captainryan | (no subject)

She inhales, hissing between her teeth at the feel of his hand between her legs. Her hands slip to his shoulders, and with one trembling hand, she draws arcs and swirls with her fingernails along his spine.

I love you because I know no other way

He knows just how to touch her, gentle and slow, moving in time with her deep breaths, making her strive for him without having to move an inch. She wants to say something to encourage him, but his delicate touch is robbing her of speech. He'll just have to take his cues from the rising ecstasy in her scent.

Like he hasn't done that before.

He arches his own back against her hand, a low rumble of pleasure spilling out of his mouth. He rocks forward again without meaning to, losing himself in the moment and her scent.

His mouth is pulling harder at her tits, teeth grazing the skin a little more often with a little bit more force.

Yes. The word is slow and blends into a sigh as she rises to meet him. She wants him to lose himself in her, wants to be his refuge and his sanctuary.

Her nipples stand up hard against his mouth, the areolas dark and tight. Her musk rises too, warm and slick against his fingertips, heady and rich in his nose. Pure instinct guides the motion of her hips now and her hands draw him back up her body.

"Please. Kiss me." Please, my love.

He can do that. He can do a heck of a lot more, too. We hope River doesn't mind.

He kisses up her breastbone, over her collar bone, lightly across her throat to the pocket of scent behind her ear before he nuzzles across her chin to her lips. His shaft, firm and hard, slowly enters her until she's filled.

Her voice rises steadily, feeling him shift and move, his breath touching her skin like the fire, like the first breath of daylight. Hard flesh meets soft and she groans against his mouth. She opens to him, surrenders, savouring the heat of his kiss, the strength and gentleness of his body above her.

She holds tight to his shoulder, nails grazing his skin as he settles into the cradle of her hips. Her legs wrap around him, drawing him in. She wants him close but she's determined to let him guide their motions. He is the centre of her world at this moment, and she would have it no other way.

Only when he is fitted deep inside her does she dare draw a breath and that breath is ragged and shallow. Her scent is a heady tapestry of longing, passion, joy, need, trust, and that same powerful emotion, deep and strong and true.

He exhales roughly all in a rush.

Then he's snuffling over her face and throat, eagerly planting a flurry of kisses and nips across her skin. He wants her: it's all through his scent as he starts pumping, unable to slow himself any longer.

He lets out small muffled groans against her flesh as he moves.

She grins against his cheek, a low whine in her throat. Effortless, she feels him move and matches the rhythm of his body. She kisses his lips, nibbles along his jaw, breathes him in, and loses herself in the moment.

Her hands smooth down his back to his hips, over his ass, pulling him in, feeling his muscles working as he moves. So deep, so hard, so good.

Slow and decadent, they spiral higher as his movements grow more insistent. She presses her head back into the pillow, lips parted, no longer even trying to be quiet. He feels amazing and she lets him know it.

Stop, you'll make him blush.

He quivers with restraint even as he allows them to go faster. He's aware of everything, it seems, her hands on his ass, her hair brushing against his forearms, the warm feeling of her around him moving in perfect time. He gasps, wanting this to last all night.

It feels so good.

All night sounds perfect.

She opens her eyes at the sound of his gasp, wanting to watch him, lips ruddy and bruised from her kisses, his jaw set. She can only catch glimpses of his eyes, hooded and dark. She leans up just enough to press her mouth to his brow, capturing a bead of sweat before it drips in his eyes. The move presses her against his own broad chest, and she falls back slowly, reluctantly..

Her grip tightens, every part of her drawing him in, giving him something to strive against. This is a good pace, not too fast, just quick enough to keep them ascending. The second time is always deeper, always higher, a little elusive, but he always hunts her down.

She's panting against his throat and each shallow breath comes with a soft, ragged cry in time with his movements. From a great distance, she can feel something bright unfolding inside her.

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand

Edited 2009-08-07 22:27 (UTC)

River, he moans, finding her scent and knowing what it means, how close they are and how much further they still have to go.

He loves this part of his day, this hunt, this game they play, the sounds she makes, the way she feels, the places she takes him.

River.

The sound of his voice sets her alight. "Richard." She breathes his name against his jaw, losing herself in his scent, the heat of his skin, the motion of his body against hers. A long, slow, intense ascension, and she loves every moment, every breath. My love.

She closes her eyes again, focusing on his pulse and on the building pressure. Her breath hitches as he finds the perfect tempo, the perfect angle. Her spine arches and her nails dig into the flesh of his shoulder as her hips shudder beneath him.

There's the trembling beginnings of a howl in the back of his fox's throat.

Mine. It's distractedly said, his attention more on her than speaking. He kisses her, stealing her howl before she can make it, then bites her throat to help her make another.

He can't hold her for long, though. He's got a howl of his own building up in his throat.

The feel of his mouth against her own, the sweetness of his kiss, distracts her, breaks her concentration, leaves her vulnerable to his bite.

Sweet mother of all that's holy, he knows her. He knows her secrets, knows her heart, knows how to pierce her through and through. White hot electricity arcs down her spine, knitting the feel of his sharp teeth in her flesh to the hard pulse between her thighs.

She gasps, sucking air as the pleasure twists through her, uncontrolled and uncontrollable. The wild howl in her throat is the sound of pure ecstasy.

His own howl is near simultaneous, head arched back to let it free.

He relaxes then, settling down until he's pressed along her side but still holding himself up enough that she can breathe without too much difficulty. He's tired, yes, but satisfied and not nearly spent.

She's breathing hard, smiling against his cheek, laughing quietly as she strokes her hands over his head, petting him. A delicious shiver runs through her body as the spike of pleasure fades. She inhales his scent, draws him deep, savouring just being able to hold him close.

Love you.

He nibbles on her a bit, licking at the shiver over her skin.

Love you. He rumbles with pleasure, slipping out of her so he can rest at her side, one hand drawing lazy circles on her back.

She rolls with him, purring, nuzzling under his chin, unwilling to part from him for even a moment. Her mouth finds the side of his jaw, trailing open mouthed kisses along the side of his neck down to his collar bone, nibbling ever so gently.

She nestles close along his side, her legs tangling with his. The palms of her hands skim over the fine sheen of sweat on his torso.

I like this game. You make such a nice captive, she teases.

Edited 2009-08-20 02:23 (UTC)

Captive? Who caught who, here? He counters by poking her once in her side, smug grin across his face.

He's utterly relaxed here.

She giggles, batting his hand away. Clearly I captured you. Lured you back to my lair and had my way with you, she continues, all evidence to the contrary.

Her grip on him tightens momentarily. And don't think you're getting away either. I caught you fair and square.

Actually, I think I've developed a rather horrid case of Stockholm Syndrome.

He pulls her a little closer to demonstrate. Not going anywhere.

To this day, those three words still strike deep. The first time he said them, she could believe it was only for the night. And that was more than she'd dared hope for, even then. Every moment since then had been a gift.

Now? She knows they mean so much more.

Good. Her eyes close and she buries her face in his shoulder, breathing his breath, bathed in his scent. She holds him tight, happy beyond the simple telling of it.