So I have to get rid of these lyrics by Sia from her song "My Love" because they are in violation of the guidelines on . But you can still listen to the song as you read. It may be even better that way. I hope you can still enjoy this. :)
Abbie sighed into Crane's beard as his penis gently nudged her clitoris when he sunk into her. The heels of her feet pushed into his calves; her nails scratched the sides of his waist; he gripped the headboard above them, kissed her forehead, and her lips. She moaned when he slowly kneaded himself against her clit. He took seconds, minutes away from time itself, so she could thoroughly enjoy this. It wasn't about him, but about bandaging her broken spirit. He'd some how return her soul whole again until she grew tired, until he couldn't give anything else, or until he could nest his penis into the full force of her throb, of her heartbeat.
His desired to hear every groan, whimper, grunt, gasp, sigh, expletive, mutter, hum, even his name from her throat. Crane was sensitive to her actions. He didn't miss her light whines when he slightly drew his penis from her or when she nipped the space between his neck and shoulder each time he crammed into her.
Abbie couldn't speak. It was too much, but not enough. How could she say she wanted more? She nuzzled his beard, kissed him; their tongues painted to his steady pace. He muttered something into her lips about being whole. Her hands squeezed his forearms. He left one of his hands on the headboard. With his free hand, he coupled their fingers above her head. He let go of the headboard with his other and twined their fingers like before. All of his weight mashed in the curves and creases of her body. Her fingertips pressed into his knuckles as his penis pushed against her clit even more. They both moaned. She clinched her legs tighter; he grunted. He'd penetrate as deep as he could; she wanted him to fill her without restraint. He prodded slowly like before, but he felt his emerging orgasm.
"Abbie, I mustn't…"
He tried to stop to regain control of himself because he needed to be strong for her. He wouldn't climax until after she did. He'd wasn't the case though; Abbie thumped her clit against his penis as much as she could.
"Please don't…."
It was too late; his words switched to gibberish the same time his climax leaked into her. He quivered from it. She closed her eyes at the pulse in his penis.
"Peace," she said.
He was her peace in the Catabombs, when she came home, in Purgatory, when they fault in battle, in the Archives. There he was: a comfort and a calm. She knew she could face anything with him by her side. Now she realized she could overcome anything, even if he was there in thought. His thump reminded her of that. He'd always be in her, not just physically, but emotionally as well.
He still throbbed when he bulged further. She wished she could have felt his entire thud before he rubbed against her clit again. She kissed him slowly; he thrust like a ticking clock. Was it possible to cling even more to him? She attempted. It was then her orgasm began to overtake her. Her nails stuck his skin. She climaxed with their tongues bumping together. All her moans slinked down his throat. She released his lips to catch her breathe.
Crane stilled. His lips pecked her forehead, her eyebrows, her nose, her lips as her strong pound soaked him. Her hands brushed his cheeks. He kissed her palms. He knew her soul was resilient when she smiled at him.
"My love," he said.
Crane tried to unweave himself from Abbie, but she clamped her legs around his waist. He relaxed in her, in his home.
"Stay here," she said.
As he waited for her to say more, he kissed her shoulder.
"I thought about this in the Catacombs."
"Really?"
She nodded. "Thank you."
He eyebrows sunk.
"You reminded me of who I am."
He kissed her forehead. "It is you who has reminded me of who I am."