12-22-2017, 10:06 PM
She will be the end of him. She wraps the fibers of his very being around her slender fingers and he follows wherever she desires. She whispers one word into his ear and he shall melt against her feminine curves. She holds — she has always held — his heart cusped between her soft palms and although she has dashed it against stones time and time again, he always returns it to her embrace.
She will be the end of him. He is more aware of it now than ever, as her hips buck and roll beneath the sensuality of his mouth. Her hands tangle the chestnut of his hair, tugging on the nerves under his skin in a way that sends a soft groan into the saturated warmth of her innermost pieces. The sounds that break away from her open lips only prove the effect she has on him. With every moan and cry, he feels the pressure of added arousal building in the pit of his stomach.
As his muscular chest slides against her heaving breasts, his eyes catch hers. He can see the unfathomless desire swimming in the depths of her gaze, unable to release by the courtesy of his actions. A knowing smirk dances over his mouth. He whispers her name against the smoothness of her skin and then suddenly she is pushing their lips together. He greedily obliges, prodding his tongue past the plush gates of her lips.
They lock themselves in a moment of heaven — breast against chest, mouth against mouth, his hips snug against hers — and he is awed by the way they fit so perfectly. She is his queen and he is her king as they worship each other equally. The edges of his muscle fit against the rise and fall of her curvature with perfection, the two final pieces to a puzzle unfit for all of eternity until this one blissful moment.
He croons her name again and she unleashes the ferocity of her desire on his lower lip. The bite leaves the taste of blood in his mouth, but it elicits a throaty groan from the depths of his chest. She wriggles and slides beneath him like a sinful goddess and he opens his eyes to watch the way her soft body moves against his. And then he is easily pulling himself off of her erotic frame.
He wants to capture an image of her, in that moment. The sheets of the bed have long since been roughened by their sexual prowess, pulled from the corners of the mattress. They are tangled along the slope of her curves, nestled against the inward bend of her side and knotted among the line of her arm that is hazardously tossed above her head. Her pale legs are still spread wide, her body ready for his firm length to slide into her warm depths. His dark eyes greedily follow along the points of her hips, the smoothness of her belly, the swell of her breasts, the elegance of her neck (now scattered with blossoming colors of purple and blue from his suckling kisses before), the swollen mess of her lips, the tangled crown of red locks (hair that contrasts with the ivory of their misshapen sheets).
The weight of her hand on his lower stomach and then closer still changes the expression in his eyes.Tender love is overcome by overwhelming lust as she toys with him, as she sits up to press her tongue to the slope of his ear. Goosebumps rise on his skin unbidden and he shivers, completely surrendering for a moment to the control she possesses. As her tongue departs from his skin, he attacks.
She is a wild, feral goddess underneath him. She is his wild, feral goddess. Her teasing has him more determined than before, fully prepared to take her as his and leave her a satisfied, happy queen. The tip of him teases the beginning of her, just enough that he can see the dramatic way she shifts from a creature born of sin and sex to the dainty princess he met when he’d been considering his future among the suffocating vine and deep jungle pools.
His goddess whispers her desire among the thick sounds of their breathing. Her hand pulls his narrow face close and she croons her love against his swollen lips. He can hear the way her voice breaks — her words carry a weight far more important than sex or lust, but a true mending of their broken hearts. He is warmed by the affection she gives him and it encourages him to press his length into the depths of her being.
As she gasps, he groans. It is low and wild, drawn from the call of their ancestors. He is lost in the cavern of her beauty, swept away by the way her warmth which pulsates around him. It is the touch of her mouth against his once more, the grasp of her hand against his waist, that grounds him. They move with perfection, dancing a song they both sing with their bodies but no notes or lyrics are heard. It is a song of worship, of praise, of love.
He tucks his head into the bend of her shoulder and his teeth scrape against the tenderness of her flesh. It will leave bruising in the morning — much like the circular marks that dapple her neck — but he hardly thinks she will mind. A reminder, of the night they fortified their love. A moan rides on the heat of his breath as she cries out. Her noises only encourage his efforts and he moves deeper until the entirety of his firmness is within her.
Despite the lustfulness of their sensuality, there is purity behind their actions. His hips meet perfectly with hers with each shift and thrust, his mouth melds against hers when he brings it back from her shoulder, his arms hold her securely among the mess of the sheets and the heat of their love. They covet each other. They delight in one another.
He moves easily, taking his time to enjoy her with a reckless sort of patience. After a few more delicious moments of tender lovemaking, he picks up the pace. He delights in the sounds he hears from her mouth, in the way her nails carve red markings down his lean back. They move quicker now, more absorbed in their sexual appetite. “You are my queen,” he says against her rosy lips. He bites her lower one then, on the cusp of his undoing.
With another rough thrust, he unveils himself to her. The heat of his seed spills into her innermost delicacies and throaty moans pour from his mouth as the ecstasy of sex blinds him of all thought and sense. The relief is desired and well-deserved as he floats among the cloud-palaces of delight and passion. He comes down slowly, sweatily, to collapse atop her slick body.
For the first time in a long time, he is content.
She will be the end of him. He is more aware of it now than ever, as her hips buck and roll beneath the sensuality of his mouth. Her hands tangle the chestnut of his hair, tugging on the nerves under his skin in a way that sends a soft groan into the saturated warmth of her innermost pieces. The sounds that break away from her open lips only prove the effect she has on him. With every moan and cry, he feels the pressure of added arousal building in the pit of his stomach.
As his muscular chest slides against her heaving breasts, his eyes catch hers. He can see the unfathomless desire swimming in the depths of her gaze, unable to release by the courtesy of his actions. A knowing smirk dances over his mouth. He whispers her name against the smoothness of her skin and then suddenly she is pushing their lips together. He greedily obliges, prodding his tongue past the plush gates of her lips.
They lock themselves in a moment of heaven — breast against chest, mouth against mouth, his hips snug against hers — and he is awed by the way they fit so perfectly. She is his queen and he is her king as they worship each other equally. The edges of his muscle fit against the rise and fall of her curvature with perfection, the two final pieces to a puzzle unfit for all of eternity until this one blissful moment.
He croons her name again and she unleashes the ferocity of her desire on his lower lip. The bite leaves the taste of blood in his mouth, but it elicits a throaty groan from the depths of his chest. She wriggles and slides beneath him like a sinful goddess and he opens his eyes to watch the way her soft body moves against his. And then he is easily pulling himself off of her erotic frame.
He wants to capture an image of her, in that moment. The sheets of the bed have long since been roughened by their sexual prowess, pulled from the corners of the mattress. They are tangled along the slope of her curves, nestled against the inward bend of her side and knotted among the line of her arm that is hazardously tossed above her head. Her pale legs are still spread wide, her body ready for his firm length to slide into her warm depths. His dark eyes greedily follow along the points of her hips, the smoothness of her belly, the swell of her breasts, the elegance of her neck (now scattered with blossoming colors of purple and blue from his suckling kisses before), the swollen mess of her lips, the tangled crown of red locks (hair that contrasts with the ivory of their misshapen sheets).
The weight of her hand on his lower stomach and then closer still changes the expression in his eyes.Tender love is overcome by overwhelming lust as she toys with him, as she sits up to press her tongue to the slope of his ear. Goosebumps rise on his skin unbidden and he shivers, completely surrendering for a moment to the control she possesses. As her tongue departs from his skin, he attacks.
She is a wild, feral goddess underneath him. She is his wild, feral goddess. Her teasing has him more determined than before, fully prepared to take her as his and leave her a satisfied, happy queen. The tip of him teases the beginning of her, just enough that he can see the dramatic way she shifts from a creature born of sin and sex to the dainty princess he met when he’d been considering his future among the suffocating vine and deep jungle pools.
His goddess whispers her desire among the thick sounds of their breathing. Her hand pulls his narrow face close and she croons her love against his swollen lips. He can hear the way her voice breaks — her words carry a weight far more important than sex or lust, but a true mending of their broken hearts. He is warmed by the affection she gives him and it encourages him to press his length into the depths of her being.
As she gasps, he groans. It is low and wild, drawn from the call of their ancestors. He is lost in the cavern of her beauty, swept away by the way her warmth which pulsates around him. It is the touch of her mouth against his once more, the grasp of her hand against his waist, that grounds him. They move with perfection, dancing a song they both sing with their bodies but no notes or lyrics are heard. It is a song of worship, of praise, of love.
He tucks his head into the bend of her shoulder and his teeth scrape against the tenderness of her flesh. It will leave bruising in the morning — much like the circular marks that dapple her neck — but he hardly thinks she will mind. A reminder, of the night they fortified their love. A moan rides on the heat of his breath as she cries out. Her noises only encourage his efforts and he moves deeper until the entirety of his firmness is within her.
Despite the lustfulness of their sensuality, there is purity behind their actions. His hips meet perfectly with hers with each shift and thrust, his mouth melds against hers when he brings it back from her shoulder, his arms hold her securely among the mess of the sheets and the heat of their love. They covet each other. They delight in one another.
He moves easily, taking his time to enjoy her with a reckless sort of patience. After a few more delicious moments of tender lovemaking, he picks up the pace. He delights in the sounds he hears from her mouth, in the way her nails carve red markings down his lean back. They move quicker now, more absorbed in their sexual appetite. “You are my queen,” he says against her rosy lips. He bites her lower one then, on the cusp of his undoing.
With another rough thrust, he unveils himself to her. The heat of his seed spills into her innermost delicacies and throaty moans pour from his mouth as the ecstasy of sex blinds him of all thought and sense. The relief is desired and well-deserved as he floats among the cloud-palaces of delight and passion. He comes down slowly, sweatily, to collapse atop her slick body.
For the first time in a long time, he is content.