02-27-2017, 09:43 PM
He wants to be angry. He is about to break away, let her destroy him. At least finally he would be at peace...
But before he open his mouth, before he is able shut her out forever...
She is melting into him. Her skin is softer than anything he has ever felt. She feels small, vulnerable and he wants nothing more than to protect her. He feels ashamed that the white of her perfect skin is being marred by the dirt and sand that tangled in his coat and mane.
But he can not let her go.
The heaviness of his head is moving gently...delicately around to envelope her into an embrace in which he never wants to end. His whiskered lips are resting against her withers as he brushes his mouth against the softness of her skin. She is intoxicating and Lior feels heady as allows himself to press into her, lost in the warmth that he has longed for.
"Nayl..." Her name, the cross he bears, crawls from his lips, against her skin, in a low moan. His eyes close as he allows the weight of his head to rest against her, still holding her so close that he feels himself seeping into her, drowning in her very existence. The stallion is scared this will all end and so he buries his face into the softness of her mane, lips tracing the delicate trails of where her muscles bunch and move. He was scared to do more and so stands quietly, holding her, whispering and weaving incantations of his devotion into her mane.
But before he open his mouth, before he is able shut her out forever...
She is melting into him. Her skin is softer than anything he has ever felt. She feels small, vulnerable and he wants nothing more than to protect her. He feels ashamed that the white of her perfect skin is being marred by the dirt and sand that tangled in his coat and mane.
But he can not let her go.
The heaviness of his head is moving gently...delicately around to envelope her into an embrace in which he never wants to end. His whiskered lips are resting against her withers as he brushes his mouth against the softness of her skin. She is intoxicating and Lior feels heady as allows himself to press into her, lost in the warmth that he has longed for.
"Nayl..." Her name, the cross he bears, crawls from his lips, against her skin, in a low moan. His eyes close as he allows the weight of his head to rest against her, still holding her so close that he feels himself seeping into her, drowning in her very existence. The stallion is scared this will all end and so he buries his face into the softness of her mane, lips tracing the delicate trails of where her muscles bunch and move. He was scared to do more and so stands quietly, holding her, whispering and weaving incantations of his devotion into her mane.