"…Ohhhh… God…"
He lost himself for a moment as her spell came over him. That exquisite moment, divine and sacred and intimate. She was the good girl—oh yes—but not only for the reasons the townies gave. Jess knew all the reasons she was good. All of them. He knew those reasons the townies would approve of and those that they would never—and should never—know.
Him. Jess. He knew.
Lucky bastard.
He smiled dazedly as he gazed upon her. He'd felt every inch of his surrender as he slipped, mentally and physically, deeper under her spell. His body had zinged and sweetly stuttered and given itself up for the moment. And now he gazed and savoured and marvelled and gasped for air.
It wasn't just about the silky squeeze.
It wasn't just about the heat of her body.
It wasn't just about the visual experience. To disappear.
It was also about the look on her face. And with her look of consummation (which, at the game's bidding, she'd quickly masked but he'd caught none-the-less) she looked amazing.
"So nice," he mumbled, taking a long moment to study her then dropping his head back to slowly shake it at the heavens. With his eyes lightly closed, he saw nothing visually, and yet, he saw everything. He knew all of the reasons she was good. He knew the delicate folds which he never tired of exploring, and so he slowly set to the task. They were ever-changing in fact, as she tilted her pelvis this way and that, wringing, kneading, gripping, tugging. Accepting, welcoming. She might think he was the agent in acts such as these—and the game would suggest he was—but he was the recipient. He was the matter to be kneaded, tugged, gloriously wrung.
He proceeded smoothly, with long, deliberate swaths of exploration. Every twist and turn carefully considered and rewarded with a lick of fine silk against one, then another, side of his head. The path was ever-changing and, of course, that meant every beautiful, silken inch of slithering ambience must, perpetually, be explored again.
And when he brought his slackened jaw down again, his eyes opened and his gaze fell upon her body. He splayed his fingers against the soft white skin of her stomach and pressed them in. With a well-placed thumb, he fondled until she tightened and the onslaught of ambience intensified. In concert with her great gasp of air, her head lolled back against the pillow. Jess bit his lip.
He watched her lustful graciousness as she collected and consumed him. Then, with a flare of his nostrils and a sudden rush forward, he took back the control and became the agent once more. He moved solidly and sporadically and enjoyed every thrust. He relished the waves of motion rippling through her body as she took him—the jiggle of her breasts, the flutter of her eyelids, the tremble of her upon him.
Her hair was not much of a sound suppressor. It was never meant to be. Jess chanced to hear a moan rumble through her. He looked up at her face through heavy-lidded eyes, to reveal to him a stirring sight of her submission. Her eyes were closed. The pillow was starting to fold over her head. He ground into her, changing the angle, and tasted the front of her neck. His lips felt her next moan through the vibration of her voice box.
And when she recovered, her eyes focussed on him once more, begging him for mercy and fiery release.
His slackened jaw hardened and jutted in an expression of fierce passion. Her beautiful stare, the rise and fall of her chest as she heaved great breaths… it was all he needed. A fervour grew. Jess ran his fingers down her cheek to pull the hair from her mouth and release her from her restraint of silence. He wanted to hear her now. He placed his hands at her hips.
And gave her all the mercy he could.
He wanted to hear her. With cries of his own, he thrust her against the pillow and she complied beautifully. The sound pulled him, pulled from within him, like a siphon.
Vigorous blood coursed through his veins, pumped by a throbbing heart that was joyfully swollen with emotion and selflessly working overtime. Jess ignored the cramp of his muscles, the rush of sweat to his brow and the chafing of his thigh against the bedspread. His hands were slipping so he gripped her tighter. And she responded tightly as well. So tightly. It was too much. He cried out. Vitality shuddered through him, was pulled over the ledge like a siphon, and he lost himself in her spell all over again.
Everything for her. The sacrifice had been made. He was the good harvest, as she reaped, and reaped, what he sowed.
To be continued. Please, pretty please, review! What is the one word you would use to describe this story?