Date: 2015-01-04 09:08 pm (UTC)
mortemscintilla: ∅ Money don't grow on trees (Hei - Eyes Of The Dead)
[ In the back of his mind, Hei prays to the cosmos at large that doing this condomless -- as they have been since he got back -- is not a monumental error waiting to happen. His erection twitches with a relentless cadence inside her palm, matching the pulse at his temples, his throat. The friction where the tip kisses the splayed heat of her sex is exquisite. Perched astride him, her wet hair plastered to her scalp, clear droplets pearling her face, crystal-clusters of moisture gathering on her collarbones and her dripping breasts, she is a gorgeous mess, throwing off energy like an amethyst. ]

[ He doesn't answer her question. He just clutches at her ass, fingers pushing into the crack, denting muscle. Angles himself with a ripple of his hips, as if he's swimming into her -- right before he slams her down on the impaling heft of his cock, a slosh of disturbed water, a liquid upsurge of pressure. Loving the pliant clench of muscle, fluttering then yielding, as he forces himself inside. The succulent slickness of her enveloping him when he can go no deeper. ]

[ Panting, Hei drags her closer, her body a warm heavy curl against his. Kisses her temple, the peachy smoothness of her cheek, before nosing in to nuzzle at her nape. The scent of her is like wind curling over the earth, pulling up the whiff of late springtime grass. He inhales deep, dizzying breaths. Trying to collect the skittering bits of his self-control. To let his mouth roam, his palms coast, indulging for a minute or two in nothing but luxurious, intensifying petting. ]
This account has disabled anonymous posting.
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
More info about formatting

Profile

fuse_box: (Default)
Fusebox

Links