10-14-2017, 10:41 PM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
She is breathless when his mouth is set upon her, with blunt teeth digging into her supple flesh with hard kisses pressed against protruding bone – she is delirious with delight, crooning softly as he devours her inch by inch, feeling her writhe against the warmth of his pale mouth. A shiver traverses the length of her spine, as arousal stirs within the pit of her belly, pressing her closer to him – and when his teeth begin to bruise her tender flesh, she can hardly suppress the deep and guttural moan from rising to the surface from the tightness of her throat, where her breathing becomes hitched and caught with each ravenous kiss.
When the heat of his mouth brushes across her hip and down along the sensitive skin of her thigh, her arousal is made known, enveloping him – roused by him, and only him, as her hips sashay to and fro with keen exhilaration, while her shapely legs splay before him, feeling the heat of his broad chest pressed willfully against her.
Her heart thrusts itself raggedly against the confinement of its cage, while her pulse thrums excitedly within her veins. A soft gasp echoes in the stillness of the air as his weight and warmth cover her, while his arousal presses readily against her and deep within her. She can hardly stifle a cry when he does finally take her; pleasure mixed with the sheer pain and she is caught breathless, trembling beneath him.
She is far from still – writhing against him, arching to meet his rhythmic motion, yearning to take the entirety of him – to keep him, to draw him closer, to feel him. When his teeth grip her delicate skin, splitting her flesh from sheer friction and delirious arousal, she is certain that he can taste her blood across his tongue while he takes her for his own and the mere thought of it is enough to push her over the edge – her body quivering with a low, croon of pleasurable satisfaction as he brings her to completion, spent within her, filling her with his seed and taking what had always been his.
His. Hers.
She did not care who he took beneath him – she felt no jealousy for where he placed his teeth, nor where he spent his seed. She felt possessive of him in a way that no sexual intimacy could touch; in a way that no one else could ever understand. Love held no candle to it. He is power, danger, prowess, desire and malevolence – he is hers, and she is his, and she would keep him for her own, and shed the blood of any that dare try to take him away from her.
When he is finished, his tongue and lips hungrily taste her – the blood, the sweat, her need for him – and she is voracious, as her dark lips press and kiss along the column of his throat, and the dampened, pale tresses that lay haphazardly over his neck. He is tired and serene, though his crooning bluebird is coiling against him, fitting flawlessly against the ridges of bone and muscle that made him what he is, yearning to be closer as her contentment is made known with her teeth and with her lips. When his pulse his warm against her mouth, as her teeth adoringly nip and kiss at the ridge of his jaw, she nearly growls into his skin a single, possessive word.
”Mine.”
When the heat of his mouth brushes across her hip and down along the sensitive skin of her thigh, her arousal is made known, enveloping him – roused by him, and only him, as her hips sashay to and fro with keen exhilaration, while her shapely legs splay before him, feeling the heat of his broad chest pressed willfully against her.
Her heart thrusts itself raggedly against the confinement of its cage, while her pulse thrums excitedly within her veins. A soft gasp echoes in the stillness of the air as his weight and warmth cover her, while his arousal presses readily against her and deep within her. She can hardly stifle a cry when he does finally take her; pleasure mixed with the sheer pain and she is caught breathless, trembling beneath him.
She is far from still – writhing against him, arching to meet his rhythmic motion, yearning to take the entirety of him – to keep him, to draw him closer, to feel him. When his teeth grip her delicate skin, splitting her flesh from sheer friction and delirious arousal, she is certain that he can taste her blood across his tongue while he takes her for his own and the mere thought of it is enough to push her over the edge – her body quivering with a low, croon of pleasurable satisfaction as he brings her to completion, spent within her, filling her with his seed and taking what had always been his.
His. Hers.
She did not care who he took beneath him – she felt no jealousy for where he placed his teeth, nor where he spent his seed. She felt possessive of him in a way that no sexual intimacy could touch; in a way that no one else could ever understand. Love held no candle to it. He is power, danger, prowess, desire and malevolence – he is hers, and she is his, and she would keep him for her own, and shed the blood of any that dare try to take him away from her.
When he is finished, his tongue and lips hungrily taste her – the blood, the sweat, her need for him – and she is voracious, as her dark lips press and kiss along the column of his throat, and the dampened, pale tresses that lay haphazardly over his neck. He is tired and serene, though his crooning bluebird is coiling against him, fitting flawlessly against the ridges of bone and muscle that made him what he is, yearning to be closer as her contentment is made known with her teeth and with her lips. When his pulse his warm against her mouth, as her teeth adoringly nip and kiss at the ridge of his jaw, she nearly growls into his skin a single, possessive word.
”Mine.”
@[Gryffen]