10-23-2018, 08:37 AM
Was it possible she might have been too harsh?
His lengthy absence gives her time to over think her actions, feeling herself begin to slide into insecure tendencies of her unforgotten past. A not-so-subtle worry starts to bloom in the hollowness of her gut. It burns away most of the adrenaline and lust that had motivated her during their struggle, making her feel suddenly sober falling from a hormonal high. Within the cave that echoes the sounds of the ocean, she wonders if she hadn’t taken things too far.
Maybe he didn’t appreciate her sudden aggression, and didn’t care to actually come find her now. Or even worse, maybe she did not have has much control of her power as she had presumed? Was he still there between the stones, struggling for breath? She hadn’t waited to make sure he’d actually come free of her hold against him. Self-loathing is all she feels now as she begins to move back towards the entrance of the cavern as swiftly as her body nearing exhaustion could muster, head clear enough now to set a direct path back to where she’d fled from.
But in the brightness of the archway a silhouette materializes, causing her pale hooves to slide and settle over the pebble strewn surface. The momentum causes her alabaster mane to shift and fall obstructively over the deepening brown tone of one eye, and her head rises to peer curiously beneath the intrusion, unwilling to move anymore than necessary as he began to move nearer. The stark yellow of his eyes is piercing, matched only in intensity by the steady intentions behind his strides.
The path his head takes over her back is a balm to her previous anxiety; his touch alone the remedy to her ailing mind. The trill of her heartbeat accelerates, triggered by the pressure he causes against the tenderness of her withers. Her breath catches in her lungs, only to be released with a painful slowness when his mouth blazes a path along her jaw.
But he is messing with her, of this she’s nearly certain by the way he tempts and coerces a certain set of provocative feelings to the apex of everything she desired, only to withdraw and pull her into an embrace beneath his neck. Leilan knew this game better than she, and whatever angle he was taking managed to rouse enough irritation for her to pin her ears along her crown in obvious displeasure with the snap of her tail against her barrel.
And he threatens to force the wind out of her lungs, pushing against her, restricting the expansion of her sweat dampened sides. But he can only claim his victory after he shifts backward, rising to only fall just as quickly over top her, effectively knocking whatever breath she had still held in her chest.. Breckin had been too caught off guard to react appropriately; had she been taking this training exercise more seriously, she might have had the heart and instinct to try and flee again. But she is entirely too enraptured, too distracted as she is restricted of much movement, forced to tilt her head back marginally under the influence of his unwavering clutch on her mane.
Gotcha again.
The woman hardly hears the words, the scaled stud’s voice muffled by the rush of blood and the roar of the ocean filled chamber deafening her ears. She swallows, nearly choking over the tension in the way her neck gently arches backward, her own voice husky and strangled when she finds enough air to force it through her charcoal lips. For as much as the words come out reminiscent of a demand, she is pleading.
“Don’t let me go.”
@[Leilan]
His lengthy absence gives her time to over think her actions, feeling herself begin to slide into insecure tendencies of her unforgotten past. A not-so-subtle worry starts to bloom in the hollowness of her gut. It burns away most of the adrenaline and lust that had motivated her during their struggle, making her feel suddenly sober falling from a hormonal high. Within the cave that echoes the sounds of the ocean, she wonders if she hadn’t taken things too far.
Maybe he didn’t appreciate her sudden aggression, and didn’t care to actually come find her now. Or even worse, maybe she did not have has much control of her power as she had presumed? Was he still there between the stones, struggling for breath? She hadn’t waited to make sure he’d actually come free of her hold against him. Self-loathing is all she feels now as she begins to move back towards the entrance of the cavern as swiftly as her body nearing exhaustion could muster, head clear enough now to set a direct path back to where she’d fled from.
But in the brightness of the archway a silhouette materializes, causing her pale hooves to slide and settle over the pebble strewn surface. The momentum causes her alabaster mane to shift and fall obstructively over the deepening brown tone of one eye, and her head rises to peer curiously beneath the intrusion, unwilling to move anymore than necessary as he began to move nearer. The stark yellow of his eyes is piercing, matched only in intensity by the steady intentions behind his strides.
The path his head takes over her back is a balm to her previous anxiety; his touch alone the remedy to her ailing mind. The trill of her heartbeat accelerates, triggered by the pressure he causes against the tenderness of her withers. Her breath catches in her lungs, only to be released with a painful slowness when his mouth blazes a path along her jaw.
But he is messing with her, of this she’s nearly certain by the way he tempts and coerces a certain set of provocative feelings to the apex of everything she desired, only to withdraw and pull her into an embrace beneath his neck. Leilan knew this game better than she, and whatever angle he was taking managed to rouse enough irritation for her to pin her ears along her crown in obvious displeasure with the snap of her tail against her barrel.
And he threatens to force the wind out of her lungs, pushing against her, restricting the expansion of her sweat dampened sides. But he can only claim his victory after he shifts backward, rising to only fall just as quickly over top her, effectively knocking whatever breath she had still held in her chest.. Breckin had been too caught off guard to react appropriately; had she been taking this training exercise more seriously, she might have had the heart and instinct to try and flee again. But she is entirely too enraptured, too distracted as she is restricted of much movement, forced to tilt her head back marginally under the influence of his unwavering clutch on her mane.
Gotcha again.
The woman hardly hears the words, the scaled stud’s voice muffled by the rush of blood and the roar of the ocean filled chamber deafening her ears. She swallows, nearly choking over the tension in the way her neck gently arches backward, her own voice husky and strangled when she finds enough air to force it through her charcoal lips. For as much as the words come out reminiscent of a demand, she is pleading.
“Don’t let me go.”
@[Leilan]