melita
Pervaded by nothing more than feeling, her mind remained naught, save for an opus of pleasure and impending satisfaction. Between the pathways of stone and his body, she was hooked and tethered and writhing in the abyss, each undulation a momentary glimpse towards the edges and fringes. It built and billowed through her in waves, riding upon him or her moans or every little buzz akin to her skin. Leaning back into the column of rock, the cool earth scarcely brought a chill; too engulfed and immersed and stubborn, smirking, grinning, at his frenzy, at his compliments, tightening her grasp and grip on him, following each motion, having no words but his name on her lips and the capricious whims of whatever shape her entity and essence gave. She couldn’t even come up with what he felt like; everything, maybe, like she’d succumbed to shelter and warmth and all the delicacies she couldn’t recall, didn’t know until she’d savored him again and again. Maybe that was part of it too – new little storms and tempests to divulge, willing and wanting and wanton to explore all of them.
At his command she almost obstinately refused – either on principle or mulishness – but no sooner had his forehead touched her shoulder, slick with sweat, or one more thrust, her toes curled, back bowed, everything arced in sinuous, heart-rendering exultation. The indulgence echoed in her outcry and breathless hymns, a finishing rhythm as she moaned and groaned her finality, the conclusion a bright array across her eyes and over her flesh, shuddering, quivering, trembling with the sensations. “Gods,” she uttered, mouth lowered to edge over his ear, teeth poised to bite over the edge of his skin; half-tempted to simply fall back against the outcropping in a drenched and gasping heap. But she’d also been hoping to pull him over the borders and boundaries with her, until they were both on the verge and leaping. “Now you,” she toyed instead, one hand grasping the back of his neck, fingers slinking along the wet hair, and the other sliding downwards, towards his abdomen, hoping to impart more touches, more caresses, more strokes to ignite and alight him too.
salvation doesn't look like light
