[ it is not truly pain that seizes him, not the kind she could wrought. it is a pang in his chest borne of his own softness and weakness, one given life by her kiss and touch, one he steps into and cannot fully disregard in her arms. (one he cannot anytime, where it counts: to himself.) he doesn't want to thought he should, trembling at its force; when has he shied away from the vulnerable underbelly of what they have? (as much as he hasn't.)
it is a feeling that mixes inextricably with his lust, drives it to desperation as equally as the warmth and willingness of her body does. the slide of her hands overwhelm him; they are caresses of heat along his skin, searching and kneading everywhere. he feels her fingers like flames, in them the greedy need that so drives him, an echo of his hunger. no, he doesn't stop her haste; he revels in it. he takes and shares of it. he heralds it as best he can, nothing but breath and movement between them, the tearing of his belt loops. it takes only a moment of vampire-quick speed to step away and discard the rest of his clothes, and then he is above her again.
on her, and in her deep and rough, her skin against his a blessed, searing relief he savors. the relief of her slick and tight around him an incredible torture that catches his breath, makes his thighs tremble as he begins to rock, unabated and swept into the pleasure of friction, of her. his fingers flex around the slim wrist he has pinned above her head; his eyes as astonished as they are darkened. she is beautiful, and his thumb touches the roundness of her chin, follows it to her neck before he kisses her, moves within her with harsher, pinning strokes. ]
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it is a feeling that mixes inextricably with his lust, drives it to desperation as equally as the warmth and willingness of her body does. the slide of her hands overwhelm him; they are caresses of heat along his skin, searching and kneading everywhere. he feels her fingers like flames, in them the greedy need that so drives him, an echo of his hunger. no, he doesn't stop her haste; he revels in it. he takes and shares of it. he heralds it as best he can, nothing but breath and movement between them, the tearing of his belt loops. it takes only a moment of vampire-quick speed to step away and discard the rest of his clothes, and then he is above her again.
on her, and in her deep and rough, her skin against his a blessed, searing relief he savors. the relief of her slick and tight around him an incredible torture that catches his breath, makes his thighs tremble as he begins to rock, unabated and swept into the pleasure of friction, of her. his fingers flex around the slim wrist he has pinned above her head; his eyes as astonished as they are darkened. she is beautiful, and his thumb touches the roundness of her chin, follows it to her neck before he kisses her, moves within her with harsher, pinning strokes. ]