fondofapples | Inbox -- Genessia

Regina Mills
~~Queen~~ ~~Mayor~~ Mother
Sorceress
Fond of Plants

"You've reached the inbox of Regina Mills. Leave a message. If it's urgent, it's probably too late."

(text, voice, video, action, ooc planning if necessary for Genessia only)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

hellorhighwater

It felt like a first kiss when their lips met: that tiny sliver of space that was always so carefully kept between them completely gone, no fear or doubt or trepidation keeping them from falling all the way into each other. It was terrifying and fucking perfect at the same time, and Neil just wanted to keep falling, to lay himself further open, to strip away every single barrier that kept them separate.

Shifting her in his lap so she was straddling him with as little space between them as possible, he started with the beautiful blue kimono wrapped around her body, insinuating a hand between them to loosen the belt before he pushed it off her shoulders, growling in satisfaction against her mouth when it hit the floor and he could map the familiar curves of her body with his hands. Callused fingers danced over bare skin and supple silk as they splayed across her ribcage, her back, gripped her ass to pull her closer and palmed her breast to feel her arch into his touch.

For the first time, he let himself crave everything he usually held back: the softer edges of her voice when she'd whisper or moan his name in the heat of passion, the way she clung to his shoulders when he was inside her not to mark him but because she couldn't get him close enough, the look she got in her eyes when he danced too close to saying too much too soon.

There was nothing stopping him from making love to her tonight, and making damn sure she knew it.

From:

fondofapples

She felt it, the fizz-snap of a force-wall dissipating, when her tongue met his in the space between their mouths. The last layer of the defenses she'd kept between them vanished and left behind the taste of burnt marshmallow on the kiss that overwhelmed her senses. Her kimono slipped to the floor but his hands coaxed burning embers from her skin, and every touch felt new.

She smiled, a steamy wisp of a thing, and chased his mouth for that little growl, nipped his bottom lip and then dragged her tongue across the tiny bite.

Later, when she thought back, she would be reminded of what it felt like in terms of the difference between kissing Robin with and without a heart. But right now, her thoughts were all of the generous mouth trading breath and hints of love-words with hers in the gaps between kisses, the generous hands that mapped her curves like they were carved out just for him, the hard, hot body beneath her poised to do so much more than make her come, but more than that, the heart that beat for her and the fierce clever man whose chest it beat in.

She'd held back from him--not long in the scheme of things, but too long for full honesty between them, and her hands skimmed his arms and chest with all the desire and all of the tenderness she felt for him. And when she cradled his jaw tonight, and her thumbs swept along his cheekbones, the look she gave him wasn't hungry--or wasn't just hungry--but smoldered instead with all the love in her heart that had been thwarted again and again and again.

Fire burned bright in her eyes, a purifying promise that she wouldn't be afraid to take everything they could have with each other. That she wouldn't fight her way free when she spiraled into him. Not tonight.

From:

hellorhighwater

The little bite she gifted him made him smile, had him chasing her mouth again to kiss that maddening little scar on her upper lip before he took her mouth again--and when she looked into his eyes without those barriers, with fire and fondness and perfect devotion...only the sight of her in her fury, with elemental fire ringing her irises could have been more breathtaking.

He felt so light, so jubilant, that he laughed into her mouth as he kissed her, turning that already sugar sweet kiss bright with undiluted happiness as he wrapped his arms around her and fell back against the mattress, dragging her along for the simple pleasure of feeling that glorious body cover him, claim him, so he could kiss her and grip her hips and her ass as he rolled his hips up into the weight of hers and enjoy that kiss of friction that lit up his spine the way the new and silent honesty between them lit up his fucking soul.

His breathing grew heavier with arousal and emotion combined as he devoured her, drew out this new and familiar way they came together. He knew every curve of her mouth, every plane of skin, but tonight he could memorize and linger in ways he couldn't before--and if he thought too long about that, he wasn't going to last long enough to enjoy it as long as he burned to.

From:

fondofapples

When he pulled her over with him, she went, laughter in her eyes and lightness in her heart, and she would've been content to tussle around on the bed and kiss like teenagers experimenting with sex for the first time, just to be with him. Would have, but her body knew his already an the feel of him beneath her, his palms on her ass, set off sparklers behind her knees and at the base of her neck and spine that made her want to collapse into him already.

She freed her hands from the tangle of their limbs and the bedding to frame his face in her hands again, smile, and take a kiss both messy and the kind of sticky-sweet that usually made her snarl when she saw other people sharing them. And if it felt a little strange to be trading romance movie brushes of lips and noses and fingers with her dragon knight, it was the good kind of strange, the kind she'd never gotten a chance to get used to with Robin.

For a heartbeat, she had a strange sort of double-consciousness, the memory of Robin telling her her happiness could be right around the corner and Neil's mouth meeting hers in a surge upward to catch her as she pushed away. But it faded when she sat up over his hips to slide her negligee off over her head; then there was nothing but her and Neil and the way the air around the charged with motes of light and fire and the room seemed to glow with how much light her dilated pupils pulled in.

Hands skimming his chest, she breathed out, "Neil," and felt herself falling into the love she'd been only barely keeping at bay.

From:

hellorhighwater

The way she said his name, breathless and heavy and so soft with emotion--it was fire, hotter than the dragon fire in his veins, sinking through flesh and sinew to scald him from the inside. Every violent thing he ever felt with her in his arms rose up to choke him sweetly, possessive and brutal and blood soaked things that carried devotion and binding and promises of forever that he didn't have to hide anymore.

So he didn't.

Sitting up when her hands mapped his chest, Neil skinned off his shirt impatiently so he could feel her fingers on his bare skin, feel her body when he looped an arm around her waist to drag her against him again. Words fell from his lips as they pressed to her jaw and throat, burned them onto her skin with nips of teeth and broad sweeps of his tongue mapping that slender curve of her throat and the line of her clavicle, words like my Regina and all yours and more I love yous, as many as he could manage with every breath.

From:

fondofapples

For a woman with as much of an affinity for fire as she had, Regina had spent far too much of her life being cold. It made the kiss of dragon-fire beneath Neil's skin a simple, sinful pleasure that (especially after the demonstration of his healing abilities) somehow made her feel that much more beloved when he pulled her against his chest. Warmth was safety, and he supplied it for her in spades.

Of course, Neil would never be content with leaving her to intuit or infer his love from the heat of his body or the passion in his kisses. The man had never met an excess he couldn't exceed, and so it was with the outpouring of his feelings in the chorus of I love yous she'd been fighting off before, and his possessive my Reginas that made her body tighten around the bruising ache of the fuck he'd served up yesterday and made her even wetter than she'd been in the shower. The all yours she didn't even know what to do with yet, except lean over him and take his mouth when it was free to kiss him slow, and soft, and with all her own heat.

It overwhelmed her, the way he loved her, the completeness of it, even without the magic of True Love's kiss, there was nothing lacking in it and... she was overthinking, thinking thinking, because she didn't know how to do this and maybe she was a little raw, emotionally, still from yesterday or from telling him she loved him or from loving him so damned much already.

She couldn't say the words over and over like he was, but when her breathing felt too rough and her body quivered from trying to hold herself up over him, she melted against him, let him take her whole weight, and whispered, with her mouth against his pulse, "My whole life, I've wanted to be loved like this. I...had no idea..."

From:

hellorhighwater

The way she melted into him reminded him of how they'd come together the day before--a thing that made him hard just remembering, and somehow still bit at his conscience for how rough he'd been...and how much he'd enjoyed it. He took pleasure in some pain, some harsh touches, but the pleasure he'd found in her with the fire burning in his veins, scorching his thoughts, still felt somehow too much, something he had to make up for despite her assurances that she'd wanted it.

Even now, he wanted to do it again--but with her breath against his neck, whispering confessions of how badly she wanted the things he felt rather than the physical satisfaction he could provide, he knew he didn't want to take her again.

He wanted to do just that: love her, give to her, make sure he left no doubt just what he was in this for.

Neil pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, laying back again--then rolled Regina onto her back, settling comfortably between her legs as his forehead pressed against hers.

"What, loved like you deserve?" he grinned, brushing his lips teasingly over hers as he let his hands map the slope of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts, the delicate arcs of her ribcage.

"Like every kiss that falls from your lips is oxygen?" He whispered against her jaw as he let a hand trail down the center of her chest and belly.

"Like I could make the Sky Maker fuckin' weep if I took my love and cast it into the heavens?" he rumbled against her collarbone, speaking between kisses as his fingertips teased the soft skin just above the elastic of her panties before sliding down to slide along her slit. "'Cause I could. My love would fly higher, shine with brighter color--I could make a damn palace of the sky I could give you with the shit you make me feel, Regina."

He sighed her name against the curve of her breast before he nuzzled that soft skin, then caught her nipple gently in his mouth as he carefully pushed one finger inside, humming with pleasure to feel her body yield under his touch.

From:

fondofapples

It was a good thing he didn't expect answers beyond her shivers and sighs, because she didn't have them. She didn't know how to explain her like this beyond the tautologous like you do, and the more he applied his mouth to her skin, the less likely she was to find any words that weren't my knight, my dragon knight, love and the odd my love.

Instead, she gave her answers in the sweetest of murmurs, in the breathy whispers of his name as her fingers wove through the thick mass of his hair, slipped over his shoulders and along newly familiar lines of muscle down his back. She replied in soul-searing kisses when he gave her his mouth, kisses deep and drenched in more than a century's longing; and despite the century's experience, in her body's eager and willing response to even the most innocent of caresses.

"Neil. Yes," came the quietly hungry antiphon to the query his finger posed as it slipped inside her, made all the more emphatic by the lift of her ribcage to offer her breast to his mouth and the gently insistent press of her hand against the back of his head. And for once, although she didn't realize trust was the reason, she didn't squirm away from foreplay in favor of fucking.

From:

hellorhighwater

When she sighed and arched under him instead of tensing or reacting to pain, Neil brushed his thumb over her clit, a couple of teasing little touches just to her her sigh and feel her writhe again.

His answering moan vibrated against her skin as he sucked and kissed, teased that sensitive nub with his tongue before raining more kisses with eager sweeps of his tongue against skin. He worked her with one finger for a moment, then added another, taking care to go slow in case any discomfort arose...and just to feel her under him, touching and clinging and welcoming all of the demonstrative touches and attentions he'd burned to lavish on her beneath the heat and the hunger that sprang to life so easily between them.

So he pressed his fingers inside, kissed and lapped and nipped at bare skin, from breasts to throat, tiny little scrapes of teeth that left no mark but sensation. He wanted to take her slow, take her as many times as he could--not to satisfy or bring her pleasure, but to own her just like this. He wanted those sighs as she came beneath his hands, the willing way she accepted his need to find and memorize and cherish every part of her, wanted her release for himself for no other reason than to enjoy it.

He wanted the chance to exist for her, the way he always ached to, even if it was just to make her writhe and beg a little beneath his mouth and hands.

From:

fondofapples

When he'd taken her nipple into his mouth and begun to suck, the jolt had been so strong, the pleasure so intense, moisture had flooded her vaginal canal and slicked her labia--both pleasure in its own right and protection for the deep bruising from yesterday's aggression. Now, the gentle insertion of a single finger lifted her hips from the bed and the second summoned a heated, breathy sigh.

Gently, insistently, she guided his head back to her chest. With most of her partners, she'd hurried them past her breasts because of how sensitive they were and how vulnerable she felt when a partner went after them too intently, but Neil would pay attention to her signals, accept her 'enough' or 'wait' or let her breathe if she needed to, or give her his mouth for a kiss if she needed that instead.

And he was being so gentle right now, his fingers sweeping in slow circles within her, pleasuring her instead of fucking her with them. Each stroke lifted her higher and higher into heady, dizzying sensation, but somehow left her freer to feel him, to caress the arm attached to the fingers inside her, and be both aware and grateful that it was Neil slowly dissolving her into soft, quiet whimpers of need.

From:

hellorhighwater

Neil followed her silent urging without hesitation, taking her breast into his mouth again for a moment, releasing her nipple to run his tongue along the curve of skin, teasing with greedy kisses and deliberate, careful brushes of his beard before drawing it into his mouth again. He worked her a little faster, and just a little harder with his fingers at the same time, both painfully aroused and sinking into the exquisite pleasure of not just her sounds and reactions, but giving her what she wanted, what she asked for without words.

There would never be a time when he wasn't awestruck and dazzled by the idea that he could use his strength, his body, the hands that killed with such ready delight, to make something as breathtaking as the breathless, keening mess of need beneath him. He would never be anything but grateful for the blessing of being able to take an order from his queen, given even in silence, and bring her pleasure that she could not, would not find in any other man.

It made being gentle easy--but it also made him impatient, eager to feel her shatter with that awareness of her fingers gliding up and down his arm, of that presence in the moment where she came knowing why he was there, what he felt--and giving it right back to him. That need to see it in her face, to taste it on her skin and feel it in her body clenching around his fingers had him twisting them inside her as he pushed them deep, gently pressing up into the spot inside that would make her come unglued for him with every thrust.

From:

fondofapples

Instead of focusing on the one 'correct' sensation, the one perfect stimulus that would inevitably pitch her over into orgasm, instead of gutting her way through sex to make sure it was satisfying without exposing too much of herself -- none of which was anything she'd had to do with Neil, but 'purpose' had tended to drive her sexuality even with him -- Regina let her awareness go. It drifted from the intensifying, breathtaking suck and pull of his mouth on her nipple, along the electrifying tingle like a silk string tied to both nipple and clit, into the deep heat of her cunt clenching around his fingers, out over the prickle of gooseflesh on her skin from the rising wave of honeyed, needy warmth. Where he caressed, she let herself follow, wander, enjoy and all the while kept a connection to him through her fingers on his arm, in his hair, her nails imprinting (but not quite piercing) deep crescents into his skin.

What she felt was extraordinary, diffuse waves of pleasure, orgasm flowing and then ebbing and not quite cresting but she didn't need it to, as long as it was Neil touching her. It would happen, it might happen a dozen times, but her pleasure wasn't what she wanted. She wanted Neil.

At least, at first she just wanted Neil, but he wanted her, too, wanted her to feel his love for her through his generosity, his tender touches, his patience--and even were she made of stone, she couldn't have resisted him mapping her body with his adoration. So when his fingers twisted and curled to prime her g-spot, she whimpered, "Neil... love..." and buried both hands in his hair to haul him back up to her.

"Kiss me." Her body rocked beneath his touch, but what she needed, or at least wanted, to push her over the edge was the taste of him, burnt marshmallow and breeze-borne embers, on her tongue. "Please?"

From:

hellorhighwater

There was no thought, no hesitation as he let himself be pulled, bent his head to claim her mouth with his. He was right where he'd wanted to be for weeks: that perfect place where he could just fucking drown in her, heart and soul, body and mind. This slow unraveling of her in his arms and under his hands had him as lost as she was, sinking into every whimper, every flutter of her muscles around his fingers, every texture of her skin beneath his lips and tongue.

So he kissed her because it was all he could do, all he wanted as soon as the request left her mouth. He kissed her slow and deep, taking her mouth the same way he still planned to take her for himself after he got to feel her shatter, got to taste her cries of pleasure. He kissed her, pressed his fingers a little deeper into her, a little harder, and teased his thumb across her clit at the same time, craving her release as desperately and ravenously as he already craved his own.

From:

fondofapples

The relief of his mouth on hers swept over her like an isolated breeze on a scorching hot day, soothing for a moment and inflaming after with the desire, the craving for more of it. She gave up a greedy little moan as his tongue took her mouth, and she yielded to him completely.

It happened all at once--the soothing, the craving, the yielding, the unwinding into a slow, sweet, fluttering orgasm that went on and on and on--and left her sobbing her pleasure out into his kiss. And even so, she never lost her awareness of that distinctive carmelized sugar bitter-sweetness on her tongue or the thick, frizzy hair between her fingers, or the ravishing heat of his skin against hers.

It never really stopped, either, just faded into the background of the emotions that crowded to the fore. So her cunt still pulsed around his fingers when she wound her arms around him and hugged him hard and tight. "I love you," she whispered to the side of his neck. "I love you."

Edited Date: 2018-10-23 06:21 am (UTC)

From:

hellorhighwater

Neil stroked her through her orgasm, fingers still inside her as he sank into her embrace with a deep, ragged sigh. The feel of her pleasure, those sweet words, the taste of her moans and sobs still fresh on his tongue--it rippled through him like a breeze gone soul-deep, stirring to life things he hadn't let himself feel for most of his life. Not like this, not wild and boundless and without restraint, without caution.

Contentment. Serenity. Hope.

"Jon dagho--I love you." he replied hoarsely, tipping his head against hers and letting himself get lost in it: her cunt still fluttering around his fingers, his own desire sweet agony burning under the skin, a white-hot lance flaying open his chest as his heart tumbled out and into her waiting arms. "I love you so much..."

From:

fondofapples

Jon dahgo. I love you. The words that he rasped, his voice raw with desire and exertion, spilled sweet and silken over her, molten slip gold, kintsugi-like highlighting and mending her cracks. She'd heard the words so infrequently in her life, let alone during sex, that she shuddered with the emotional force of them, and knew she would never forget how he sounded saying them just now.

She kissed his neck, a simple, sweet thank-you for how he loved her, how much and how fiercely. Then she worked her hand between them to palm the rigid line of his shaft. Although she wanted him, and wanted his pleasure even more, it was a caress for its own sake, an appreciation of the scalding heat, of satiny skin over a firm erection, of him as a man. Her man.

That thought, her man sent a different sort of heat cascading through her system, and with it an almost violent, dark passion to keep him that twinned with her softer, more reverent affections.

From:

hellorhighwater

The feel of her palming his erection through his pants stole the breath from his lungs, had his hips jerking reflexively into the slide of her hand not nearly close enough to stop the sharp ache of need that tore a moan from low in his chest.

And it was so much more now, because it wasn't a tease, wasn't an invitation--it was an open claim, a caress because she could, because he was hers and she was his, and she wasn't afraid of it anymore.

Lifting his head, he withdrew his fingers from her cunt, and without hesitation sucked the taste of her off of them, eyes shutting with pleasure and another low hum of satisfaction rising out of him. Fresh heat bloomed low in his body, igniting violent passion of his own because this was his now. Everything in this moment was--those tender brushes of her lips against his neck, the feel of her fingers, the taste of her slick. There was no chance, now or ever again, that another man would hear her moan and sob with pleasure, look on her beautiful body, get to wake up next to her, hair tousled with sleep and bare features radiant as the sun.

He didn't have to feel possessive of any of this anymore, because it was all his, she was all his--and yet he was. Ferociously, violently, desperately possessive and just as desperate to have all of it, tonight, this very fucking second.

From:

fondofapples

That tearing moan told her everything she needed to know about his desire for her, and yet, watching him suck the taste of her from his fingers... it spoke even more. Of love, of intimate possession, of devotion...

"That's criminally hot," she murmured and dove headlong into another kiss, deep and slow, and thorough while she licked her own taste from his tongue and the inside of his mouth. She'd always liked that, her slick on a lover's mouth or cock or fingers, but this felt different, like a promise exchanged between them that no one else would ever taste her, or him, and if it was too soon for never and always and forever, she felt them anyway, knew them anyway, because of who they were and how they loved.

Although she knew the danger of wanting no one else, no one else ever, Regina did. She wanted it and chased more proof of it, more connection to seal the promise. So while they traded control of an electrifying kiss, she popped the button on his jeans, tugged down the zipper, and got her hand inside his jeans to wrap around him. Her thumb stroked up his length, sweeping over the silken to collect the bead of slick from the head--proof, if she'd ever needed it that he took pleasure from pleasuring her.

Now she wanted nothing so much as to feel him hard and thickening in her palm, his sac drawing up in readiness, his obscene stomach muscles tightening beneath her hand or maybe her lips... she wanted to see him the way no one else ever saw him, ever would see him, exposed, vulnerable and needy, but open and trusting her to be what he needed.

From:

hellorhighwater

Neil had little opportunity to do more than laugh at her assertion before she was dragging him into a kiss, greedy and seeking--then she was opening his fly, sliding her hand into his jeans to curl her fingers around him and he groaned again, head bowing to press against the curve of her neck as her touch pulled the breath out of his lungs.

"That," he rasped, thrusting helplessly into her hand and pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss against her skin, "is criminally hot. Ember's Breath, I love you...love the way you make me feel..."

From:

fondofapples

He thrust through the curl of her hand, branding her palm with his heat, and even though she'd just finished, her breath caught and her stomach flipped at the size and firmness of his erection. She didn't need intercourse to be satisfied, but goddamn if there wasn't something amazing about having the proof of a man's desire right there in her hand.

She sought his mouth and offered hers up, sucking softly on his tongue to invite it into her mouth. And then, hand in his hair to keep him close and turn off his brain, she took over the rhythm and began, very slowly, to stroke him off. Very slowly, because he was hers now, and she could take her time to spread his slick over his shaft, get him messy and wet and fondle his balls, play with him and know him, love him, instead of just pleasuring him.

From:

hellorhighwater

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.

From:

fondofapples

When she wasn't kissing him, taking slow possession of his mouth and his body with the weight of her awareness--I love him. I love him. I love him. a quiet mantra in the back of her mind--she was watching his face, learning the way his pleasure expressed itself in his features, and the sounds of his breathing.

Because she could, she interspersed kisses to his mouth with kisses to his chest or his shoulders, traced the separation between the muscles with her tongue if she felt like it, or just delivered small pecks of affection where she could reach. And it was strange, really strange, to have him in hand or against the back of her hand if she turned it to stroke him with her knuckles, and just be watching, loving him, and in no particular hurry to bring him off.

Strange, but lovely, as it gave her freedom to caress his abdomen and soothe it with a steady touch if it quivered too much, and to stroke a hand along his side or over his arm, just to be here with him. It felt, a little, like a ritual of some kind, honoring and celebrating his masculinity--

Which made her smile, kiss him and smile harder into his mouth, because what a man he was. His body sculpted to perfection, his passions strong and his love fierce. Not just a beautiful man, but hers. And he'd never been anyone else's. Not like this.

From:

hellorhighwater

There was something strangely intense about the way she watched him, bending his head to press his forehead against hers and see her eyes flicking over his face when she touched him, when his hips rocked into the stroke of her hand or the intimate caress of the backs of her fingers. She studied him, memorized him, learned him--not just his body, but him in a way she never had. When it go to be too much, her touch gentled, when he needed more she was there with a hand curled against his hip or mapping his arm and shoulder with her fingers.

It felt like being taken apart...but at the same time, like being put together for the first time. No gaps in his armor, no weaknesses, no wounds--the slow, methodical, careful way she pushed him closer and closer to orgasm made him feel treasured, treasured and whole for the first time in his life.

It made it hard to breathe in a really good way in between every kiss, made him press his face against her neck so he could breathe her in, lose himself and burn the memory of each of these particular touches into his soul itself. As his breathing began to gradually quicken, when he felt that familiar slide of heat up his spine that meant he was getting close, he lifted his head again to kiss her, thrusting more urgently into her hand.

"I love you." he rasped against her mouth, his breath hitching. "Love you so much...love how you love me...Beloved..."

From:

fondofapples

The words brought a flush to her cheeks and her chest, a prickle of not just heat but certainty, that this was where she belonged; in this moment, who she belonged with. And the feel of him thrusting powerfully into her hand drove home that he felt it too, maybe in a way having him in and over her or her on and over him couldn't. She didn't have words for why this felt so much more intimate, but she didn't need them.

"Show me," she murmured, less a command than permission if he needed it, to finish in her hand instead of in her body. Then she sealed her mouth over his again, claimed his pleasure and his love for herself, and gave him the friction and speed of stroke that he needed to come for her...come to her, let himself be hers--as she'd let herself be his.

From:

hellorhighwater

The way her fingers quickened and gripped him felt as much an invitation as those quiet words he breathed in with a ragged gasp as his eyes rolled shut and pleasure took him in a different direction: not the heights he usually found in her arms, but dragged him down and into her. His head fell back to the curve of her neck, the weight of his body settled over hers, and he drove himself into her hand until his release spilled over her fingers and his pleasure rushed out in a hot, ragged sigh that caressed her skin.

In that instant, the world ceased to exist--nothing mattered, nothing existed but the heat that blanketed his body, the body beneath him, the heart that held and cherished him as readily as her arms around him or her fingers wrapped around his cock.

Nothing else existed but her touch--he was nothing and no one save for hers, and she was his. The way his swordarm was his, the way his magic belonged to him, so she did as well. Regina, how she loved him, how he loved her, became a new universal constant--something that could not, and would never be taken from him.