NERON
the hailstorm
Her touch was a frustrating ghost of what might have been, but Neron tilted his head into it nonetheless, eyes slipping shut to enjoy the sensation, however faint, of fingers tightening in his hair. His hands roamed, gliding up the backs of her thighs, his kisses slow and wandering, sharp teeth just about grazing the skin in a teasing promise of what had been.
Then Morgan urged him on, a laugh rumbling up in his throat, and Neron gazed up at her for a moment, deliciously surprised by the wickedness in her smile. Being so exposed seemed like a distant problem, something easily swatted away, and in the outskirts among the melting snows, there was truly no one around. So his hands got to work again, tugging at the fabric of her pants, laces of her boots, until he was able to hitch one of her bare legs over his shoulder, his lips pressing to the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
Then Morgan urged him on, a laugh rumbling up in his throat, and Neron gazed up at her for a moment, deliciously surprised by the wickedness in her smile. Being so exposed seemed like a distant problem, something easily swatted away, and in the outskirts among the melting snows, there was truly no one around. So his hands got to work again, tugging at the fabric of her pants, laces of her boots, until he was able to hitch one of her bare legs over his shoulder, his lips pressing to the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
