His mouth has gone dry. Everything suddenly comes at a distance now, from the still-snuffling twins (mouthing at his absently scrubbing fingers) to the noises of the inn all around them. His mind wiped blank, all the frustration and humiliation of the day gone in an instant, for none of it matters in face of her.
Stunning as she glows in the moonlight. Jaw-dropping in her breathtaking beauty. So ruinously desirable and utterly fuckable with swaying breasts and plush heat that Leto damned well forgets how to speak in those first few moments. His eyes keep drifting, soaking up every detail (the stiffened peak of her nipples and every sway and bounce of her breasts; the soft plush swell of her slit tucked between soft thighs, a coy tease even now). It's slow at first, his eyes hazy as he drinks her in—
And then darker as her words finally permeate.]
You, [he says, and rises slowly to his feet,] are playing a very dangerous game.
[His voice is low and gravely, his tone as sharply playful as her own. Leto heads for the foot of their bed, not taking his eyes off her for a second as he rummages blindly in his trunk, questing until he finds— ah. Something he swiftly hides in the palm of his hand and then behind his back.
In two swift strides he's closed the distance between them, one hand outstretched— not to grab and grope and take, but to keep her still as he glides swiftly around her. His fingers are searingly hot as they wrap around the front of her throat, his body fitting in tight behind her own; he tugs her close and bites back a shudder for the inevitable grind of his trapped prick against her ass.]
Yes, my prick still aches, little lupa. I cannot tell you how badly I want to bend you over that bed and impale you on my cock until you beg me not to stop, showing you all the ways in which this body can be pleasured . . . worshipping you, perhaps, if you manage to be good. Keeping you taut and trembling for hours on the tip of my tongue, bringing you to orgasm again and again until you've drenched the sheets and still beg me for more . . . yes, I want it.
[He rumbles the words against her ear, his voice dripping with barely smothered desire. Almost imperceptibly, his fingers tighten around her throat— and she feels it, he knows. His hands are hotter than a hearthfire compared to the chill of her skin, and naked as she is, she must be so aware of every point of contact between them. The broadness of his chest and the rough linen of his shirt, the cool press of metallic buckles and rough fabric only emphasizing every single difference between them.]
And I know I won't get it until tomorrow.
But.
[A sharp nip against the shell of her ear before he drags his mouth down, kissing and biting his way down her neck without a care for how rough he's being.]
You painted yourself into a corner. Are you going to pose for me all night? Perch on that bed and spread your legs, touching yourself just to taunt me with what you won't give me . . . I will not say I would mind it. But I suspect you'll grow bored of such a ploy.
[His other hand rises, something small and rectangular with a single button and a gleaming lens held in his palm.]
You wish to be on display? Then let us show you off, lupa.
SO HUFFY
His mouth has gone dry. Everything suddenly comes at a distance now, from the still-snuffling twins (mouthing at his absently scrubbing fingers) to the noises of the inn all around them. His mind wiped blank, all the frustration and humiliation of the day gone in an instant, for none of it matters in face of her.
Stunning as she glows in the moonlight. Jaw-dropping in her breathtaking beauty. So ruinously desirable and utterly fuckable with swaying breasts and plush heat that Leto damned well forgets how to speak in those first few moments. His eyes keep drifting, soaking up every detail (the stiffened peak of her nipples and every sway and bounce of her breasts; the soft plush swell of her slit tucked between soft thighs, a coy tease even now). It's slow at first, his eyes hazy as he drinks her in—
And then darker as her words finally permeate.]
You, [he says, and rises slowly to his feet,] are playing a very dangerous game.
[His voice is low and gravely, his tone as sharply playful as her own. Leto heads for the foot of their bed, not taking his eyes off her for a second as he rummages blindly in his trunk, questing until he finds— ah. Something he swiftly hides in the palm of his hand and then behind his back.
In two swift strides he's closed the distance between them, one hand outstretched— not to grab and grope and take, but to keep her still as he glides swiftly around her. His fingers are searingly hot as they wrap around the front of her throat, his body fitting in tight behind her own; he tugs her close and bites back a shudder for the inevitable grind of his trapped prick against her ass.]
Yes, my prick still aches, little lupa. I cannot tell you how badly I want to bend you over that bed and impale you on my cock until you beg me not to stop, showing you all the ways in which this body can be pleasured . . . worshipping you, perhaps, if you manage to be good. Keeping you taut and trembling for hours on the tip of my tongue, bringing you to orgasm again and again until you've drenched the sheets and still beg me for more . . . yes, I want it.
[He rumbles the words against her ear, his voice dripping with barely smothered desire. Almost imperceptibly, his fingers tighten around her throat— and she feels it, he knows. His hands are hotter than a hearthfire compared to the chill of her skin, and naked as she is, she must be so aware of every point of contact between them. The broadness of his chest and the rough linen of his shirt, the cool press of metallic buckles and rough fabric only emphasizing every single difference between them.]
And I know I won't get it until tomorrow.
But.
[A sharp nip against the shell of her ear before he drags his mouth down, kissing and biting his way down her neck without a care for how rough he's being.]
You painted yourself into a corner. Are you going to pose for me all night? Perch on that bed and spread your legs, touching yourself just to taunt me with what you won't give me . . . I will not say I would mind it. But I suspect you'll grow bored of such a ploy.
[His other hand rises, something small and rectangular with a single button and a gleaming lens held in his palm.]
You wish to be on display? Then let us show you off, lupa.
[A sharp grin as he adds:]
Now close your eyes.
[Click—]