06-19-2018, 05:04 PM
 I V A R promising everything i do not mean |
The copper taste of her blood mixes with the bitterness of the salt water, and Ivar groans. Kylin tastes as sweet as he had expected, and she arches under him, as meek and willing as he’d known she would be. As she always does, she falls still beneath his touch, and the water creeps quickly up her neck. Her lavender mane is drifts freely in the current and brushes against his neck, and for a moment Ivar considers pulling her down with him. She’d look beautiful beneath the water – breathtaking. Her pretty hazel eyes would open wide, and a cascade of bubbles would pour out of her pretty lips, drifting toward the surface. She’d breathe in the water as he did, and she’d settle on the ocean floor in a cloud of rosy pink water. The stallion wants it – he knows how enjoyable it will be. Instead he grips her hips with his hind claws, matching his deep thrusts with flicks of his dark tail, keeping her head above the water despite the temptation. Her quiet panting is his guide, though he shifts now and again, withdrawing only to sink deeper in an effort to draw out her pleasure as he peppers his neck with bites and kisses. Ivar knows the limits of the equine body, has seen how much blood can be lost before there is true danger. He tests that limit, his teeth stained red as he mauls the soft skin of her neck and shoulder. Perhaps she’ll feel lightheaded, disembodied. That is his intention anyway, and he spills himself inside her only when he feels certain she too has reached her peak. The current has carried the floating pair back toward the island, and Ivar slides from her back to find that his hooves easily reach the sand below. He touches the wounds on her neck delicately, and primal satisfaction glints in his molten eyes. (marked. mine.) “You should rest,” he tells her, cognizant of how weak those who are not built for the sea are after his attentions. Lepis’ conception had worn Heda out for days, and Isobell was much the same. His hind legs lengthen as they wade into shallower water, and Ivar runs an affectionate muzzle across the curve of her rump. The desire rises again and he cannot help but nip gently at the base of her tail. Even with the constant summer of Ischia, the kelpie recognizes the need, enough to know that autumn is reaching the rest of Beqanna. His pale mouth reaches toward her ribs and the smooth dip of her belly. Perhaps they’ll add another resident to their island come spring. |
I know my lies could not make you believe in my dark times, baby this is all I could be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |
@[Kylin]