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My throat is drowning.
My most intense daydream is happening to my lips and tongue and palate. His hand in my hair, his murmuring, tells me he does not want me to stop. That this is true fills me with joy and satisfaction and something far deeper and primitive in my core. He pushes harder and farther, and I choke deliciously, tears springing to my eyes. I widen my mouth and wish for, grasp for more.
He pulls away, pulls forever out until his wet thickness is in front of me. Then he kneels down to meet me. He is so hard it looks dangerous. He could be damaged by the strain. Or I could be.
It's my turn to torment him as I stand and undress ever so slowly. With each centimeter of cloth that peels off, I see his eyes grow more intense and dark. As it's exposed, each bit of my skin absorbs more of the setting sun and radiates it back as desire and thrill. As soon as I am completely uncovered, he grabs my thighs, slides one hand down to my knee and pushes it aside so I spread my legs just enough. His soft, long tongue reaches into me.
I howl from his slow, measured entry and exit. His restraint, the unhurried pace of his tongue, set up a tingling in my feet, then legs, then thighs. I bend back to push myself farther into his mouth. My hand runs wild over his head, finding one divine ear with my fingers. I grab and hold it like a lifeline as he continues to deliberately stroke me. When I take his ear he begins to hum into me and the vibration drives me to magical climax. A repetitive, ambrosial clamping down inside me over and over, inspiring both sweet relief and new arousal. I feel one hard cheekbone rest on my thigh, and he sighs.
I turn my face, eyes closed, to the low-angled sun. Then return to meet his smoldering eyes. And slowly descend to kneel with him.
As soon as I am even with his mouth, he burrows into my neck, making incoherent sounds and placing random easy bites. Not the bites of an animal. Those of a lover. He mutters, grinds out a word into my skin. It sounds like "pleasing." And smashes his mouth into my neck with new abandon. I feel the bones of his hands, the length of his fingers, as they smooth from my scalp to my shoulder blades, down my back. He grasps my hips and lifts me up, places me on his steel hardness. And lowers me. His strength allows him to take me down achingly slowly, and I revel in each centimeter as he fills me, a thousand dazzling shafts of sunlight in my eyes.
When I've taken him all in, he holds me by the hips, raises me, and slowly lowers me again. Gradually. The glimmerings of a vicious smile on the corners of his wide lips. Amused. Self-satisfied. My first moment of feeling him, really feeling him after starving so long. I start to whine and try to press down on him faster, but he is more than strong. He keeps us moving slowly for a mercilessly long time. The whole time locking onto my eyes from under his swept up brows. His body steaming, his eyes hotter still. They gleam.
A ticklish yearning builds in me. I whine higher and higher and he abruptly pulls me off of him and stops me from climaxing. I plead. He lifts me up and turns me on my back, placing me gently on the cushion of petals. He climbs on top of me and dips his head to bring his satin lips to mine, and I'm filled again with shock and wonder. Here he is, his great weight on top of me. He trails his lips and tongue down my chest, takes one breast in his mouth, very gently applies his teeth. It sends a jolt through me and I arch my chest up. He removes his mouth as I arch. Words snap out of me. "Put your mouth back. Now." He raises an eyebrow and then descends again to sweetly bite me more.
I have always imagined him to be a brutal, feral lover, dominating. He is not. His bites are kisses. He's slow and smoothes me all over.
He enters me again. It feels good. Just good. Intense. Melting. Tight, rocking, entire fullness. Ache rising then falling into pain then back. He pants, each exhalation part air, part groan. It feels good. Pushing in and out faster now, twisting his hips at the last second of each thrust. His hands slide under my back and press it, hard and we are stuck together. It feels so good. I stop articulating dreams in my mind, a crystal quiet moment of sliding and skin and hands and breath and beauty. It feels. It feels. Good. I'm rocked by an orgasm like a river coursing from my feet and blasting through my sex and mind.
Blank.
A distant part of me wishes he would sweat, give liquid evidence of our passion. But my sweat is enough to slick us both. And I find it's even sexier that he glows, emanates heat from all his skin at once, broadcasting pleasure.
Spock.
His slim and lustrous hips are still pounding me, pushing far into me, he whines and the pitch increases and increases. The first time I've heard his rumbling voice make such high and lost a sound. My body is making him make this sound, and that thought makes my blood rise again to my hidden lips, where I'm stretched around him. It is an inhuman sound, and he is not Human and he comes with a yowl and savage shake of his head-a rending. He collapses on me and his weight cuts off my air, but I will not ever make him move and I lie, lightheaded, clear.
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