transgressings | inbox for duplicity;

[Maybe it says a lot about her that Dante doesn't mind the appreciative look, even though he tends to keep this close to his chest - pun not intended - outside of a battle, where his opponent is just as able to do it. Or maybe it says a lot about the power affecting him instead, causing him to feel sated under her gaze, parched when she's not touching him intently, even if she that intention means to tear.

He makes a snap with his teeth in the air just after Vanessa withdraws her tongue, lands a soft but yearnful kiss upon the bow of her upper lip. The chuckle he lets out is almost musical, both taunting, a reaction that stems from any demands made his way, and appreciative at the smile he feels against him. ] Yes, Ma'am.

[He kisses her then, fully. Turns his face just so to deepen it, because at this point he's hungry and unable to hide it. And as weird as it is, it's kissing her that turns a fast, sharp fuse of heat into a slow burn that both feeds and soothes him. And he needs that - he figures that if he enters her then, everything else will be very shortlived.

He'll think about that particular concern, later.

When he releases her, the hand on her hips guide her upwards, and he trails nips and kisses down her neck again, across her chest - a particularly harsh bite right by her cleavage to get back at her from that last one, even if gentle enough not to mar her skin much. He scoots lower, and, with a final waggle of his eyebrows, he makes his weight slide enough - using the coffee table behind them to prop his legs and feet (how he manages to miss both the glasses and the bottle is beyond explanation) as his head disappears beneath her skirts, the flat of his tongue lapping at her folds the millisecond
after.]

[ The playfulness of it doesn't necessarily take her by surprise, but she does blink slightly, that hazy lust in her expression soon replaced by a small grin, her hands stroking over him all the while, alternating lighter grazes of her fingertips with harder scratches; it's no secret, the effect that's having on him, because she can feel it nudging against her inner thigh, hardness against that soft, freely exposed skin while he kisses her, deep and needing.

She makes her own need plain in the way she cups the side of his face, fingers spindled out across the strength of his features and palm pressed against his jaw for those few seconds before his mouth begins its descent. The kisses prompt a low laugh, the sharp bite a gasp, and her hands fly to rest upon his shoulders for those moments that he hovers close enough for her to ponder leaning in to steal another nip from the fullness of his lips, but the heat he's stoking within her is rising too hot, too intense for her to ignore for much longer.

Fortunately, thanks to him, she won't be forced to.

Confusion blooms in her features when he starts to slip further down the sofa, along her body, but then she soon learns where he's headed and it takes some maneuvering for her to work a hand beneath her layers, to pull the torn scrap of cloth from between her legs, to render herself completely exposed for the ministrations of his mouth, his tongue.

She's forced to find purchase somewhere, in the couch cushions, needing something to hold onto when his head dips between her thighs beneath the fullness of her skirts, hidden from her sight but not from her senses altogether, and she knows he'll be rewarded with the growing slickness there to collect with every sweeping lick through her folds that prompts a sound from deep within her chest. ] Oh —

[From this position, he can't really see her face, and it's a shame. It's one of the few good things from that cursed fort that is burned in the back of his eyes, her soft expression as she abandons thought, parts her lips and delivers herself to the sensation of being with him.

But the scent of her under her skirt is intoxicating, and while he couldn't see her, he sensed the slight shake of her thighs as he runs his hands over them, tilts her hips into his mouth as he takes that first taste of her. The wetness he drinks eagerly still comes as a surprise to him, and he hums, tightens his grip on her, as if molding the flesh under his fingers.

That she seems so ready for him is enough to make him ponder if he should actually pull back up, unfasten his belt. But he hears the guttural moan above, muffled as it is by the fabric surrounding him but rumbling through her down to her hips. It's similar to the ones he heard in the forest, and he remembers, that he didn't have any inclination to learn about her then, only a mean to an end. And as tempting as the idea of having her tight around him seems, he decides to rub his stubble roughly against her inner thigh, enough to make that sensitive skin pink. Leans in again, kisses the crux of her slit softly, flicking and swirling his tongue against her clit once, twice, attentive, as he runs the tip of it down her labia with insistent strokes to find just what exactly made her tick.]

[ She finds she does prefer their shared eye contact, as soon as he disappears from view, but it's not as if he hasn't offered her something else of himself in exchange, feeling over what she can no longer see, and the sensation of his chest vibrating against her body with the depth of his sounds provide an added stimulation to the gripping of his fingers against the pert flesh of her rear, the delving strokes of his tongue across the source of her arousal.

She tightens her grip on the pillows, shifts her hips a fraction of an inch along his mouth — though she twitches restlessly at the ticklish burn of his facial hair against the inside of her thigh. That pairing of pleasure and brief pain does everything to further her current state, the need that practically drips out of her now to slick his lips when he kisses her there, the caress maddeningly light until he gives her more pressure, more exploration.

Her own mouth falls open, gasps and moans leaving her more freely now as he tongues over her, that tiny bundle of nerve endings so swollen and pliant as he teases it, delves across those most intimate parts of her beneath, and her thighs shake atop his shoulders, heat building on top of heat in her core. ] Your mouth — [ It's a thought voiced out loud, almost wondrous; they hadn't spared one another the time for this before, but they have it now, enough for him to learn her. ]

[He loves this, the little twitches he feels, first as if moving away from the sensation, then tilting towards him for more. He revels in the gasp, and almost wishes he wasn't completely covered - next time, he may just guide her hands to his hair. He'd rather she find purchase on him instead of the furniture.

So he teases her still for a second more, a lesson after a lesson. Suckles on the flushed flesh there, rakes his teeth along the labia, chases them with his tongue to soften the blow.

Once he figures out an angle she keeps returning to, a hand comes around her thigh to steady her there, and he presses his thumb on that bundle of nerves in soft, slow circles first, burrowing his nose next to it as he tries to curl his tongue inside her to drink from the source.]

[ It may be less than ideal, their decision to do this somewhat spontaneously rather than devote time and energy to fully disrobing; it means that he's effectively buried beneath her skirts and she can't help but spare a thought as to how he's even managing to breathe down there, but his mouth doesn't cease moving against her and neither does she, evolving to tiny, stuttered rolls of her hips when he presses his tongue inside her, prompting another shudder from her body.

She's also never had this level of attention given there, all of her previous encounters save one having been driven by impulse and the need to merely fuck, and she hadn't initially trusted herself to not lose control upon her arrival here after learning what was required — but with him, somehow, those fears dissipate in the wake of his hands on her, his mouth.

The dual stimulation is what makes her gasp anew, when he pairs fingers with tongue, manipulating both until her noises fall higher from her throat, louder; she's held fast by the hand on her thigh and all she can do is grind weakly against him, chasing the tension that begins to forge itself into something that will eventually break her open. ]

[Licking his lips as if he's eagerly catching the remnants of a melting ice cream on them, Dante only gives her some room to press soft kisses on the inside of her thigh to accommodate both of them a little better, have his arms switch position from around her legs to between them (with a little flutter of her skirts included).

There, he's able to maneuver his hands differently. Probably something that she won't appreciate for a second or two, as it interrupted their rhythm; but as her voice escalates and jumps octaves, he feels he really has to do it. He wants more than that, he wants her to yell out his name. He sucks loud and wet on two fingers, sliding their tips along to her entrance as a warning shot before he slides them in, feeling and curling against the tight warmth, thumb back to its previous position, rolling over her clit slowly and building up pressure.

Really, the groan that escapes him at all of this - how easy it is to slide his long fingers, how she tastes and sounds - is only muffled because he's still running the tip and the flat of his tongue around his touch, letting the roll of her hips dictate where and how he should be reaching, close his eyes, and become this consistent - and insistent - motion of thrusting, curling and rubbing until she falls apart.]

[ With him remaining sight unseen, she can only venture a guess as to what he might be up to until he actually starts doing it, the light rustling of her skirts following another movement as he shifts his arms to rest within the cradle of her thighs instead — and the ease with which he maneuvers her provokes a small grin, a low chuckle of surprise before she resumes a steadier position atop his shoulders.

But then she understands, the sounds of suction preceding the slow breach of long, thick fingers deep inside her; her head tips back and she nearly comes apart right then and there, inner walls squeezing instinctively around those strong digits, that blatant penetration. He gives her the lash of his tongue again when the thrusting starts and she cries out, helpless in the face of that pleasurable onslaught, powerless to do anything but writhe over him.

His name leaves her in the breath she tries to claim for herself, but she's already going taut, rigid, trembling like a newly plucked bowstring; she doesn't have time to give warning before all her remaining composure shatters and she gives herself over to her release, tight heat spasming around his fingers and the relentless rhythm of his tongue. ]

[He smiles, then, wide and pleased. His other hand slides up her thigh, across the small of her back, the curve of her hips as they twitch and she gasps. He doesn’t see her, but he feels the clench of her around his fingers, the heat of her shivers. It’s probably for the best that he’s not getting the first row to this scene; at this point, he’d be embarrassingly close to reaching the brink himself, with only the feel of her against his hands and mouth and the pressure of his trousers.

The hum he lets out is a mere soothing sound, an assurance that he’s not letting her go just yet, just letting her crest the wave she’s on, and riding it down, even as the motion of his fingers relents and the pace of his tongue becomes indulgent.]

[ It's the first time she's come apart from something solely within herself, mounting ecstasy that hasn't been provoked by forced injection or capsule; she'd wondered even then if this was all it was ever going to be, chemicals and formulas to lower her inhibitions, to make this even remotely a possibility. But the way she's trembling against him now is entirely a product of his touch, the firm thrusts of his hand and the tongue that dissolves to slow lapping.

Yet inevitably she wants to see him again, and even against her thighs' protesting she eases herself down from him, sliding along the length of his body and adjusting her skirts until she can seat herself across his lap again, until she can take his mouth again, tasting herself there with a pleased hum. ]

[The air outside of her skirts is cooler, but he still feels heated as he meets her halfway, pushes himself back up, hair disheveled, lips swollen for the two seconds they manage to be. Her mouth finds his own without much of an objection or hesitance at where they have been, and he groans in return, brings his arms around her to hold her tight and steady against him.

He could stay here kissing her for hours, he figures, but the shift of his weight on his seat is getting impertinent and needful. The cant of his head goes further, then, to try to distract himself by deepening the kiss, but it's short; he shivers and pulls back to rest his forehead against hers.] Help me with my belt?

[ He won't have to ask twice; even before he finishes the question, she's shifted her weight back to settle closer to his knees, her smaller hands moving between their bodies to find the front buckle and working the leather out of it, loosening it with a harder tug that betrays her eagerness, her want for him nowhere near diminished.

She won't be content to stop there, either, fingers locating the fastenings on his trousers and deftly making quick work of them.

It's a similarly minimal effort for her to turn her wrist, to guide her hand beneath the open front, to find the hard, heavy weight of his cock and caress it blatantly, firm strokes that are likely not necessary given how roused he already is and partly selfish in their application too. She groans, soft and low. ] I've thought about you inside me ever since that first time.

[He arches into the flimsy touch of her fingers on his clothes for half a second before he steadies himself, muddled brain kicking into gear when he realizes that it'll be easier for her if he stays still. His breathing grows deeper, a little ragged, but he keeps it slow, steady, save for the sharp inhale of release when she frees him out of the uncomfortable tightness of his pants, flushed, hard and leaking. Dante grits his teeth at her grasp, small hand but soft and easy to warm against his skin to struggle against the sensation of her fingers finally where it matters to him most.

And she speaks and he flutters his eyelids closed, a thirsty man panting for the sound of her voice, the words she's saying. He's the same, he wants to say. He may have not occupied his head with good thoughts about it, not on how revolted he had been at the repetition of the scene of what happened between them in his mind, but on how it could be a mere play of this place's machinations. But the rest, how easily she fit against him, the curl of humor in the tone of her words, how unafraid she was of requesting him more than he had thought to ever give. It all got under his skin too easily.

That she's the same, however, strikes something that goes beyond the foreign impulse of acting on his own lust. It's a relief and a reminder that he's not alone - not this time - in this. He reaches for the back of her head, pushes himself forward towards her to brush his nose across her cheek.] You know what they say about great minds.

Let me in once more.

[ Some of his physical details are more muddled in her memory, the daze of lust and need coursing through her at the time making it harder for her to note much more than what simply felt good — his length inside her, the smooth movements of his body against her own, hips that powered the thrusts that made her cry out beneath him, releasing those sounds toward the sky. She hadn't been able to fully appreciate the sheer size of him, a quality that extends to his manhood; her own smaller hand can barely encircle around it to squeeze, and her teeth snag a bite on her lower lip to think of him entering her again.

The circumstances of their first joining had been less than desirable, even if it had been motivated by some form of passion; she regrets the haste of it, but not what had eventually transpired between them. She doesn't harbor any ill feelings about the release she'd found in his arms, or that he'd been the one to drive it from her, strong and deep. But she can't look to any influence holding sway here, and it's that relief with which she seeks him out, to take him into her of her own free will.

Her hand maintains a loose grasp on his cock, steadying him for her to shift her hips, to align them with another whisper from her skirts as she arranges herself over him — the tip of him nudges between her folds and her breath catches, holds while she eases down onto his length, not stopping until he's fully buried and only then does she sigh his name across the shape of his mouth.

That sense of being so deliciously filled is one she has to savor, giving herself time to adjust to that intimate stretch. ] You must know what I am thinking now. [ About how he feels tailor-made to be inside her. ]

[The sound he releases is not very dignified, almost wounded, eyes rolling back followed by a deep breath he takes through his teeth. He's been under the influence for too long, and Dante had been struggling with his arousal from the moment she stepped into the room. Now that she's heat, heat and pressure and weight around him, it's a little overwhelming. How she whispers her name against his lips is almost too much to bear, the curl of his fingers on her scalp tightening.

His tongue darts out to taste the seam of her lips again.] I think I can guess. [It's a taunt, heavy-lidded eyes looking straight into hers, but the tone of his voice is strained, holding back the urge to growl again, move his hips upwards, spear into her like he did once before.

This is not the moment, however. He slips his other hand under her skirt again, resting a hand on her thigh.] I missed it. [Maybe he'll revisit that, later. And then fuss a little, and very pointedly not think about it again. ]

[ It's almost as she imagined, her decisively seated on him with all of it shrouded by the fullness of her skirts, keeping their act hidden from even their eyes — but she certainly feels it, her arousal, her previous release allowing her to accommodate him easily and enabling her to move on him soon after that.

But she'll go purposefully slow, thighs tensing and relaxing at his hips as she begins that slow rocking, a scant number of inches slipping out of her before she grinds again, down to the very hilt. ]

Mmm. [ She parts her lips, lets her tongue tease against his, playful flicks and curves. He's trembling beneath her, almost as if he's fighting to hold back; in a sense, so is she, the urge to ride him hard flickering at the edge of her judgment. ] You would be permitted to fuck me like that again.

[His head of silver falls with a hiss, turns slightly to capture her tongue with his lips, suckles on it. Her moving around him, the motion first in her legs, then her hips, and then inside, gets him to groan and Dante can almost find a subtle rhythm to it like the pace of a shore. Instead of soothing, it only ignites the tension inside him, a livewire that threatens to connect at any moment. The idea of quick release seems very tempting, but now that he has her there, he wants to keep her longer.

The fingers threaded through her hair stroke it down, and he takes a deep, heartfelt breath as she speaks. Temptress. ] Almost at my limit, gorgeous. Best save that for next time.

[ Her own desire is temporarily eased, for the moment, needing more time to build between the release he'd given her with fingers and mouth and the one she knows will follow as the motions of her riding him increase, spurring her on towards chasing more of that eventual ecstasy.

She smiles against his lips, nips at them, lets her mouth trail down along the underside of his jaw to tease and bite further along the column of his throat. ]

Next time, then. [ She squeezes around his cock, just to emphasize her own willingness in the matter, and soothes over the series of disappearing marks she's left with a slow drag of her tongue, hips continuing their harder grind. ]

[The hand going through her long hair stops and comes back to the back of her neck. He likes her there, against his pulse, as if he wasn’t delivering one of the most fragile places a half-human body possesses. She squeezes around him and rotund heat of her makes his hips tense, and he stops in his tracks before the urge to piston into her again overwhelms him.

He chuckles, open grin at the challenge. He wants to last a little longer - maybe see her come this time - and he’s doing his best to reach that goal, but he doesn’t mind the danger and he feels that neither does Vanessa. He holds onto the idea that they’ll have other opportunities to indulge, explore what makes them tick. The hand on her thigh slides to her hip and squeezes in return, getting a better grasp of the rhythm she’s setting, moving his hips minutely along.]

[ The want she has for him endures, increases, when he shudders beneath her, as if it takes every ounce of strength he possesses not to take her hard and fast; there will be time for that, as she's said. She prefers to think so rather than holding the assumption that this will be their last chance to explore one another.

But he starts to meet her in her movements, clutching at her hip beneath her dress, palm and fingers wide across her skin and driving her on to rock faster now, the pace at which she works herself on him reflected in the higher flush in her cheeks, her chest, the rougher sounds of her own breathing. It won't be long, really, and surely he can already feel those tremors starting underneath his hands, wordless signals of her impending climax. ]

[It's very difficult to rein himself in when she's this eager, rolling up and picking up the tempo assuredly. For all the magazines with raunchy magazines Dante makes a show of reading in public or in front of someone, it's the subtlety of her flush and the way she sounds that's really getting to him. He closes his eyes and feels her pulse around him, not just the vice around his cock but her presence, the force of her being. He lets out a sigh with her name into her ear, nuzzles her face to search for another kiss with a hum.]

Tell me when you're close. [Dante all but gasps out, trying not to focus so much on the darkening of her lips and eyes to not come undone right away.]

[ It begins more subtly, this time, a spark that catches and ignites before building to a flickering flame, one that must be kindled and nurtured in order to grow further, and she tends to it with the increasing speed of her hips, a pace that quickens from an elegant undulation to something more raw, unabashed, louder moans leaving her lips while she essentially rides him — hard, because she knows he can take it.

If her hair wasn't already flowing loose around her shoulders it would be tumbling out of its pinnings by now given her momentum, the collision of skin on skin making it all too obvious what's transpiring under her skirts.

She braces her hands on his shoulders and gives voice to a cry against his lips, sharp and sudden, as the fire threatens to become an inferno that burns her from inside out. ] Come with me, please.

[He inhales sharply through his teeth, close to a hiss and the hand on her neck tightening, sliding up to the base of her skull even as she bucks on his lap. Dante's eyes open then, gaze on her face as his jaw tightens, hips snapping back into her, make the sound of their flesh louder, their voices stutter.

He opens his mouth to tell here he's there, he's about to reach the brink, how he wanted to do this again since the last time, how amazing she feels inside. But his voice crawls out with a groan, and he bites at her lower lip hard to stop from releasing anything else. He's been stretching this for too long, and his control is thinning and beginning to break.]

[ His touch is firm on her, but not restraining; she feels powerful in his grasp, tilting her head into the cradling of his palm, the clutch of his fingers against her skull, that movement of her hips nearly uncontrollable by this point as she gives herself over — to sensation, to him, all of it, finally relinquishing that last shred of her self-control with the sob that wrenches free of her throat, spilling past her lips.

He bites her hard enough to make the skin swell, but not break, not even as she shudders and comes apart around him, over top of him from her intimate perch, fingers digging into the strength of his shoulders while those waves of pleasure course through her, stem to stern. ]

[It's as though they're sharing this burst of sensation between each other. The tight grip she has on him, fingers, lips, hips, versus the wrap of his arms around her, coiling to feel every shiver through her body with his own. With lowered lids he reaches his release, brief seconds strangely feeling both helpless yet in complete control as he watches her come undone, only to follow with his own cry, a loud gasp, and a moan. Holding her tight, holding her deep.

They've been working at this for a while now, but yet it still startles him, how he feels like trembling steel, how everything seems to make a little more sense now, with her on his lap, his face buried against her neck.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject