Bardot surprises him, looking back with her burnished gaze and confessing that he will be the first. He feels a greed as he might have expected, the selfish smugness of discovering something secret, but that is not all.
Tunnel does not measure women based on the times they have been bedded. Though he has done terrible things he has only ever done them because he is little more than a monster thinking no further than his next impulse. He doesn’t crave virgins or feel entitled to the punishment of whores. While twisted he cannot be considered evil, base perhaps, feral, but not a calculating serial criminal.
He is almost thoughtful as he nips at the point of her hip, watching her as she gazes at him with steady defiance. He sees the way her confidence flags around her mouth, the anxiety that is edged away by her desire. He who feels so little beyond the impulse to conquer and consume recognizes her already familiar fearlessness. It should bore him, but it doesn’t. He considers releasing her, sending her away for someone else to make sweet and careful love to her. He could have her later, break her in new ways and destroy the expectation of gentleness forever.
He feels possessive at once, and protective, though what he thinks of protecting her from is himself, even as he presses nearer to her rump, her tail flagging against his shoulder. The conflict is not lost on him.
The scent of her skin, the offer of her body is too much for him to keep following his thoughts which have already become too numerous and delving for his liking. Tunnel looks down at the marks he’s left upon her pelt, rubs his cheek against her hip (a last gesture to push away anything but his need to cover her). The blue stallion nips her again, a last warning before he mounts her. He does not warn her to relax for him, his dark legs grip Bardot’s lean strong frame and he presses into her steadily and heavily. When he’s seated deep in the warmth of her she will feel the rumble of pleasure that rolls through him, savoring the feel of her beneath him. His lips press to her withers, travel down to her shoulder and back again, a gentle caress before his teeth catch against her skin and he withdraws and moves against her again. His body is strong, controlled, when he fills her he does so deeply and fully, cutting his teeth against her skin.
Tunnel is rough with her, there is no mistaking that, he does not withhold a single bruising bite and his thrusts do not yield.
Her name is on his lips, he drops it against her back on a hot breath and draws in a breath heady with the sweat and sex scent of her. The flowers are an afternote to the stallion now, drowned out by the honest warmth of her body beneath him. His clean skin darkens with his own sweat but Tunnel is far from ready to be done with Bardot. He calls her little unicorn when he coaxes her, to come for him, to shudder beneath him for the first time. He wants to fill his ears with the sounds she makes when he presses into her. She shows him what he has been missing as he fucks her, and he may never forgive her for it.
@Bardot
