Lena
// what is to give light must endure burning //
It was all inherent bliss now; the pleasure binding through her spine and sliding its way through her navel, driving its soaring pinnacles into each and every movement. She could hear him, somewhere in the midst of it all, and she closed her eyes for a moment, tending to the satisfactions by rolling her hips, snagging and pulling at the rhythm, trying to find the wave of undulations so both of them were sharpened, hone, keen, roused, sent into points and raptures of oblivion.
There was an absentminded nod in there, working her way to being consumed left little more for words, other than the fluctuation of his name across her lips, in various forms of moans or mewls, arcing her back to follow after his movements. Once he buried himself further, once his head was in the crook of her neck, breath wafting against her skin, she was wholly absorbed in their process, her hands winding somewhere along the crest of his armed muscles, finding leverage, finding places to grind and snag and hang on. She might’ve whispered something, but gods knew if it even made it past her mouth, striving to sink and revel in all the sensations.
Wanting more and more, the feeling of covetous desires and lengthy longings stirred, and her fingers ghosted downward, trying to find wherever one of his hands had gone. “Here,” she whispered and preened and crooned, striving to guide him down to where they were connected, but yearning and craving even more touch and strokes and caresses on the nerve endings. “Touch me here too.”
There was an absentminded nod in there, working her way to being consumed left little more for words, other than the fluctuation of his name across her lips, in various forms of moans or mewls, arcing her back to follow after his movements. Once he buried himself further, once his head was in the crook of her neck, breath wafting against her skin, she was wholly absorbed in their process, her hands winding somewhere along the crest of his armed muscles, finding leverage, finding places to grind and snag and hang on. She might’ve whispered something, but gods knew if it even made it past her mouth, striving to sink and revel in all the sensations.
Wanting more and more, the feeling of covetous desires and lengthy longings stirred, and her fingers ghosted downward, trying to find wherever one of his hands had gone. “Here,” she whispered and preened and crooned, striving to guide him down to where they were connected, but yearning and craving even more touch and strokes and caresses on the nerve endings. “Touch me here too.”
