07-01-2018, 05:49 PM
Guiding her is second nature to the kelpie - he knows Heda better than he knows anyone. She was the first to survive him, after all, and she is possessed of a gift that pierces Ivar's scaled hide as easily as a harpoon. Their couplings have never been anything less than satisfactory, and as Ivar guides her north (through the tall grasses of the Feild, along the edges of the Forest), he can feel the hunger rising again.
She is pressed against him the whole way, simultaneously gentle and enthusiastic. The constant infusion of emotions has him nearly as giddy, and the nips he places at the back of her legs when she moves too slowly are equally infused. He continues to press want and need and mine as they reach the shoreline, and so he is unsurprised when she turns to him in the water.
There is an easy grin on his pale features, as he watches the mare ahead of him wade deeper into the waves. The setting sun illuminates her buckskin coat, and Ivar presses his mouth against her damp sides hungrily. Heda repeats her earlier demand, and Ivar doesn't hesitate to do as asked.
This time he is most attentive to her needs, matching himself to the tides of her body. He means to eke out those cries she had kept quiet in the meadow; there is no one to hear her call out here. Ivar's teeth rake across her bared neck, but it is not until he feels her shaking beneath him that he pierces her skin.
"You're mine," he says into the curl of her ear as he slides off her golden back. "I made a mistake letting you go before. I won't do it again." It does not occur to him that Heda might have an opinion on this decision. If she did - and it differed from his - it wouldn't matter. She is his now, and he intends to keep her. "You'll want to stay with me in Ischia," Ivar adds, pressing a feather-light touch to the place he had bitten moments earlier, and with it is the mental demand. "You'll be happy there."
She is pressed against him the whole way, simultaneously gentle and enthusiastic. The constant infusion of emotions has him nearly as giddy, and the nips he places at the back of her legs when she moves too slowly are equally infused. He continues to press want and need and mine as they reach the shoreline, and so he is unsurprised when she turns to him in the water.
There is an easy grin on his pale features, as he watches the mare ahead of him wade deeper into the waves. The setting sun illuminates her buckskin coat, and Ivar presses his mouth against her damp sides hungrily. Heda repeats her earlier demand, and Ivar doesn't hesitate to do as asked.
This time he is most attentive to her needs, matching himself to the tides of her body. He means to eke out those cries she had kept quiet in the meadow; there is no one to hear her call out here. Ivar's teeth rake across her bared neck, but it is not until he feels her shaking beneath him that he pierces her skin.
"You're mine," he says into the curl of her ear as he slides off her golden back. "I made a mistake letting you go before. I won't do it again." It does not occur to him that Heda might have an opinion on this decision. If she did - and it differed from his - it wouldn't matter. She is his now, and he intends to keep her. "You'll want to stay with me in Ischia," Ivar adds, pressing a feather-light touch to the place he had bitten moments earlier, and with it is the mental demand. "You'll be happy there."