It happened anytime, anywhere. They've done it with the lights on, with the lights off, in the bathroom, in the car, on the kitchen counter, on the couch, maybe on the floor, and even up against the wall.
However, there was no place compared to the security of the bedroom.
The setting was particularly after a casual day, the couple had a beautiful day together, full of laughter, jokes, meditation, a video game or two, homemade meals, cuddles, and dances.
Now, it was later in the day.
The darkness of night spilled over the colors of day, and the warm sunlight was replaced by a cool moonshine. This private activity they engaged in together was poetic, artistic. Sex revealed their natural, creative skills, those of which could be aesthetically pleasing, or sensitively emotional.
Art: they created new colors, their phrases were surely abstract and possessed by their imagination.
Poetic: their sex was just too good to be confined in any stance, rhyme, or singular verse.
She struggled with accepting her demonic heritage, but she was more than grateful for it as she loved him. She openly helped him when life seemed to be the predator, and he seemed to be the prey. When no one heard the cries and whimpers of his pain, she was there to be of help.
But this, this; she appreciated the fact that her demon physiology suited his beast. He had a tendency to be untamed during intercourse: he was expressing himself, and she shamelessly reciprocated the energy.
He wrestled with that inner creature. If nothing else worked out perfectly in this world, this did. It was like left and right. He always assisted her with managing and accepting her emotions. She always avoided letting sensations overpower her, but he permitted it, specifically during their love-making.
Not only did he allow her to face these wild emotions, but he unsheathed them from her as well. The truth was, he could be absolutely feral and his lover was sinful enough to tone with.
He pressed half-crescent moons into her neck, shoulder blades and inner thighs—most times he created new ones in addition to prior marks. He memorized every twitch, moan, and breathless sound. He bruised her lips with passion, trailed blazes of fire on her flesh, he did all of the things that made the world know, and more importantly her know, that she was his; and his only.
He made sure to take care of her, love her in the areas where she loved being loved, and the areas she needed to be loved, and she did the same for him.
She made her hands travel to his hair, to his chest, his shoulders, his back, anywhere they needed them to be. He was like a song, every beat, rhythm, tempo he put into her resonated with her, and every chord and pitch he released played in her head. His back was colored with dark burgundy dashes of ardor, he was the canvas, she was the painter.
All of it was bare, pure.
Dented mattresses, crinkled bed sheets, uninterrupted thrusts, limbs intertwined.
Darkening eyes, salivating lips, tingling nerves, and the only numbness there was, was the numbness from being overwhelmed with this love.
The aroma of lust, the taste of desire, the sounds of pleasure, the feeling of ecstasy.
Fingers, lips, tips, walls, crevices, crooks, arched backs, locked legs, teeth and tongues; laughter and fond phrases attached.
The decline was just as good as the peak, and the peak was just as good as the foreplay.
From start to finish, the act was indisputably enjoyable for both emotional needs, and sensual cravings.
Her head is slightly over the foot of the bed, and her body flat on the mattress. He moves one hand under the small of her back to support her, and the other hand splayed across the surface of the bed. She braces herself to take him in, they both sigh in relief as he enters her.
"You feel that, baby?" he puts his hand on her abdomen just to see how deep he is.
"Yeah, I do. You feel so good." her words falter off into a shaky sigh.
He slinks in a little deeper, the she winces. Before he retreats and asks a question, she tells him, "It's okay."
She runs her tongue through her lips, meets his emerald gaze.
"I'm so glad you're mine." she whispers into his neck.
"Me, too. I mean, I'm not happy that I'm mine, I'm happy that you're mine. Do you... understand what I'm saying?" he smiles faintly.
"Yes, I understand. You're so silly and cute."
"And you're the mature, sarcastic balance to that." they laugh, then resume.
One thrust sends a jolt of energy through her, it was surely tillitating, and she has to admit, she missed the feeling. One thrust causes him to relax inside her, he powers through a faint dizzy spell.
Two, she's got a feel for it now, she stretches and shrink around him unconsciously. Two, that expand and contract throws him off completely, and it takes everything in him not to immediately ravish his girl in the best way possible.
She encourages, "Come on, babe, give me all you've got."
Three turn into four, six into ten.
Her back bends, her hands fall from his body to the sheets, she wishes to all the gods there are, that this girl from hell, can stay anchored. He shivers from the noises he is extracting out of her, then mindlessly makes his own in the process.
He rests clumsy kisses on her stone, and on her mouth. He bites his lips, moans something dark into her ears, then briefly sinks his fangs into her flesh.
She clasps her legs around his body, using them to draw him closer. Her body squirms towards him, her hands are shaking, her legs, her lips. He's so good she could scream, and she was sure she did.
"God, you keep making these sounds, and I can't take it." he grunts almost harshly.
He gets rougher, she gets louder, he goes deeper, she gets tighter, he goes faster, and she gets hotter.
He wishes there was a way to get closer to her than this, he does.
She pleads for more, he gives it, her hands knot around the linen, and his heavy breaths rain over her body.
Their bodies ache for more, and sure enough the orgasm precipitates.
The climax melts the both of them into each other. Air stings their lungs, their legs and arms are enmeshed, sweat drizzles on the sheets, slick exits their bodies.
"I'm so proud of you." she breathes into his lips.
"I'm more proud of you, princess." he slides her violet hair behind her ear.
"Okay, let's go wash up and watch a movie or somethin'." she suggests, easing away from the bed.
He pushes her back on the mattress, pinning her right beneath him.
"Who said I was finished?"