[ Pushing and pushing, she seeks out more of this, the drag of his teeth over her skin and the bite of the wound, the harshness of it. She wants to be able to feel the wound, to touch her fingers against the bruises and pain of it, to remind herself of the ache when they are apart, when they're no longer in such a twisting intimacy. The notion of sending him a picture of it, of her own fingers, dark and twisted, digging bloody nails into his markings...
Whimpering softly, she chases the taste of him, chases the sensation of how it feels to be so under his control. It's a shift in their coming together, different to their time before, licking her lips and trying with little success to rock her body against his and seek more and more from him.
(It is also painfully arousing his strong he is, able to lift her, move her, mould her, put her where he wants her and use her so simply).
Arching her back, she pushes her breasts towards him even as one of her hands dig nails into his arm, breathless as she licks her lips. ]
Will you mark me so? Let me take the pleasure with me, when we part?
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Whimpering softly, she chases the taste of him, chases the sensation of how it feels to be so under his control. It's a shift in their coming together, different to their time before, licking her lips and trying with little success to rock her body against his and seek more and more from him.
(It is also painfully arousing his strong he is, able to lift her, move her, mould her, put her where he wants her and use her so simply).
Arching her back, she pushes her breasts towards him even as one of her hands dig nails into his arm, breathless as she licks her lips. ]
Will you mark me so? Let me take the pleasure with me, when we part?
[ Voice soft, she watches him. ]
Must I earn it from you?