[ He stretches out beneath her mouth, and she can't entirely pinpoint the source of the surge she experiences deep within her at the sight of him like that, large and sprawling and all hers for the moment, but she fully intends on seizing advantage of the opportunity for as long as she's able. She's forced to shift her hips away from his to lean further, to enable her lips' descent across all that uncovered flesh, but it's well worth the reward of tasting his skin instead.
She's mindful initially, lavishing her attentions in the form of slow, open presses of her mouth, those gentle purses that allow him to feel the entire shape of her kisses, taking a moment to truly appreciate him where there had been none before. The desire is there — some shade of it had been before, as well, even with the intoxicants surging through her blood — but the knowledge that there is nothing spurring her on now save the familiar warmth of liquor in her belly is a feeling she wants to linger in.
She can't recall the last time she'd made a man groan for her, squirm for her, arch beneath the caresses of her hands, her mouth, the squeeze of her cunt; she grins against his torso and then delivers a teasing nip along that taut canvas, hard enough for a potential mark to bloom.
Before she can move on he's already drawing her up to him, fingers curving beneath the fabric of her undergarments, and the thinly indicated threat of his intentions to rip them off her if she doesn't remove them quickly enough elicits a shiver as she presses into him, breasts straining needfully against the bodice of her gown. ]
No. We wouldn't want that.
[ But the tone in her voice makes it plain that she, at least, wouldn't object to a sudden display of strength from him in that sense, even while she idly continues to rock her hips into his, thighs tensing at either side of his waist, the friction of fabric still between them only adding to her already mounting desire. ]
no subject
She's mindful initially, lavishing her attentions in the form of slow, open presses of her mouth, those gentle purses that allow him to feel the entire shape of her kisses, taking a moment to truly appreciate him where there had been none before. The desire is there — some shade of it had been before, as well, even with the intoxicants surging through her blood — but the knowledge that there is nothing spurring her on now save the familiar warmth of liquor in her belly is a feeling she wants to linger in.
She can't recall the last time she'd made a man groan for her, squirm for her, arch beneath the caresses of her hands, her mouth, the squeeze of her cunt; she grins against his torso and then delivers a teasing nip along that taut canvas, hard enough for a potential mark to bloom.
Before she can move on he's already drawing her up to him, fingers curving beneath the fabric of her undergarments, and the thinly indicated threat of his intentions to rip them off her if she doesn't remove them quickly enough elicits a shiver as she presses into him, breasts straining needfully against the bodice of her gown. ]
No. We wouldn't want that.
[ But the tone in her voice makes it plain that she, at least, wouldn't object to a sudden display of strength from him in that sense, even while she idly continues to rock her hips into his, thighs tensing at either side of his waist, the friction of fabric still between them only adding to her already mounting desire. ]