He tastes like champagne.
The kiss is lazy and languid, one that is very effectively extending her post-sex buzz in a way that makes her wish she weren't too tired for another round. They'd ushered in the new year with him inside of her for the first time, both of them straining to remain as quiet as possible as their boys camped out in the loft on the other side of the house.
One palm strokes her back, his skin still heated but now cooling under the sheen of sweat they created in the most beautiful way possible.
"You're amazing."
His tone is ragged, deep, still thick like molasses, and it works its way into the pit of her belly, tickling where he still rests inside of her, spent and sated yet somehow still a perfect fit.
"You're not too bad yourself."
Her voice feels foreign to her, trudging its way up her larynx, still weighted with the after-effects of her orgasms, still tasting distinctly of him. He chuckles before rolling back on top of her, his beard tracing a myriad of sketches along her jaw and ear that match the ones still imprinted along the planes of her body. She wonders if they're visible, this intimate artwork sketched by the soft quills of intimacy. Are they red? Pink? A muted purple? Or are they visible only in her mind upon the same canvas on which she sees him?
"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"
Her heart stills as softly calloused fingers forge a winding trail towards her breasts, still bare and eager, prompting her nipples to strain towards him with a passion she's never before known.
"No," she answers. He pauses just over her ribcage, his lips hovering just over her skin.
"Then allow me to remedy that immediately."
His voice has dropped, once again carrying that throaty timbre that conveys the absolute maleness of him. She shivers upon impact.
"Your neck is a wonder," he continues, tracing the lines of her throat with his index finger. Her head falls back into the pillow instinctively, baring as much skin to his touch as possible. "Elegant, alabaster." His lips make a circular shape just over her pulse point, coming together in a kiss with an agonizing slowness that makes her toes curl into his mattress. "You taste like vanilla here, like a vanilla aged to perfection, rich with promise, utterly delectable."
It feels like tiny fingers are pulsing along her spinal column, teasing and tickling her until she arches up into his chest. Swirls of amber spill across her mind, reminiscent of the lingering aftertaste of sandalwood he has imprinted upon her-inside her and out.
"Then there are your ears," he murmurs, his tone low and private. "Perfect little nuggets, just right for my mouth." He caresses her lobe with his tongue, drawing a gasp from her that sparkles across her nerves. "They tease me, you know, these little appetizers, make my body growl for more of you, for the main courses."
"Oh?"
It's all she can manage as one finger traces the edge of her pubic hair. His teeth nip her earlobe, his tongue soothing the skin in its wake, and she's sinking again, sinking into the velvety abyss of Robin, an abyss which envelops her from the outside in, leaving no part of her untouched or wanting.
"Yes." His kissing the swell of her right breast now, his finger still wreaking havoc in the region just above her inner thighs. "I'm having a hard time not devouring all of you at once."
"Then why don't you?"
Her words ride on top of breathy pants she can't control.
"Because I don't want to miss anything."
His mouth swerves right, trailing kisses where her breast meets her ribs before curving around its underside. She's aching again, aching for him, needing his thickness to alleviate the dull throbbing between her legs. Her hips raise, seeking his fingers, but he tugs them upwards to her left breast instead, drawing broken circles around her nipple that make her bite her lower lip.
"Your breasts are a feast."
She chuckles at this before her mirth is cut off by his mouth. He's sucking her now, taking her peak into his mouth with what borders on urgency.
"Your nipples are a fine red wine," he utters, the raspiness in his tone alerting her to what his lower body now speaks rather than whispers. "A syrah, or perhaps a merlot, earthy, full-bodied, meant to be sipped and savored over the course of the evening."
"The evening is over, you realize," she observes, noting that the time is nearing one a.m. He pauses, and she feels the smile in his voice before he switches breasts.
"A mere technicality."
Then her left nipple is in his mouth and the time is all but forgotten. He is maddeningly unrushed, nibbling, teasing, licking until a throaty moan pushes up from inside of her, one unbidden but ripe with need. She smells her own arousal as it brews in regions crying out for attention.
"Then there's your stomach."
Her breath hitches on a mixture of disbelief, laughter and need.
"Don't scoff," he states as one hand clasps her wrists and places them above her head. "Your stomach is amazing." She jumps as his beard tickles her navel, making him chuckle into her abdomen. "It turns me on like you wouldn't believe."
"Why?"
Kisses are planted from one hip bone to the other, his soft restraint against her wrists only heightening the sensation until she thinks her head might explode.
"Because it's beautiful, just like the rest of you."
Mist forms against her eyelids, making thoughts run into each other as her heart and body collide. The explosion is beautiful, bright colors dotted against a black leather landscape of want coiling just beneath where his mouth works her over.
"It's also where you carried Henry," he murmurs. "Just under your heart, just over where you gave him life." He pauses, and she feels his chin hover against her. "It's an essential part of who you are, Regina."
An actual tear breaks free, and she feels its crystalline path as it drips into her hair.
"God, Robin." She feels him smile against her hip. Then his nose burrows into her pubic hair, his tongue teasing the sensitive flesh at its roots, prompting her to open her legs to him in a silent plea for more.
His head dips lower, and she feels his breath against her core. A thousand pinpricks scale up her body, scattering beams of light across her mind's eye as her flesh holds its breath in anticipation.
"And this…" His tongue laps her hood, her outer flesh, teasing her until it finally settles on her clitoris. "I have no adequate words for this part of you."
She doesn't care if he does, as long as he keeps kissing her like this, licking her, sucking her, making her buck into his mouth as he releases her wrists so his hands can open her further. Her fingers find his hair, its coarse texture now as much a part of her as her own, and she rocks her hips to the rhythm he's creating, one increasing in both tempo and pitch until her thoughts are helplessly tangled in a web of hot need.
"You taste like heaven," he whispers. "Like the ocean, like life. I could feast on you all day."
His words are the sweetest of poisons, and they snake up her veins until she explodes at their impact, crying out in a whimper as floodgates of sensation are breached. Her orgasm is scalding, making her sweat all over, yet he continues to devour her, to lap at her until she can't take it anymore and begins to push him away.
"Kiss me," she insists, and he moves up from between her legs, allowing her to clasp his face between her palms before dragging his mouth up to hers. She kisses him with everything she has, her soul blossoming into pinks and yellows as his tongue strokes her own. She tastes the sea on his tongue, knowing it's her but lost in the imagery he's painted in her mind. She sees herself as a canvas on which he's painted love's most intimate strokes, strokes she'll trace along his chest, his neck, his penis until he collapses into her just as she has shattered into him. They draw back in order to breathe, staring at each other, one pair of eyes seeing, the other sensing in ways only she can.
"I love you."
His words melt into her like warm butter, and she kisses him again, pressing every ounce of feeling she can into his mouth.
"I love you, too."
She tastes salt, knowing his own tears are now mixing with her own, and she drinks them in like a heady cocktail, a mulled wine of emotion that warms her from the inside out.
"Marry me."
The words are so soft they feel like tufts of cotton, and she's unsure of who just spoke them until she tastes their residue on her own lips. The dusky haze in her mind evaporates as the reality of what she just asked him hits her hard, and she wishes she could see him right now, wishes she knew how he was looking at her, if he's shocked, if he's uncomfortable, if she's just ruined the most beautiful moment of her life save the birth of her son.
"Alright."
She shakes herself, her fingers flying to his face as she feels the lines around his eyes-lines creased upward, ones that mirror the smile she traces next along his mouth. She laughs then, the kind of laugh that is accompanied by tears, and he joins her as he pulls her as close as he can, his own need pressed against her leg.
"Alright?"
"Yes," he grins. "Unless you'd rather take back the offer."
He's watching her, she realizes, and she thinks she must be smiling like an idiot. She shakes her head and wraps her arms more securely around his neck, needing him as badly as her lungs need air.
"Not a chance," she states.
"Thank God."
He's kissing her then, a kiss more brilliant and complete than any they've shared, one that tastes of new beginnings and the promise of the unknown seasoned with the salt of their bodies.
"I'm going to make love to you, Regina," he breathes, his words caressing her with a smoke hinting at a blaze that makes her quiver. "Thoroughly, deeply…" He spreads her open and slides inside of her, taking his time until he's nuzzled into just the right spot. "And for the rest of our lives."
She's submerged in waves of feeling and wonder, lost in a sea of ever-shifting colors that reach into the hidden depths of her soul until she's wet all over.
"Yes," she utters as he begins to move within her, making her see stars from a galaxy just discovered, one visible only to them as they crest into each other yet again.
