[He laces their fingers together, pushes a little quicker, and the flicker of heat burns a little brighter. As pleasing as she finds his voice, her demure disposition is almost ashamed of enjoying the masculine cadence of his murmurs and sharp, pleasured breaths. Her heart quickens in time with his rhythm, the smooth pattern of sweat-slick flesh pressing flush against her.
But even more than their physical union, it's the small reminders of his fondness for her which are the most exciting: the casual way he is willing to hold her hand, how he is careful to watch her expression for unease, the softness of his kisses.
He makes the melancholy night feel a little warmer—like this means something more than visceral satisfaction. It feels like a consummation between lovers after a lifetime of separation, and despite never having known who he was before now, it's as if they were meant to end up together, all their lives—]
I—
[A gasp is torn from her throat, a muttering of "Oh, God", and every repetition of his name she can utter, a powerful shudder seizing her, with more strength than she would have thought herself capable of. Electric desire, heady and vulgar, is filling her head with every sort of madness and thought, urged on by the sweet haze of ecstasy, the premature precipice of completion.]
Love—
[Desperate and drunk, she never manages an end to her sentence, her voice reaching a shrill crescendo, her pearlescent nails digging into the callused skin of his hand. For a moment, she thinks she is almost at the edge of euphoria—but no, not quite. She is denied that catharsis, at least momentarily.]
no subject
But even more than their physical union, it's the small reminders of his fondness for her which are the most exciting: the casual way he is willing to hold her hand, how he is careful to watch her expression for unease, the softness of his kisses.
He makes the melancholy night feel a little warmer—like this means something more than visceral satisfaction. It feels like a consummation between lovers after a lifetime of separation, and despite never having known who he was before now, it's as if they were meant to end up together, all their lives—]
I—
[A gasp is torn from her throat, a muttering of "Oh, God", and every repetition of his name she can utter, a powerful shudder seizing her, with more strength than she would have thought herself capable of. Electric desire, heady and vulgar, is filling her head with every sort of madness and thought, urged on by the sweet haze of ecstasy, the premature precipice of completion.]
Love—
[Desperate and drunk, she never manages an end to her sentence, her voice reaching a shrill crescendo, her pearlescent nails digging into the callused skin of his hand. For a moment, she thinks she is almost at the edge of euphoria—but no, not quite. She is denied that catharsis, at least momentarily.]