[Posed like this, he drinks in only tantalizing glimpses of her. Lurid previews told through the slow materialization of each portrait: one that's composed of soft curves pushed up and stiffened peaks jutting in the moonlight, the view broken only by a few stray fingers that coyly caress one nipple. Another as the camera drifts downwards: capturing the moment when she parts her thighs, drinking in shining, slick contours, wetness smeared on her thigh and a sudden stark shock of flushed red and pink coyly peeking out from pale skin.]
Oh, now she wishes to hear my opinion . . .
[Playfully growled as he mouths his way down the line of her neck. The truth is (and don't they both know it) no matter how he strains at his leash, he still relishes it wrapped around his throat, thrilling in how much slack he might gain through audacity alone. Again and again he nips at pale skin, suckling bruises up and down her neck that fade beneath his lips and biting all the harder to renew them.
And he lingers against her bitemarks. Each time he comes back to them, his teeth sinking in deeper, his tongue laving over ancient scars— mine, mine, and he has no hope of permanently replacing them, but there's something so satisfying about pulling back and seeing welling redness and slick saliva smeared over Cazador's claim.]
Until you stop me.
[Click, one bright flash before another portrait drifts out. Another view of her, her nakedness stark as it presses against his clothed frame, her body engulfed by his.]
Until you allow me to do more than just look.
[The hand wrapped around her throat slips down. Calloused fingertips caress their way slowly along the centerline of her torso, drinking in soft contours and newly mapped skin. He takes his time with it, fingers gliding between her breasts, certain not to touch what he hasn't been allowed— and yet there's so much of her that isn't off-limits, isn't there? He traces idle patterns against the coolness of her skin, teasing beneath the hollow of her ribs, the curve of her hips— not taking, not stealing, but simply appreciating her in all her facets. Pretty thing. Gorgeous thing. Untouchable, unknowable thing, hungry to be worshiped and longed for . . . his hand is so broad as he cups her hip, thumbing at the jutting line of her hip. Little kitten licks against the side of her throat as he feels the subtle swell of her belly and slides his palm down just beneath it, right above where her subtle mound swells—
And presses.]
Until you let my fingers slip between those thighs and finger you until you're shaking with unslaked hunger . . .
[Another doting kiss. Another subtle push with the heel of his palm as his cock rolls against her ass, grinding just once—
Before he steps back.]
But until then . . . why don't you pose for me, hm? Show me what I am missing with all those new curves of yours.
no subject
Oh, now she wishes to hear my opinion . . .
[Playfully growled as he mouths his way down the line of her neck. The truth is (and don't they both know it) no matter how he strains at his leash, he still relishes it wrapped around his throat, thrilling in how much slack he might gain through audacity alone. Again and again he nips at pale skin, suckling bruises up and down her neck that fade beneath his lips and biting all the harder to renew them.
And he lingers against her bitemarks. Each time he comes back to them, his teeth sinking in deeper, his tongue laving over ancient scars— mine, mine, and he has no hope of permanently replacing them, but there's something so satisfying about pulling back and seeing welling redness and slick saliva smeared over Cazador's claim.]
Until you stop me.
[Click, one bright flash before another portrait drifts out. Another view of her, her nakedness stark as it presses against his clothed frame, her body engulfed by his.]
Until you allow me to do more than just look.
[The hand wrapped around her throat slips down. Calloused fingertips caress their way slowly along the centerline of her torso, drinking in soft contours and newly mapped skin. He takes his time with it, fingers gliding between her breasts, certain not to touch what he hasn't been allowed— and yet there's so much of her that isn't off-limits, isn't there? He traces idle patterns against the coolness of her skin, teasing beneath the hollow of her ribs, the curve of her hips— not taking, not stealing, but simply appreciating her in all her facets. Pretty thing. Gorgeous thing. Untouchable, unknowable thing, hungry to be worshiped and longed for . . . his hand is so broad as he cups her hip, thumbing at the jutting line of her hip. Little kitten licks against the side of her throat as he feels the subtle swell of her belly and slides his palm down just beneath it, right above where her subtle mound swells—
And presses.]
Until you let my fingers slip between those thighs and finger you until you're shaking with unslaked hunger . . .
[Another doting kiss. Another subtle push with the heel of his palm as his cock rolls against her ass, grinding just once—
Before he steps back.]
But until then . . . why don't you pose for me, hm? Show me what I am missing with all those new curves of yours.