Disregard who can see them, who might watch, because they will hear her. Bardot’s voice tumbles out across the water, echoing in his black-trimmed ears that flick forward to capture every delicious note, his name tumbled in among all of it. Tunnel holds her tightly to himself as she arches and shivers under his body, and he tucks his chin in toward her barrel and rumbles as she nearly drags him along with her. He is suddenly aware of the sheer power of his own will. Not because he holds himself back from spilling into her but because he has not found her before this, because he could stand in this river and groom her for an hour’s time without throwing himself onto her back and fucking her senseless. The insults his mind fabricates for his earlier restrained self trip through his lust clouded thoughts in time with his heartbeats.
Tunnel pulls his head back she tosses her own horned one, defiance glittering knowingly in her lovely golden eyes. The corner of his mouth tugs back, rare dark amusement altering his features once again in her presence. His hind hooves resettle, splashing in the river shallows. Gripping her waist with a snort he drives himself into Bardot hard, tossing his head up before curling over her golden body. His teeth finding purchase on her skin in a savage array of bites that put the ones of that first night to shame. This time he means to mark her, to leave on her skin evidence of his presence for all eyes that might alight on this woman who is not his. Biting just below her withers, holding on and only releasing when the copper tang of blood meets his tongue or she threatens him away with that spiraling weapon of hers. Pleasure thunders through him with each heavy thrust, rumbling between their bodies as his every breath falls huskily against her damp hide.
He loses himself to Bardot’s body and the sounds she makes beneath him. Pulling her in hard against himself and catches a hank of her mane in his teeth. The darkness of his markings seem to bleed further out into his blue hide as sweat drenches his back but he is not ready to finish with her and throws his weight against the buckskin, pushing her, challenging her defiance with the brutality of his own needs. Some familiar shadow claws at him, feral, starving, and Tunnel welcomes it without thought, too consumed with sex and the scent of Bardot’s desire to resist.
She cannot stand against him, not like this, with the slick, loose river stones beneath her hooves and his body pressing fervently down against hers. The angry, lusty squeals from the river startle away anyone still lingering nearby in the meadow. Bardot has been pushed to a knee, her hocks trembling against the weight of him and though the moment of dark viciousness drifts away again he does not pull himself off of her. Water rushes against Bardot’s chest and the stallion explores this now angle, determined to feel her break apart one more time before he finishes with her.
@Bardot
