His teeth return to her neck at that, and bite a little harder. Not hard enough to break skin—he has no desire to learn the taste of human blood—but enough to see if she will bruise, if it is too much. Learning her body will not always be elegant and beautiful.
“You favor such bold necklines,” he notes, “Shall I keep my attentions below them?”
Or does she wish to look in the mirror and at other’s faces, see their reactions to the unmistakable marks of a lover?
He works his way down her body, harder than he was before, nails digging in a bit sharper, tongue lifting the salt off her skin when he pauses to attend to whatever catches his fancy—her collarbone, the dip below her breast, her navel, the inside of her thigh—he is half off the blanket and onto the moss by the time he reaches her cunt and smiles up at her. He had been here before, in the library, and he is not one to leave things unfinished.
Reminding her of his strength is not done intentionally, but his hands grip into her thighs and hold her spread and open to his mouth as he dips down to taste her, a wide swipe of his tongue while listening to her breathing before turning his attention wholly to her clit. Shivers or twitches have him refocusing—finding a pressure she likes, a pattern—and generally enjoying himself as well, if the noises catching in his throat and vibrating against her cunt are any indication. His nails dig into the flesh of her thigh, holding her in place.
no subject
“You favor such bold necklines,” he notes, “Shall I keep my attentions below them?”
Or does she wish to look in the mirror and at other’s faces, see their reactions to the unmistakable marks of a lover?
He works his way down her body, harder than he was before, nails digging in a bit sharper, tongue lifting the salt off her skin when he pauses to attend to whatever catches his fancy—her collarbone, the dip below her breast, her navel, the inside of her thigh—he is half off the blanket and onto the moss by the time he reaches her cunt and smiles up at her. He had been here before, in the library, and he is not one to leave things unfinished.
Reminding her of his strength is not done intentionally, but his hands grip into her thighs and hold her spread and open to his mouth as he dips down to taste her, a wide swipe of his tongue while listening to her breathing before turning his attention wholly to her clit. Shivers or twitches have him refocusing—finding a pressure she likes, a pattern—and generally enjoying himself as well, if the noises catching in his throat and vibrating against her cunt are any indication. His nails dig into the flesh of her thigh, holding her in place.