Prompt: A kiss on the; spine (#5/25)
Setting: Storybrooke
She stood in front of her vanity mirror, with him close behind. Pressing her forward against the edge of the tabletop, as a hand made its way to her zipper.
What had been a night of ease and actual conversation, something they were slowly becoming more capable of, although it still did little to lessen the amount of times they wound up like this.
He pulled on the fastener until it glided down to the base of her back, while the other hand wound around her waist, bringing her closer still. And while his intentions were no longer to simply sleep with her and be done with it, they still couldn't end a night on just conversation. Still couldn't end a night on just a single kiss.
He could have begun moving them to a more fitting location, but the call of the posture and the mirror seemed too much to stray away from. From here he could not only give her little to do in the way of retaliation or grabbing for control, he could watch as his every touch slowly overwhelmed her, from the impeccable positioning he had put them in.
He pushed the dress down off her arms, abandoning her waist to rid her of it entirely. It puddled on the floor at their feet, leaving her in only lingerie — the architecture of which gave him much more to see and touch, and yet for the moment his focus was narrowed, just to the line down her back. As if every vertebrae was begging of his attention. And that was quite a common reason, quite a common excuse, for every part of her seemed to beg for him, at least so it seemed from where he stood.
He kept her pinned; the familiar hand winding around her front yet again, holding her where he wanted her, bringing her lower half backward so it pressed into his as he urged her to bend forward, until she had to hold herself up with her hands. He brushed her hair off to the side of neck, exposing the top few notches in her spine. Catching her eyes in the mirror he found them already slightly heavy, yet still mischievous, as she then rotated her hips so they pressed harder into him — the one flaw in this position, he quickly realized. But then when had either ever resigned to simply accepting something from the other, without doing a bit of damage of their own.
Give and take. Give and give. Take til morning and then take again.
What was meant to be a kiss was then a bite, one that spawned a bite of her own — one to her lip to stifle any further reaction as she circled her hips a second time. If only he'd thought to have her remove her heels before this, so that particular part of her person wouldn't be so even with a particular part of his. And she seemed to have read his thoughts as with a third backward grind her expression came alive again, for his lips and teeth had stilled, leaving her far too open an opportunity to leave unprovoked.
"Regina," he said in a warning tone. One she seemed to have little care to listen to when he felt her hips begin to move again just after. Both hands came to roughly grip her hips then, finally stilling the action that was threatening to derail any he had planned. He pressed her forward a little more, the action quick enough to jar the items strewn about the vanity, and his lips descended quickly to the crook of her neck, scraping teeth following shortly behind.
He kept eye contact as long as he was able, until he'd drifted too far to see the mirror himself. But he made sure every time that his lips touched her, his teeth or tongue weren't long behind — and with intermittent grasps of her hips soon she was breathing more laboriously, and leaning more heavily onto her hands.
He assaulted each vertebrae; laid a path of possession — worship down the sensitive skin of her back. Worship for how the curvature fit so well against him, worship for how it held her tall — worship, for how it belonged to him.