself as he arches up from the forest floor, matching her pace, moving with her as she begins to ride him in earnest.
He's empty without her, a vessel β a void β for all the excess of emotion she's always carried. The thought occurs to him, lancing through his head as her nails leave bright red marks on top of dull scars, that he should be protecting her, but how better to do that than like this? How better to be close to her? (And what other way is there, now, for him to prove his devotion, when he's already died for her?) ]
Jinxβ
[ Her name, a prayer. Then, his hand tugs, seeking the arch of her back, his gaze falling to her exposed skin, her pert breasts. Whatever he means to say next dissolves into a whine (unusually unguarded) the next time she lifts her frame, too desperate to be inside her again. ]
no subject
Even her cunt is perfect.)
The hand he has on her face slips down, around, until his fingers find the rope of one of her braids, curling the length around the set of his knuckles though he doesn't yet pull. It's not for him to lead or demand, here β when his hand settles over the round of her ass, it's to anchor himself as he arches up from the forest floor, matching her pace, moving with her as she begins to ride him in earnest.
He's empty without her, a vessel β a void β for all the excess of emotion she's always carried. The thought occurs to him, lancing through his head as her nails leave bright red marks on top of dull scars, that he should be protecting her, but how better to do that than like this? How better to be close to her? (And what other way is there, now, for him to prove his devotion, when he's already died for her?) ]
Jinxβ
[ Her name, a prayer. Then, his hand tugs, seeking the arch of her back, his gaze falling to her exposed skin, her pert breasts. Whatever he means to say next dissolves into a whine (unusually unguarded) the next time she lifts her frame, too desperate to be inside her again. ]