Evie
tell me all of the things
that make you feel at ease
He follows where she leads, on this headlong race toward something she can't name. It's certainly nothing so simple and shallow as an orgasm. All she knows is she needs him, covets him, wants to feel the fire of his touch on every inch of her body. It feels like desperation. It feels like everything. A dance they've done one hundred times, and yet today it feels brand new. Even the wave of her completion - and she can't truly call it that when she's so far from done - can't shake the fire in her veins. She slows only enough to languish in the brush of his lips across her skin, the rumble of his voice as he brings her head back down from the clouds. At least until he trails further past her neck, to her ear and the sensitive space beyond, and any response she had waiting in the wings is crushed by the mangled moan he forces out of her as he presses deeper than she thought he could. "F-Fantastic," she assures on a breathy note, because even in the oversensitive wake of her orgasm she craves. Desires his completion as much as her own, or another, or tens more before their honeymoon is over.
Locking her knees around his hips, she sinks into his hold, trembling and tightening around him from within. The pace is a touch slower now as he focuses on depth, but each thrust jolts a moan from her lungs that strings together into a symphonic measure of elation. Her head drops forward, lips pressing to his and pouring fire from her veins into his, needing him to burn alongside her.
