East of Eden (Closed)

[satindesire]

The buttons parted easily for his practiced touch, and the soft cloth fell to the floor, forgotten. A camisole held up her rounded bosom, the dark crimson of her erect nipples a deep shadow beneath the slightly translucent fabric.

He steadied her as the door fell open, gratefully she smiled into his shoulder as she allowed herself to be cradled supportingly against his body. Finally, the camisole was shed as he straightened her upright, allowing her to tumble from the restriction of the last garment and leaving her bare from the hips up.

He adjusted his attention to his own clothing, so she leaned back against the wall to watch, moistening her dry mouth and clearing her throat which had gone raw from lust.

Her eyes, accustomed to the special darkness of her personal space, easily picked out the discrepancies in his flesh...Recognized them as marks she had placed many a time on willing kine times beyond memory.

"Nicholas..." She breathed, reaching out as he gathered her face into his large, masculine palm, leading her against him for a softer kiss. Her torso melted into him easily, now freed from it's modesty. Her arms wound around him, stroking the warm skin over his ribs and shoulderblades.

"The bed." she said, her words blurred by the mashing of their mouths and dueling tongues.

 

[Vixo]

A lesser man would've panted outright to see her torso so bared--and in his own way he did struggle against a fresh wave of arousal, not only for what an absolutely lovely chest he was allowed to behold, but for the show of her own excitement. He might have fell upon her just then but for his own modesty remaining--how he'd hate to feel anything but that wonderful body against his unencumbered!

And so, despite misgivings, he did away with his own shirt, doing his best to chase off a paranoid idea that she saw him in ways he didn't see her. It was all in his head, he knew, something self-defeating, the terror that she'd recognize the marks for what they were and throw him from her bed in disgust. Of course all that she'd see in this light was the shape of his body!

For a time in their kissing he could only press their bodies still closer together, delighting in the way her body contrasted so violently with his. If asked, he would name his body a stupid thing, too flat, too hard, its musculature too blatant. Base and ugly was the male form, especially his male form. Hers, of course, could not be denied--it was the sort of body that would welcome no matter how the woman inside of it felt.

To this end, it was a strange thing to realize his so-called base parts had been brought to eager attention, at once ugly against her and necessary, so he told himself. It was as much this as her mention of bed that took his hands from her again to dispose of his belt, to unfasten the fly of his trousers, some small relief. He might have been happy to simply set his mouth to that lovely chest, though, and ignore himself entirely!

It was a blur to him how they arrived there at the bed, whether she backed up in equal measure to his striving forward for it or if he blatantly picked her up for it. What he was conscious of was sweeping the curtains aside and driving both their bodies to the mattress, of pulling himself down enough that he could lay kisses on her breasts, hot and full of worship. His hands occupied themselves with her hair, stroking where it was soft about her nape and tightening at the roots.

"Oh, God, Alais." His voice rasped a whisper, that tightened hand leaving her head for her other breast, cradling it with a gentleness in complete contrast to how he sucked her nipple and otherwise lavished attention upon her.

To exist in the same space as this sort of loveliness was enough--that he would, soon enough, proceed further was too much to think about. He'd hate to embarrass himself.

 

[satindesire]

The bed sank under their combined weight, cradling them deliciously in it's luxuriant softness. Fur and skin, silk and suede, a delight to the senses.

The talons of her long nails were a sharp contrast to the gentleness of her caress, familiarizing themselves with the contours of his bared body with an eager leisure that spoke of desiring to linger on and remember each sole sensation, the knife edge of need sated by each hungry kiss and stolen whisper.

She applied herself to her riding britches and boots, until she was left as uncovered as the day she was born.

The sounds of the bedchamber were a tender counterpart to their coupling, the murmur of flesh on fabric, ragged breath and the crackle and spit of the fireplace...it's own special kind of music and rhythm that was far more primal than any notes he could have picked out on the ivory keys of the piano, and no less beautiful.

She repeated his name, over and over, worshipfully, as he laved her breasts with his mouth. Each stroke of his hands, the gentle cradling of his palms from which spilled the pliant pallid flesh, swelled her need and Thirst until she could no longer contain the sharpness of her fang on her lip.

It seemed like seconds drew out into hours, or perhaps each hour that passed were only a moment. She expressed her desire and affection sometimes with tender restraint, sometimes allowing control to slip long enough for a sharp bite or aggressive tug of hair. But whether she were gentle or demanding, the undercurrent of something darker fueling her passion tainted each stroke and whisper, each kiss.

It was too dark, there would be no way mortal eyes could see it, but on the next meeting of lips to lips there would be no denying the change. Over and over he taunted her with his ministry until she was pleading for him to go on with one breath, and begging him to stop with the other, mashing his face into her with both fists tangled roughly into his glossy black mane and forgetting to care if he drew breath between.

She scrabbled against him, winding long legs around his own in a tangle of limbs, face and chest flushed pink with lust. The proof of his own need was sharp and hot against her, like a branding iron, trapped against her thigh. It practically steamed from the heat of his blood, prompting her hum of pleasure and delight to feel him so engorged.

A feast of man, so many amazing delights she could have from him...all there waiting for her. It was difficult to decide what to taste first.

 

[Vixo]

On occasion these sensations were simply too much for him, a tremor of delight running through his body, a heavy pulse beating through every inch of him. To be at all clothed when so desperately aroused was intolerable, and so it wasn't long before he bared himself as well, growling things intended to be words but falling short of them, blurred by his irritation. He kicked the pants, shoes and socks away once he was finally free of them, confidence growing with his arousal. With all of his misgivings about himself, about what he deserved, he had no doubt in his mind that he was enough to satisfy. Still, he was hardly familiar enough with her body to begin insisting himself inside it, sure as he was that he wouldn't be able to draw himself out of her again until he was spent.

This woman was entirely too much for him to have only once, to experience all in one night, but he tried as though this would be his only opportunity, perhaps believing somewhere that she had been overtaken by madness in the night and would be disgusted with herself in the morning. Acknowledging so quickly that this was actually what she wanted - what, it could be argued, she wanted even from sending the letter to begin with - was absolutely impossible for Nicholas, and he was able to indulge only by stilling his mind as much as possible.

The little bites of pain that accompanied her strokes were enlivening, making the touches themselves seem all the more tender. On occasion, however, he did draw in a sharp breath of pain, swearing in his mind that she drew blood! It hardly mattered, his head happy to be buried against her, his cradling hand now toying with her nipple, flicking and caressing, hoping to draw still more passionate cries of his name from her lips. When she held him down against her, his struggle for breath would last only long enough to bring his heart into a quickened state of panic, momentarily enough that as he rose, he thought of no protest.

In fact it only heightened his sense of urgency, such that he drew from his obsessive attention on her breasts to struggle with untangling their legs, to bring his kisses back to her mouth. Reaching down, he stroked her thigh lovingly, beyond ready for her--but even in the grip of this passion, he couldn't simply drive himself in, a place in his mind always there to tell him that he'd be going too far to do it with so little ceremony.

 

[satindesire]

Her thighs fell apart invitingly with his loving caress, opening the blossom of her sex, crimson and swollen with eagerness. It was damp to the touch, the delicate triangle of curls glistening with sweat and feminine heat. The scent of her was curiously sweet, with a hot vanilla spice and underlying familiar muskiness that every woman enjoyed.

She was trembling with desire now, thighs and belly shivering faintly under the intense pressure of imminent orgasm. She curled into him, running a hand through his hair to bare his face which felt slightly damp with sweat...his or hers, she couldn't tell, the other hand sliding ever downwards from shoulder to hip, to cradle the tumescent, delicately wrinkled pouch of his jewels, then upwards to stroke the moist and twitching rod that seared her palm as if it were fire beneath the skin instead of blood.

"So hot..." murmured against his throat, catching the scent of his pulse that lay beneath her lips...so vulnerable. The Beast was edging nearer, snapping at it's chains to be freed. She longed for him so badly in the mortal sense that it was no feat of strength to deny the Thirst for just one last time. Soon, soon enough he would be hers.

 

[Vixo]

Everything about this felt almost enough, dizzying; he could hardly believe he was still here, hardly believe excitement hadn't got the best of him some time ago. To breathe in the scent of her willingness was intoxicating, and nervousness was washing over him now. He knew already that things would not go the expected way. . .how would she deal with the disappointment?

His eyes gazed into hers desperately, though he didn't say anything. What could he say just yet? Instead, he kissed her again, lips tightening as he groaned into her mouth. . .God, it had happened even earlier than he expected! The stroke of her hand along him had brought him to orgasm already--as much as he'd wanted to satisfy her in that most natural way, the thought quickly became unappealing. Oh, perhaps he could try, but he was too tender now.

"It's. . .been a long time," he admitted haltingly by way of excuse, but he couldn't leave it at that, he couldn't possibly. His hand searched further than her thigh, dipping between to stroke her own engorged flesh, so ready for what he wouldn't be providing her that night.

"Forgive me." His fingers considered her, gentle and careful about the desire-fattened nub of her sex, gauging reaction; to do something she didn't like in attempt to make up for his failure would only humiliate him further.

 

[satindesire]

The frantic throb was a familiar pulse in her palm as he spilled his seed willingly into it's softness. She stroked him gently til the last of his pearly gout was ceased, then held him carefully, tenderly, until he softened.

She kissed him then, sweet and full of affection, and he could feel the smile on her lips in the darkness, and the sharp impression of hungry teeth. Her thighs shuddered in pleasure as he stroked her swollen clitoris, and tightened her thighs against his hand to trap it there, greedily.

"Nothing to forgive, my love." murmured the vixen, bringing up her hand to taste the expulsion of his desire. Finding it more than delicious, dried her palm entirely with her tongue, enjoying the lingering play of salty-sweet male in her mouth.

"Nothing to forgive." she repeated, and with a laugh of delight, thrusting her hips rhythmically in pleasure against his delicately seeking fingers.

 

[Vixo]

Her hand still cradling him served to make him feel entirely better about what was happening. He'd been sure that she'd scowl at him, take her hand away in disgust--simply because it wasn't what was supposed to happen at that point, and his self-control was woefully lacking. It didn't seem that she was hiding any disappointment, either; her kiss, her smile, felt genuine, and were things he eagerly reciprocated, thinking little of the sharp presence of her teeth. If anything, he was endeared to them, exploring with his tongue but taking care not to cut himself. He failed to voice his thoughts on this, knowing they were too uncharacteristically juvenile to warrant a place outside his head.

What he did laugh at was the tightening of her thighs around his hand, a low, smoky sound. Confident though he was in himself once he got to this point, that she would eagerly lap up that issue was amazing to him--he'd expected her to try discreetly wiping it in the sheets or something. The idiot smile appeared on his mouth then, giving some insight into why he normally set his lips in the expression. Something about the relationship between his lips and teeth made it seem foolish, hardly fitting of the man it belonged to.

"Oh, I suppose not," he acknowledged, voice warmed, his kiss searching out different places; it landed, somewhat strangely, on her upper arm, as full of worship as it had been anywhere else. His hand searched her further, stroking delicately at her engorged clitoris at the same time as he pressed his long fingers inside her, at first simply exploring. As he grew sure of himself, he began to thrust them there, complimenting her own movements, tucking himself to kiss her neck.

 

[satindesire]

She arranged herself to fit into the hollow of his body, hands stroking gently the pale warm flesh that bowed and puckered under their ministrations. The delicate fur that sprinkled his chest, the curls that darkened his groin, ever so careful not to disturb the now-sensitive manhood that lay curled sweetly in it's nestling place. But soon enough the delicate searching of his fingers made her momentarily forget the body beside her, and all that mattered was the heat that built into a aching fever pitch between her thighs.

The sensations of orgasm were not new to her, but they were different with each lover...each person had their own touch, their own way of pleasure. He was skilled, practiced in his handling of her body in a way she did not quite expect from the awkward, shy artist...and the contrast from self-conscious doubt to assertive ease was deliciously rewarding.

She was panting in moments, arching into his fingers, hands tangled in the sheets. For a moment, a white-hot flash of humanity pulsed and throbbed in her, spilling her feminine juices into his cupping hand, and she was not Alais Ravencroft, bloodthirsty sorceress, but merely Alais....a woman.

She groaned softly in rapture, lids fluttering as the sensations faded and the last of her throbbing died down. It had been so long.

 

[Vixo]

Long though it had been, he never forgot how to touch a woman, how to draw that pleasure from her. There had been some small worry of this, that his hand would at some point grow dumb, that he would forget his place.

He couldn't have been anywhere better to feel her body winding toward climax, a sensation that sustained his own arousal, soft and aching though its physical face was. His breathing was heavy against her neck, filtered through open, indulgent kisses, as though he couldn't possibly do enough to relate his appreciation for her. Feeling the rush of air through her throat as she panted desperately, what lingering shame he felt for his previous failing departed, for this told him he was capable, regardless of what may happen. He would never leave a woman wanting.

His muscles were tight as he brought her there at last, as though in sympathy, the feeling of her own orgasm dribbling into his palm almost too much. . .God, there was so much of her to enjoy!

Feeling her relax beneath his touch, he slid his hand away, trembling faintly, feeling as though it had extracted some rich ambrosia from her. Laying his own body down, one arm draped across her and his narrow torso flush with hers, so wonderfully soft, he brought his prize to his mouth, pulling it in with his lips. A sigh left him then, satisfied with what they'd accomplished together.

"Alais," he breathed, his posture curled beside her in order that he spoke against her chin, smiling. "I never would've thought this was how we'd be spending the night."

 

[satindesire]

His breath was so warm against her cheek, it raised goosebumps across her thighs. She smiled against his nose, kissed it, only too happy to once again be in control of the Thirst. Orgasm did not always work to reign in the hunger of the curse, but sometimes it was enough to blunt the edge.

No doubt Chloe would be too weary and drained to be fed from again, one of the guards would have to do. After all the masculine contact she had with Nicholas, no woman would be able to sate her hunger.

"Sleep now, Nicholas, here with me."

It was less of a request than it was an offer, her arms tightening around him possessively, enough to let him know that she didn't want to sleep without him.

 

[Vixo]

While he hadn't gone as far with things as he might have liked, in many ways his satisfaction was just as complete. Likely this was because there was no disappointment involved, no one had been deprived anything in the end--it wasn't failure, the memory of her orgasm around his fingers told him that.

As such, there wasn't much more he wanted to do than sleep, and having a woman to spend the night with. . .well, who the hell would he be to refuse? The only time it would even be possible might be the middle of summer, when he'd strip himself bare, and the bed of all but one sheet and pillow, and splay his long limbs to be as free from his own body heat as possible. To have to worry about anyone else might only further his misery!

At first, he didn't respond in words, wriggling a bit to lift himself and pull the sheets and blankets down.

"Of course, darling," his voice purred as he sought to guide her, too, underneath the covers. "I'd been intending to ask you about what you'd wear for the portrait tonight." So recalling, he smiled, but kissed her cheek and reasoned, "I think it can wait."