Dante/Lady; 3 chapters.
Rated M (for mature readers please)
Title: Kiss Me.
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In the corner of the room, there's a light flickering against the shadowed wall, and the curtains shimmer and lazily dance with the wind. There's a fluffy white rug, a table where two glasses of wine are half filled, a tipped wine bottle-empty of its contents, and small drops spilling to the Parisian carpet, staining red contemporary art.
Dante's on the bed, his back against the white sheet- competing next to his white bangs; in his usual laid back manner, his hair partially covers one half lidded view of his desired object: Lady. His blood quickens at her movements, and he feels her naked leg move between his; he catches his breath---swallowing until she's got her lips close to his, hot sweet breath against his, almost kissing.
She doesn't really say anything, just a whisper, too close to the shadow of the wind, because she doesn't really need to say much---just touch him, with those hands-her legs, and her lips kissing along his neck, to the middle of his chest, just slight.
He closes his eyes, not thinking, but shuddering as if the room brought in the chill. He's afraid if he does exactly what he really wants to do, he'll break her-but Dante knows better. She's stronger than expected, yet it still nags at the back of his mind; he wants her more than anything, he could almost taste it.
He touches her softly, sliding his fingers downward, achingly slow-down to her slim curving hips, angling enough so he's about to top her, but she resists; turns herself towards him so that she's holding out her hand, where her palm cups-underneath the growth of a light shadowed stubble.
He breathes deeply, loves the sweet, almost honey-citrus smell of her; furtively touching her skin with his lips, gliding downward-down, so close--between her legs so that she's finally arching her back, curling up like a kitten, purring, and gasping in moans.
She has her eyes half open, looking sultry the way she parts lips, pale pink in the light.
And he feels her arms go around him, when she turns into him, so now she tries to top him. Her panties-silk and lace, sheens white with tiny pearls, shines-so shiny it winks in the bedroom light, against her near sultry coral pale skin---where imprints of his fingers reveal shades of pink-white-pink.
The sheets are tumbling down the edge of the bed, and he groans as she beats him in this game, where her legs have straddled, dominating---clasping his hips, because now she's brought her form fully up-facing him-her hand flat against the muscular chest, so that he can feel the heartbeat beneath her pulse, hear the thundering of his own against his ears.
He can't take much more of this, and he can feel how he's trembling, dreading the pure fact that she's absolutely enjoying this little perverse game. And his eyes stray over to the spaghetti strap that falls over her shoulder, falling over so far that she's allowed him a view of her breasts-full, beautiful, round and all he can do is stare, shudders inside himself---where he's so hard, it's almost painful. He feels like it's his first time. With her, it is, each and every time.
He moves a little, to bring her close, gently pushes his fingers inside her, to touch where her heat makes her moan, makes her throw her head back---so that she's moving along with him-gyrating her hips against his. He grits his teeth at the pleasure, and the pain is unbearable, to the point, where his mind wants to shut down. Where his instincts switch on, and his eyes fire red like his demon's blood wills; where the heat of her mouth is against hers, and his fingers delve deep, touching her wet hot walls.
Dante breathes harder, wanting to replace where his fingers are, to push against her-there where her scent is strong and makes his mouth water. And she climaxes, where her hips are shuddering against his, and his fingers are moving until he can feel the last tremors of her body.
He waits, and he's losing his patience, but he knows its worth all the time---watches her breathing relax, calm, and she's looking at him with her lips parting, breathing slight.
He waits.
Lady leans down, quickly taking his lips into hers, sucking, biting, licking, tongue against tongue-hot, wet, and honey. He trembles with anticipated breath, and kisses her back with fervor and he can feel her hands---both holding his face-to holding the back of his head so that they're locking lips; kissing, pushing their bodies so close. His hand gripping at her slip, the straps pulled all the way down until he's got his mouth sucking at her nipple, and back at her beautiful lips.
He feels himself pushing against her, because she's already on top, and pushing against him---moving together frantically, almost desperately. Until he's inside, where once his fingers were, and he's groaning aloud, against her breasts, slaking his tongue against her pink crests, biting, almost greedily. He pushes up hard, his fingers digging, feeling her ass, and it's too much. It's just too much....
They're at this for hours, the clock ticking restlessly in the room-he's pounding, breathing hard against her lips, and wettened dark hair; her dark long bangs wet against her temples. He's on top, he's bringing himself fully inside her, and she's taking him---her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer-as if she couldn't get any more of him.
In the last hour of the night, where the light is coming into the room, they sleep in each other's arms; the sweet smell of sex and wine permeates the air. And the breeze is cool, with the coming of the sunrise. He slightly wakes, placing his hand along her smooth back, gently caressing. His chest fills with a painful clarity of something fierce. Later, he falls back next to her, breathes her hair, and falls back to sleep.
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