05-14-2009, 02:43 AM
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500+
His voice found that rational mind that lay dormant, smothered by the cotton down of her desire. But where the invocation of a name often drew the mind from dormancy, here, on that day within that cave, it simply pulled her deeper into the dark. But love was not rational; love was physical, it was desire and passion, it was blind faith and it was dangerous, thrilling. It thrilled her now as did battle, the joining of two bodies in a contest of strength. But this was not a contest, nor was it based upon strength. This act of making love seemed so much more than the mere act of satisfying a common lust. And in that moment, it was as if their bodies were made for each other, made to physically fit one another, a true joining of opposites, but a joining of hearts and souls. For the warrior, sex was a way to understand, to know. And yet, with this male, it was simply so much more, inexplicably surpassing the mind and falling into a deeper place within the soul, a tender place, a delicate place.
As he licked her, tasted her, the woman brought her maw along his neck, breathing in those scents, those pheromones released that elevated her excitement, that allowed her sense perceptions to be overloaded. In that brief moment while he was still, her jaws parted, gently biting his neck, feeling his wild pulse between her teeth. Her tongue pressed against that pulsing as his hand traced down her chest before she raised her maw to the base of his ear, nipping the corner of his jaw. But she had to pull away as he began to thrust, that exploding sensation causing her jaws to be dangerous. Involuntarily her hips lifted, following him as he pulled out, wanting him to stay and yet reveling in that ancient instinct. When he reentered, she allowed a brief moan to escape her freely, unrestrained as he caressed her breasts, teasing her nipples. And each slow movement caused a soft cry of pleasure as she lay beneath him, their bodies moving in that slow rhythm of love making.
His pace increased, and with it the gentleness of the movements were left behind. But the woman almost preferred this, these rougher movements, these crude, simple, natural satisfying of desire. Those cries became more frequent, more urgent as they increased in volume. As his teeth found her neck, she moved up into his jaws, her arms sliding beneath his as she pressed herself against him, her face buried in his neck. Her flexibility allowed her a wide range of movements as her body partook in that ancient dance, drawing him in deeper. At times those soft cries became growls of urgency, of pure, bestial ecstasy. Her hand ran up his neck as she wrapped her fingers in his made, her claws less forgiving than his and yet not viscious. The black fae’s body grew hot, heated by the body of the male even with the cold stone at her back, and she knew that soon the climax would overtake her.
500+
His voice found that rational mind that lay dormant, smothered by the cotton down of her desire. But where the invocation of a name often drew the mind from dormancy, here, on that day within that cave, it simply pulled her deeper into the dark. But love was not rational; love was physical, it was desire and passion, it was blind faith and it was dangerous, thrilling. It thrilled her now as did battle, the joining of two bodies in a contest of strength. But this was not a contest, nor was it based upon strength. This act of making love seemed so much more than the mere act of satisfying a common lust. And in that moment, it was as if their bodies were made for each other, made to physically fit one another, a true joining of opposites, but a joining of hearts and souls. For the warrior, sex was a way to understand, to know. And yet, with this male, it was simply so much more, inexplicably surpassing the mind and falling into a deeper place within the soul, a tender place, a delicate place.
As he licked her, tasted her, the woman brought her maw along his neck, breathing in those scents, those pheromones released that elevated her excitement, that allowed her sense perceptions to be overloaded. In that brief moment while he was still, her jaws parted, gently biting his neck, feeling his wild pulse between her teeth. Her tongue pressed against that pulsing as his hand traced down her chest before she raised her maw to the base of his ear, nipping the corner of his jaw. But she had to pull away as he began to thrust, that exploding sensation causing her jaws to be dangerous. Involuntarily her hips lifted, following him as he pulled out, wanting him to stay and yet reveling in that ancient instinct. When he reentered, she allowed a brief moan to escape her freely, unrestrained as he caressed her breasts, teasing her nipples. And each slow movement caused a soft cry of pleasure as she lay beneath him, their bodies moving in that slow rhythm of love making.
His pace increased, and with it the gentleness of the movements were left behind. But the woman almost preferred this, these rougher movements, these crude, simple, natural satisfying of desire. Those cries became more frequent, more urgent as they increased in volume. As his teeth found her neck, she moved up into his jaws, her arms sliding beneath his as she pressed herself against him, her face buried in his neck. Her flexibility allowed her a wide range of movements as her body partook in that ancient dance, drawing him in deeper. At times those soft cries became growls of urgency, of pure, bestial ecstasy. Her hand ran up his neck as she wrapped her fingers in his made, her claws less forgiving than his and yet not viscious. The black fae’s body grew hot, heated by the body of the male even with the cold stone at her back, and she knew that soon the climax would overtake her.