Strain of Passion



 
She lay in his arms, hair splayed out on his chest, ripe full breasts crushed against his skin, legs intertwined so that her wetness marked him.

The fire inside her burned, making her helpless, wanting him terribly.  More than just a fire, it was a feeling down low, a pressure, but it pulls and she had to very nearly grab onto something to stay steady. She needed to fight back, to even the battlefield. She pressed her legs against him, radiating desire, and waited for him to fall into her snare.

He felt her heat against his thigh, and he turned to her, breathing ragged, eyes cloudy, and lowered his mouth to an already-swollen nipple. He started gently, almost shyly, but only for a moment as her soft moans and her body's response drove him to a ravenous frenzy. She would be marked for days and she did not mind the pain she knew would be there in the morning. When he pulled his head up his lips were wet and glistening, and when he lowered those lips to hers she might have tasted the faint trace of blood.

This too she did not mind.

He kissed her so passionately that she began to emit a deep, pulsating heat.  Every touch from him sent her into bouts of sweet agonized writhing, the sounds of her pleasure whispered in his ear, and he slipped a hand to her waist, to steady himself, and then lower, to her sex, to match her increasing frenzy.  She gasped and thrust at him, grinding against his hand and wrist. She stretched, pulling her nipples across his chest, feeling the delicious torture of her suckled skin against his rough chest.  She sank her teeth into his neck and his whole body stiffened with shock.

He renewed his assault on her with his hand, fingers soaked with her need, and she begged him to impale her.  When he did not respond fast enough she bit him again and again, and clawed at his back wildly. He growled deep in his throat, and his kisses were rougher, bruising her lips deliciously.  She bit back against those lips, trying to draw blood. His hands closed in her hair, not gently, pulling her the way he wanted her.  He rolled her over so that he was on top of her, but not with his weight; just his desire.

At that fevered pitch and pace neither could last very long. They did not need to.

They both came violently together.



He pulled her into his arms, held her safe, and whispered softly into her ear as they fell asleep together, both surrendering to the battle's strain.

1 people can't stop moaning:

jacquelin said...

I could read this over and over and never tire of it.

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