[mature] you were a vision in the morning when the light came through, rhaegor (holiday party)

[Rhaegor]

Rhaegor

the playboy

I love you.

Her thought is the last he hears before he enters her; and perhaps, if she focuses closely, she will hear his, not in his thoughts but in his every breath and twitch of muscle as they form a single entity. The woman speaks his name like a prayer to the gods (or perhaps a prayer to him), the single syllable dripping with thick honey, oozing need in a way the stallion had never realized another could. The word lover suddenly means so much more to him in that moment, its implication burning itself into his skull as the minx beneath him presses back, back, back, demanding more of him.

Needy girl, he thinks to her, relishing in the way her hips swivelled against his as if she could tempt him into motion - and god, she could. In that moment, Rhaegor also comes to understand the power of a woman's thighs.

His teeth find her neck, and he obeys her wordless command, a servant to her ever whim.

As if their dreams have prepared them for this moment, their love making becomes fluid, though far from gentle; their hips move in a rhythm so satisfying that even Rhaegor begins making soft, ecstatic noises into the tangle of Chryseis' mane. He will be glad when the haze and thrill of lust and orgasm wear off that he built them an enclosure such as this; while his noises may be soft, the sum of their total noise-making certain is not. And besides, he didn't need all of the Resort hearing his name moaned - not even if it made them supremely jealous, not even if he can't admit that he would love seeing their abhorred-but-secretly-aroused faces thrown away in mock-disgust.

He isn't sure when the sensation begins, but he knows when it happens.

Orgasm - a concept which revolutionized all concepts. It began as a clench in his gut and exploded into waves of bliss, waves which are preceded by the most powerful of his thrusts into the deep, warm folds of Chryseis. Her name audibly leaves his lips as his legs shudder, barely maintaining their grip around her withers; he wonders, madly, whether he tastes blood because he has broken her skin, or simply due to the overwhelming sensation of the orgasm itself. In any case, he forgets the thought instantly, losing himself to the release that Chryseis' loins offer, a sanctuary for his sexuality.

His ejaculation mixes with her arousal, lubricating her in a way that leaves Rhaegor all to satisfied.

Mine.

For a while, he rests like that, breathing gradually slowing as he feels himself growing soft inside of her. When at last he must move, he does so carefully, making a point not to place his weight too heavily on his lover as he crawls down from atop her heavenly topline. Sweaty and seeing that she is, too, Rhae walks to place himself beside the mare, eyelids drooping as his head swings to clear her eyes of dampened forelock.

I love you.

Pulling his angel close, the stallion wonders if he could ever love someone more; and, as he listens to her breathing, he gently falls to sleep.

...my name on your tongue and your tongue on my...

@[Chryseis]