There was a feverish desperation in Miraak’s kiss, reminding Arya that he’d probably not had the opportunity in thousands of years. For a moment he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, but then they were in her hair, pressing her so close that it hurt, though she couldn’t bring herself to care with the way her mind was racing and her heart was pounding. Breathing was an afterthought. All that mattered was the heat of his body, the sting of his teeth grazing against her bottom lip, the way his tongue immediately soothed the pain away before plunging back into her mouth, the sound of his shallow panting. She let him take the lead, since he seemed to enjoy doing so in all things, and simply wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his every move with equal fervor.
The sensible part of her knew that there would be no happy ending, that being infatuated with the most dangerous foe she’d ever encountered was a fantastic way to end up with either a broken heart or an early death, but it was remarkably easy to ignore that when he let out a low groan against her lips and ground his hips against her. She wanted him, consequences be damned.
She slid her hands down to claw at his robes, only to find that it was incredibly challenging to focus on removing them while he continued the assault on her lips, and the many layers he wore made no sense to her – where did one end and another begin? Thankfully he noticed her plight, and in moments his chest was bared to her touch. Her fingers trailed over several scars, more than she would have even expected, and she made a mental note to ask him about them if she ever got the chance, when her mouth wasn’t occupied.
When she began to push his trousers down he tensed, but did not stop her. Progress. She tried hard not to smirk against his mouth. With the bothersome clothing out of the way she finally pulled away from his grip, panting and flushed and very curious about what she’d gotten herself into.
“Oh dear,” she muttered, unable to take her eyes off of him. No wonder he’d warned her that he would be too much for her. He was not especially larger than most Nords, or at least the one Nord she’d been with, but she was suddenly reminded of how difficult it had been to make that work, when she was small even for a Breton. He chuckled in between small gasps for air.
“Reconsidering?” He didn’t sound bothered at all, and she was grateful for that, but there was no going back now. She hooked her calves around his waist and pulled him close, close enough for his length to press against her slick heat and force an appreciative grunt from his chest.
“I’m tougher than I look,” she replied with a lascivious grin. He ground his cock against her in response, drawing a sharp gasp when he brushed against her swollen bud.
Re: "Reparations" Miraak/F!Dragonborn Part 7/?
The sensible part of her knew that there would be no happy ending, that being infatuated with the most dangerous foe she’d ever encountered was a fantastic way to end up with either a broken heart or an early death, but it was remarkably easy to ignore that when he let out a low groan against her lips and ground his hips against her. She wanted him, consequences be damned.
She slid her hands down to claw at his robes, only to find that it was incredibly challenging to focus on removing them while he continued the assault on her lips, and the many layers he wore made no sense to her – where did one end and another begin? Thankfully he noticed her plight, and in moments his chest was bared to her touch. Her fingers trailed over several scars, more than she would have even expected, and she made a mental note to ask him about them if she ever got the chance, when her mouth wasn’t occupied.
When she began to push his trousers down he tensed, but did not stop her. Progress. She tried hard not to smirk against his mouth. With the bothersome clothing out of the way she finally pulled away from his grip, panting and flushed and very curious about what she’d gotten herself into.
“Oh dear,” she muttered, unable to take her eyes off of him. No wonder he’d warned her that he would be too much for her. He was not especially larger than most Nords, or at least the one Nord she’d been with, but she was suddenly reminded of how difficult it had been to make that work, when she was small even for a Breton. He chuckled in between small gasps for air.
“Reconsidering?” He didn’t sound bothered at all, and she was grateful for that, but there was no going back now. She hooked her calves around his waist and pulled him close, close enough for his length to press against her slick heat and force an appreciative grunt from his chest.
“I’m tougher than I look,” she replied with a lascivious grin. He ground his cock against her in response, drawing a sharp gasp when he brushed against her swollen bud.
“Then let’s begin, dovahkiin.”