[m] [aw] you'll be free, child, once you have died

Max Klein · 07-25-2012, 11:38 PM

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There was something faintly worrisome about her motions, but his was the bravado of all young men caught in the heat of passion. What had begun as a simple exchange of compliments had led to this moment, and in it, he felt detached. If he understood that this was merely the calm before the breaking storm, he might not have lost himself so deeply in the moment. He might have hesitated and sought out comfort from her instead of in the wilds, testing himself, wounding himself. Max knew none of these things. All he knew (and this was the knowledge of a boy just learning) was that whatever she was doing with her mouth filled him with flames and made his vision dark.

If one thing could be said of Max, it was that he had learned a great deal of self control. Ezekiel had beaten that law into his head, both literally and figuratively, when he had been a boy and still green to restraint. It was these lessons that kept him from grabbing her and throwing her to the ground. It was this, the way of the student-soldier, that kept him on his back as she came to bring herself atop him.

Her motions were painfully slow and he had to use what was left of his patience to lay there as she pulled him into her. With one slow, anguished thrust, he parted her folds and was surrounded by something wet, tight, and deliciously hot. Max’s head rolled back and he smiled up at her, yellow eyes burning, and began to rock himself into her. His hands moved to her thighs, firm and soft all at once, and lingered close to her hips. The coydog said nothing, but his eyes, his hands, and his body gave her what she had asked for—worship.

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