Neil let himself be steered back to kiss her, greedily claiming her mouth with his own--and needed no invitation to deepen the kiss, hungry still for the taste of her, the lazy luxury of owning it...
The fingers in his hair did their job with perfection, stopping the wheels of his mind dead at the same time she began to stroke him--not just stroke him, but touch him the way she kissed him, drinking him down through touch alone. It was slow, deliberate, not to conquer him the way she usually did--the way she enjoyed, the way he loved to be taken when she used her hands or mouth--but to own him. It was reverent and new as she spread his slick, turned that electric heat of her hand into a wet, sensuous slide of skin on skin--every touch followed by another, different caress.
She didn't chase the things that made him hiss or moan into her mouth, or had him thrusting into her grip as she stole the breath from his lungs. She sought more reactions, more contact--collected them like precious stones, stroked him with certainty and without hurrying, without teasing.
It was a strange sensation, sinking into that slow and greedy touch, while every stroke pushed him higher and her fingers curled into his hair so he couldn't think, only feel how she owned him, cherished him, loved him with every sweep of her hand...but it was also glorious, and as his body burned, so did something in the back of his chest, slow and sweet and endless as I love you found its way into a mind bewitched by pleasure.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: 9/21 - around 7:30
Date: 2018-10-30 10:58 pm (UTC)The fingers in his hair did their job with perfection, stopping the wheels of his mind dead at the same time she began to stroke him--not just stroke him, but touch him the way she kissed him, drinking him down through touch alone. It was slow, deliberate, not to conquer him the way she usually did--the way she enjoyed, the way he loved to be taken when she used her hands or mouth--but to own him. It was reverent and new as she spread his slick, turned that electric heat of her hand into a wet, sensuous slide of skin on skin--every touch followed by another, different caress.
She didn't chase the things that made him hiss or moan into her mouth, or had him thrusting into her grip as she stole the breath from his lungs. She sought more reactions, more contact--collected them like precious stones, stroked him with certainty and without hurrying, without teasing.
It was a strange sensation, sinking into that slow and greedy touch, while every stroke pushed him higher and her fingers curled into his hair so he couldn't think, only feel how she owned him, cherished him, loved him with every sweep of her hand...but it was also glorious, and as his body burned, so did something in the back of his chest, slow and sweet and endless as I love you found its way into a mind bewitched by pleasure.