11-27-2017, 02:43 PM
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
His smile is titillating, an unexpected slash of honey across his vast expanse of authority and scales. She could almost taste it, the honey, could close her eyes and imagine the succulent and viscous fluid mixing with her saliva and being slowly, oh so slowly, digested into her system. She could close her eyes, but she doesn't - yet.
Yes, I will be. Words, weightless, wandering. She wants more of them, wants only to pull the kelpie's strings with her delicate hands and to have hers pulled in return. His smile is titillating. And his assuredness, his steadfastness and low-borne calm, those can't be denied either. Trissy's uncertainty about returning is farther from her than the land from which she came; for here, in this stallion, with his honeyed smile and sea-salt smell, she hopes she has found something worth staying for. Someone who, like her, knows what he wants.
An answer needn't be given, as the towering man meets her challenging stance and closes the remaining space between them. The tension of being close to him was electrifying - but with his breath humming across the tight sinews of her neck, she is set on fire. His scaled lips are warm and strange, exciting, in more ways than one. It is nearly too much - she nearly gives in to it, nearly allows herself to be swooned as many mares have been by the stallion. No man gets this good without some practice.
As his teeth release her skin - so soft compared to his, yet rugged compared to others - Trissy presses her own mouth to the man's neck, her lips parted, her warm breath tracing every scale like trickling water. His words come again, honeyed, intoxication, so tempting and lush. Her lips form a secret smile against his coat, which causes her teeth to audibly drag and scratch against the stallion's hide. Her delicate mouth is sliding up, up, up the man, forcing him off of her neck; and at the last, she strains in all her shortness and clips her teeth against the underside of his throat, where the scales are far more like that of a snake's compared to that of a dragon's. Her tongue tastes the rivers of blood that flow beneath Ivar's unmarred skin; and as she removes herself from his throat, his life source, she knows that she will taste far more than that simple drop.
Without backing up, the little Arab pivots her hind legs until the two come to be parallel - and then she continues just a little farther, and throws a good deal of her weight into his side. Barely a nudge to him, but she can't help their difference - can't help feeling overwhelmingly feminine and exquisite beneath his great stature and hot gaze. The nudge only lasts a moment - then she has taken a step forward, and peers back at the man contemptuously.
"Lead the way, Ivar, and we shall see if I like what you have to offer."
Yes, I will be. Words, weightless, wandering. She wants more of them, wants only to pull the kelpie's strings with her delicate hands and to have hers pulled in return. His smile is titillating. And his assuredness, his steadfastness and low-borne calm, those can't be denied either. Trissy's uncertainty about returning is farther from her than the land from which she came; for here, in this stallion, with his honeyed smile and sea-salt smell, she hopes she has found something worth staying for. Someone who, like her, knows what he wants.
An answer needn't be given, as the towering man meets her challenging stance and closes the remaining space between them. The tension of being close to him was electrifying - but with his breath humming across the tight sinews of her neck, she is set on fire. His scaled lips are warm and strange, exciting, in more ways than one. It is nearly too much - she nearly gives in to it, nearly allows herself to be swooned as many mares have been by the stallion. No man gets this good without some practice.
As his teeth release her skin - so soft compared to his, yet rugged compared to others - Trissy presses her own mouth to the man's neck, her lips parted, her warm breath tracing every scale like trickling water. His words come again, honeyed, intoxication, so tempting and lush. Her lips form a secret smile against his coat, which causes her teeth to audibly drag and scratch against the stallion's hide. Her delicate mouth is sliding up, up, up the man, forcing him off of her neck; and at the last, she strains in all her shortness and clips her teeth against the underside of his throat, where the scales are far more like that of a snake's compared to that of a dragon's. Her tongue tastes the rivers of blood that flow beneath Ivar's unmarred skin; and as she removes herself from his throat, his life source, she knows that she will taste far more than that simple drop.
Without backing up, the little Arab pivots her hind legs until the two come to be parallel - and then she continues just a little farther, and throws a good deal of her weight into his side. Barely a nudge to him, but she can't help their difference - can't help feeling overwhelmingly feminine and exquisite beneath his great stature and hot gaze. The nudge only lasts a moment - then she has taken a step forward, and peers back at the man contemptuously.
"Lead the way, Ivar, and we shall see if I like what you have to offer."
Trissy
AM I SCREAMING? NO, YOU'RE SCREAMING
AHHHHHHHHHHH