Amalia
the shield of safrin
There is a particular intimacy that Amalia feels, seated upon his lap. A closeness, a vulnerability, a promise made between bodies; I want you the song of her legs wrapped around him; You have me the oath of his hands on her back. His moans are the orchestra to her sonata, his name the solo sung in growling alto tones. He rakes his lips along her ear and she hisses in her pleasure, hips rolling and back arching, a guttural groan escaping her chest. She replies with teeth upon his collar, the gentlest of love bites from a leopard's fangs: not to injure, not to maim, wanting only to assert her ownership of him, to claim him as her lover, her prize.
Then she slips out of his lap once more, coaxing him back onto the bed as her mouth begins its languid voyage, traveling down the map that is his skin. Fluttering on silver scars, pausing to press curiously against nipples, glancing up with a wicked grin as she checks for a response- then down, down, even further, until she finds a place in his hip. Here her tongue takes a sojourn and she kisses up his iliac crest, relishing the muscle, the sweat, the sweetness, before crossing slowly over to the other side. Here, too, she lavishes attention: then further, closer, but never quite there, soft bites and mewling sucks upon his inner thighs, the heat and smell and musk of him leaving her tantalized and emblazoned with lust.
Her fingers have not been idle, either; they too have traced and carved a path, cupping his skin, caressing his sinew, palms flat now upon his thighs. Raising her head for just a moment she looks at him, her dark eyes heady and hooded as she regards him, tongue flicking out to lick her lips. "More? she asks him, needing to hear it, even as her right hand wraps around his length, mouth aching to follow, to taste him, to bring him all the pleasure she can. This, this, is what she wants: to be the reason he gasps and shudders, to make him sing and moan her name.
Then she slips out of his lap once more, coaxing him back onto the bed as her mouth begins its languid voyage, traveling down the map that is his skin. Fluttering on silver scars, pausing to press curiously against nipples, glancing up with a wicked grin as she checks for a response- then down, down, even further, until she finds a place in his hip. Here her tongue takes a sojourn and she kisses up his iliac crest, relishing the muscle, the sweat, the sweetness, before crossing slowly over to the other side. Here, too, she lavishes attention: then further, closer, but never quite there, soft bites and mewling sucks upon his inner thighs, the heat and smell and musk of him leaving her tantalized and emblazoned with lust.
Her fingers have not been idle, either; they too have traced and carved a path, cupping his skin, caressing his sinew, palms flat now upon his thighs. Raising her head for just a moment she looks at him, her dark eyes heady and hooded as she regards him, tongue flicking out to lick her lips. "More? she asks him, needing to hear it, even as her right hand wraps around his length, mouth aching to follow, to taste him, to bring him all the pleasure she can. This, this, is what she wants: to be the reason he gasps and shudders, to make him sing and moan her name.
you drew memories in my mind
i could never erase
you painted colors in my heart
i could never replace
