11-11-2017, 10:06 PM
a ghost in the darkness.
Those four letters would never pass through his lips. To admit such a weakness, to lay bare something as foolish as love as if he could even understand the concept of it. He can’t, he never could, never will. She, the bluebird of the evening, has become the closest thing he’s ever experienced to such a thing. He hates her for it, he craves her for it. She is the most interesting thing he’s studied thus far. All because of what she can do to him. Minette had only been his lover in the sense to break and abuse, to harvest the lives he needed that would carry his name and his blood. He had never loved her even if he had pretended to. He had always been quite the actor, if only she could see him now with the makeup and costume changes in his closet.
But she…
With the guttural laughter (because you can’t spell manslaughter without laughter) as she sprayed blood and brain across his face. The simple pleasure and pride in those mismatched eyes when she had displayed his captive sister before him. The way she always comes back for more. Is there anything she won’t do for him? He will push those boundaries as far as he can. If they reach breaking point? Would they? Would he regret it?
He can see the flash in the stormy eye as her own nostrils flare across his salt stained skin. She had held Ivar within her (and perhaps one day Ivar would find himself in a similar position), had let him mar the cobalt haze of her shoulder. It’s still stained black with blood and the metallic taste of copper soon makes his taste buds bitter as he places a kiss over the wound. Selfish. He can feel the way her body clenches beneath his wandering touch, the way she writhes against him, the way it still begged for release. Ivar had done a piss poor job, nothing that the wraith couldn’t fix.
There’s more to his grasp on her then primal desire. It’s something in his blackened soul that needs to covet her, to have her close, to feel her release and satisfaction. She was already heated, left burning for a resolution that the Loess stallion had failed to bring her. He would not leave her like this, aching for the pleasure that only he could truly bring her. Still, as he licks his lips and tastes her, let her remember who ran the show. Let her beg. Let her crave him the way that he throbbed for her.
Her sides heave as her tail snaps in frustration, her legs parting wider to allow him further access. Beckoning him to continue with her soft cooing ”Please…” As her wild and wicked gaze is thrown back with a toss of ivory tendrils, smoldering with her need. Still he waits, cruel in his reluctance to come back to her. As his teeth nibble along the rounded curve of her haunch, moving to rake along her croup. Every now and then coming back to the sweetness of her, to softly lick and taste, leaving heated breath upon the exposed lips. Tormenting as he continues to pull away, to let it linger. Tormenting himself as every time his tongue is pressed to her, he becomes harder. Stiffer. His own need making him ache and pulse. "I need you." He smirks. "I know."
The darkness between her thighs is wet and inviting, he could bring her to climax now. But he doesn’t.
Straddling her, the motions fluid and smooth as the canvas of her body is well known to him, his legs wrapping with familiarity around her sides. Plush muzzle running along her back, tasting the one’s that had traveled this road before him. Removing their signs as he places his own. The bites he leaves across her flesh are sharp but not as harsh as they had been before. He grips himself up further, teeth sinking into the disarray of her raven hair as he shifts. Pulling her closer to him with a soft groan of need as his shaft (harder then he can remember) teases her at it’s tip, barely tracing the outside of her folds. ”Thana…” He moans into her mane, his mouth devouring the supple indigo skin beneath him. There is something there in that simple saying of her name, something subtle, that gives way to what he actually feels for her. Just a slight glimpse into the window of his secret thoughts before it’s slammed shut. Just as his hardness impales into the wet heat between her thighs. Instantly she is tightening around him and he can’t hold back the sharp hiss of his pleasure as she takes him in.
His thrusts are slow and deliberate, unable to keep his lips from exploring her flesh or his tongue from probing the sensitive exposed wound along her shoulder. A mix of blood and arousal flooding his senses, still tasting the elixir that he had coaxed from her when his tongue had bathed against her clit. It is easy to abandon himself within her, as she swells against him. As he surges against her. Grabbing at the back of her mane, pulling her neck back so her head is raised to the sky. His teeth pinching at the exposed skin of her neck, trailing with hard possessive kisses. Only until she unleashes herself to him in a tidal wave of convulsions will he lose himself completely. Until then he presses his member harder into her, quickening his thrusts with low grunts as he brings them both closer to oblivion.
But she…
With the guttural laughter (because you can’t spell manslaughter without laughter) as she sprayed blood and brain across his face. The simple pleasure and pride in those mismatched eyes when she had displayed his captive sister before him. The way she always comes back for more. Is there anything she won’t do for him? He will push those boundaries as far as he can. If they reach breaking point? Would they? Would he regret it?
He can see the flash in the stormy eye as her own nostrils flare across his salt stained skin. She had held Ivar within her (and perhaps one day Ivar would find himself in a similar position), had let him mar the cobalt haze of her shoulder. It’s still stained black with blood and the metallic taste of copper soon makes his taste buds bitter as he places a kiss over the wound. Selfish. He can feel the way her body clenches beneath his wandering touch, the way she writhes against him, the way it still begged for release. Ivar had done a piss poor job, nothing that the wraith couldn’t fix.
There’s more to his grasp on her then primal desire. It’s something in his blackened soul that needs to covet her, to have her close, to feel her release and satisfaction. She was already heated, left burning for a resolution that the Loess stallion had failed to bring her. He would not leave her like this, aching for the pleasure that only he could truly bring her. Still, as he licks his lips and tastes her, let her remember who ran the show. Let her beg. Let her crave him the way that he throbbed for her.
Her sides heave as her tail snaps in frustration, her legs parting wider to allow him further access. Beckoning him to continue with her soft cooing ”Please…” As her wild and wicked gaze is thrown back with a toss of ivory tendrils, smoldering with her need. Still he waits, cruel in his reluctance to come back to her. As his teeth nibble along the rounded curve of her haunch, moving to rake along her croup. Every now and then coming back to the sweetness of her, to softly lick and taste, leaving heated breath upon the exposed lips. Tormenting as he continues to pull away, to let it linger. Tormenting himself as every time his tongue is pressed to her, he becomes harder. Stiffer. His own need making him ache and pulse. "I need you." He smirks. "I know."
The darkness between her thighs is wet and inviting, he could bring her to climax now. But he doesn’t.
Straddling her, the motions fluid and smooth as the canvas of her body is well known to him, his legs wrapping with familiarity around her sides. Plush muzzle running along her back, tasting the one’s that had traveled this road before him. Removing their signs as he places his own. The bites he leaves across her flesh are sharp but not as harsh as they had been before. He grips himself up further, teeth sinking into the disarray of her raven hair as he shifts. Pulling her closer to him with a soft groan of need as his shaft (harder then he can remember) teases her at it’s tip, barely tracing the outside of her folds. ”Thana…” He moans into her mane, his mouth devouring the supple indigo skin beneath him. There is something there in that simple saying of her name, something subtle, that gives way to what he actually feels for her. Just a slight glimpse into the window of his secret thoughts before it’s slammed shut. Just as his hardness impales into the wet heat between her thighs. Instantly she is tightening around him and he can’t hold back the sharp hiss of his pleasure as she takes him in.
His thrusts are slow and deliberate, unable to keep his lips from exploring her flesh or his tongue from probing the sensitive exposed wound along her shoulder. A mix of blood and arousal flooding his senses, still tasting the elixir that he had coaxed from her when his tongue had bathed against her clit. It is easy to abandon himself within her, as she swells against him. As he surges against her. Grabbing at the back of her mane, pulling her neck back so her head is raised to the sky. His teeth pinching at the exposed skin of her neck, trailing with hard possessive kisses. Only until she unleashes herself to him in a tidal wave of convulsions will he lose himself completely. Until then he presses his member harder into her, quickening his thrusts with low grunts as he brings them both closer to oblivion.
Gryffen
@[Thana]