.
.
There is a haze over the moon, and the night is as thick and dark as a funeral shroud covering them both. Everything is quiet except for her pleasured, shallow breathing and the slick, wet sounds of his fingers and tongue. Diva sighs and the muscles of her belly rise and tense, and Karl is rewarded by the feel of her hands cupping the back of his head; another jerk. He carefully licks the inside of her wet slit, mouth and nose pressed up against her. The scent is dense and she tastes muted and bitter, and when she arches up against his mouth, he moves upward to suckle at the pearly button of flesh at her apex, nose bumping against her mound. It's sloppy, his ministrations: her wetness smears obscenely against his face and chin.
Except for the pale streak of moonlight filtering through the curtains, it's completely dark inside. Dark and quiet, except for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the wet, smacking sounds of his tongue against her sex. She's sitting on the couch this time, legs spread as Karl sits in front of her on his knees. The position allows Karl to work on her directly, his cheek brushing the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
No one else touches her like this: Diva herself has told him this much. None of the others would worship her like this, falling to their knees and raising their face up to her like a supplicant, a communion of touch promising to wash away their manifold sins.
She's swollen and wet when he eases his fingers inside her.
From her breathing, he knows she's close. From the way she tenses her muscles, he knows only a few harsh sucks against her would finish her for the night, after which he would leave and privately touch himself afterward. It is a ritual that has largely gone unchanged since they started this, so when Diva grips him by the arms and pulls him upright, Karl startles, surprised.
The room is cold, but her skin burns him. Bright beads of sweat roll off her neck and temples and Karl lets his tongue swipe up against her skin, a momentary weakness. He never would have taken such liberties before, but for some reason Diva doesn't move to stop him. Karl shifts position and flows up to press a reverent kiss against her belly, then another at the crest of her ribs. Diva sighs and Karl takes that as permission to climb higher, leaning his head into her chest before shyly nuzzling the tip of her breast with his chin.
The couch sinks in the middle with their weight, and Karl grows bolder, moving to lightly circle her nipple with his tongue.
Diva doesn't make a sound, aside from her heavy breathing. He moves to cover her body with his own, but the couch is too narrow and it groans in protest, and Karl's bare feet slide against the damp wood.
He's so hard now it hurts, and now he's sliding tortuously against her belly. The movement realigns their bodies, and suddenly Karl's tip grazes her wetness. The sensation tortures him. He groans, face red and panting against her shoulder, his erection weeping and trapped between their bodies, the ridge of her pelvis grinding against him.
"Diva..."
Diva sighs again and his heart stills. He moves upward, nudging her face and pressing a kiss against her eyes, and it's as if all the love in the world is overflowing. Open-mouthed kisses against her shoulder, her breast, the hollow of her neck. Eyes squeezed shut even as he clutches at her, arms sliding up around her back and desperately holding her.
Suddenly, irrationally, he doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to finish himself in some lonely spot, doesn't want her to come without him.
Before he can stop himself, he moves his hand between their bodies and eases himself inside her, sliding inside with one, smooth stroke. She doesn't move like he expects her too; rather she groans, legs clenching against his waist and ribs as if she likes it.
It doesn't take long. A few hard thrusts and he comes, falling against her breast. She comes soon after him, jerking and spasming wet and hard around him.
Silence. He can hear her heavy breathing, the sound of his heartbeat slowing steadily in his ears. He moves and nuzzles his face against her breast, still inside her and knowing full well she has killed others for less, but feeling too happy and exhausted to care.
Then he's alone. She moves and gathers up her clothes, then strides out of the bedroom, shutting the door as if nothing had happened.
Slowly, Karl moves, quietly stooping low to pick up his clothes.