A rush of recklessness flared to match the coil of heat in her belly. She met his stare with a taunt of her own. “Is this all you have for me, Nord?”
He lifted a brow in surprise, and pulled his hard heat from her in a languid glide, before snapping his hips forward. She almost came apart at the friction and the feeling of herself stretching again to accommodate his girth. She could not stop her moan.
His mouth found her ear, his low, guttural voice sending additional pleasure, though his message did not. “You make such sweet sounds for me, little imperial puppet. I would hear more of this. I would have you beg for it, for all that I have for you.”
She lifted her chin at his arrogant smirk, and shook her head in clear denial, though she almost proved herself wrong at the next slow pulling and swift, filling advance.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes at the almost unbearable pressure that was building within her. He took advantage of this position by dropping his head to her neck. She felt his lips there, the scrape of his teeth against her skin, and the tickle of his bearded chin. In the intensity of her feeling, other details emerged. The coarse friction of his hair-roughened chest against her sensitive nipples, his hands, so large and warm, cradling high under her thighs, squeezing her closer to him at each thrust.
Each slow, partial, shallow thrust.
She had thought it only a prelude to a deeper, faster pace, but he kept this from her, only teased and hinted at complete, final satisfaction. He rolled and snapped his hips against her, but he never pulled fully out, nor did he thrust completely back into her.
It left her gasping and straining against him for more and harder and deeper, but he maintained the stoic, tormenting, torturous pace until a fine sheen of sweat covered his skin and it was not long before she realized how foolish she had been to taunt him.
She panted against him, kept at the brink for longer than she could bear, her desire and need and lust driving her mad with the want, and she knew he would win in this, as he had won in everything else.
“Please…” It was a soft plea, and she wondered if he’d even heard.
She wondered if he would make her beg again.
Yet he moved so fast she cried out in surprise as he wrapped one arm securely around her waist, the other reaching up to undo the bindings at her wrist. He made quick work of it, carried her a few stumbling feet to push her back onto the bed.
Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, and he was still deep within her.
And then he wasn’t.
And then he was.
Deep, hard, full strokes that no longer teased at the edges of her release, but demanded she find her pleasure with a surety born of his own furious need.
Suffering, ended.
Death and guilt and pain and victor and prisoner, these were words she no longer knew.
There was no more war.
No more torment.
No more emptiness.
Just heat and fullness and soon to be completion and she wanted this moment more than he wanted her to suffer for it.
He covered her mouth with his, and she parted her lips, not caring if this meant surrender or depravity or nobility lost. She tasted him, as she tasted herself upon him, and he groaned against her mouth. His hips lost their meticulous control and he drove into her with wild abandon as he chased his release.
She felt her own building, a coil of tight hot burn that blossomed and flared the moment he reached a hand between them to roll his thumb over her still sensitive clit. He pressed there, even as she felt her walls spasm around his thickening shaft, guiding her completion to a lingering, exquisite rush of earth-shattering pleasure.
She clawed at his back, his name escaping her lips on a sob of garbled sound that was half moan, half scream. His answering, primal growl sent another shiver through her as he bucked into her a final time, his body tightening in the heated throes of his spilled seed.
She thought, for a brief moment, that she heard her own name fall from his lips like a prayer, but in her exhausted, sated state of languid limbs and trembling body, she attributed it to nothing more than the beginnings of a dream.
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timeasmymeasure
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 7c/?
Date: 2013-02-27 11:05 am (UTC)He lifted a brow in surprise, and pulled his hard heat from her in a languid glide, before snapping his hips forward. She almost came apart at the friction and the feeling of herself stretching again to accommodate his girth. She could not stop her moan.
His mouth found her ear, his low, guttural voice sending additional pleasure, though his message did not. “You make such sweet sounds for me, little imperial puppet. I would hear more of this. I would have you beg for it, for all that I have for you.”
She lifted her chin at his arrogant smirk, and shook her head in clear denial, though she almost proved herself wrong at the next slow pulling and swift, filling advance.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes at the almost unbearable pressure that was building within her. He took advantage of this position by dropping his head to her neck. She felt his lips there, the scrape of his teeth against her skin, and the tickle of his bearded chin. In the intensity of her feeling, other details emerged. The coarse friction of his hair-roughened chest against her sensitive nipples, his hands, so large and warm, cradling high under her thighs, squeezing her closer to him at each thrust.
Each slow, partial, shallow thrust.
She had thought it only a prelude to a deeper, faster pace, but he kept this from her, only teased and hinted at complete, final satisfaction. He rolled and snapped his hips against her, but he never pulled fully out, nor did he thrust completely back into her.
It left her gasping and straining against him for more and harder and deeper, but he maintained the stoic, tormenting, torturous pace until a fine sheen of sweat covered his skin and it was not long before she realized how foolish she had been to taunt him.
She panted against him, kept at the brink for longer than she could bear, her desire and need and lust driving her mad with the want, and she knew he would win in this, as he had won in everything else.
“Please…” It was a soft plea, and she wondered if he’d even heard.
She wondered if he would make her beg again.
Yet he moved so fast she cried out in surprise as he wrapped one arm securely around her waist, the other reaching up to undo the bindings at her wrist. He made quick work of it, carried her a few stumbling feet to push her back onto the bed.
Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, and he was still deep within her.
And then he wasn’t.
And then he was.
Deep, hard, full strokes that no longer teased at the edges of her release, but demanded she find her pleasure with a surety born of his own furious need.
Suffering, ended.
Death and guilt and pain and victor and prisoner, these were words she no longer knew.
There was no more war.
No more torment.
No more emptiness.
Just heat and fullness and soon to be completion and she wanted this moment more than he wanted her to suffer for it.
He covered her mouth with his, and she parted her lips, not caring if this meant surrender or depravity or nobility lost. She tasted him, as she tasted herself upon him, and he groaned against her mouth. His hips lost their meticulous control and he drove into her with wild abandon as he chased his release.
She felt her own building, a coil of tight hot burn that blossomed and flared the moment he reached a hand between them to roll his thumb over her still sensitive clit. He pressed there, even as she felt her walls spasm around his thickening shaft, guiding her completion to a lingering, exquisite rush of earth-shattering pleasure.
She clawed at his back, his name escaping her lips on a sob of garbled sound that was half moan, half scream. His answering, primal growl sent another shiver through her as he bucked into her a final time, his body tightening in the heated throes of his spilled seed.
She thought, for a brief moment, that she heard her own name fall from his lips like a prayer, but in her exhausted, sated state of languid limbs and trembling body, she attributed it to nothing more than the beginnings of a dream.