”Oh gods,” and “Mordred,” and “please,” jumble out of her mouth, right before she sees stars and all she can do is hold on to him as something takes her whole body and lights up all the nerves.
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She can’t imagine how this could be any better, and yet somehow it keeps happening. The way he bites her is just the spark of pain she needs in contrast, and she moans, head falling back, before she nudges at him, locking her lips with his.
The shift in position is almost more than Summer can stand. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, face buried in the crook of his neck, and muffles her voice against his skin. One hand combs through his hair, and she kisses everything she can reach. Something is building, where once she burned, where he fills her; she doesn’t know what it is, but every motion brings it closer.
Summer cries out again — it might be his name, or a curse, or or just ‘yes, or something even less coherent. She’s hyperaware of everything about her body now, everywhere he’s touching, the way she shifts to take him in, his teeth in her skin. One leg wraps around his knees, opening her up more to him, and she rocks her hips.
There’s a brief struggle as they both try to undo his trousers and push them down. There’s a little edge of fear thrilling along Summer’s nerves now — the sort of fear that heightens excitement. Her breath comes, if possible, a little faster, when she can breathe under his mouth. Another whimper, while she bites at his lip, and her aching need pours into his mind.
Sparks haze in front of her vision, but if she was ever in control of this, she’s decidedly not now. She’s wholly at his mercy, unkind mercy, unable to do more than beg. The words are half-formed and only audible due to the stillness of the room. She pulls on his hips, down, uncaring that his hand within her is trapped between.
“I want you. Naked. In my bed. Now.”
The faery’s eyes flashed a neon blue, shuddering at the woman’s words. Sometimes she hated being a Fae- A succubus, a woman of passion, but she certainly didn’t hate it now.
“Well, that is certainly something I could not pass.”
Morgana was used to people being so ecstatic around her, but nothing like the yearn Summer seemed to have for her. She ran her hands down to her waist, moaning gently against her mouth as she heard her whine. Slowly, one hand made its way up her back and slowly ran through her beautiful red hair like a comb would. “Summer…” she whispered against her lips.
“My lady?” Summer replied. Morgana’s fingers in her hair made her shiver, arching against the fae. “Command me … “
“You like to be commanded?” Morgana whispered into the shell of her ear, her hands slowly fiddling with the laces of her dress; however, she did not attempt to undo them. “You really like it?” She pressed a kiss to her neck.
“From you, my lady, I do.” Another shiver ran down her back. “You are the only one I would submit to.” Summer smiled, slowly, and let her head fall back.
Morgana felt a soft smile cross her features, and she stared right into her eyes. “Then you will be submitting to me, and only me,” she whispered, pressing kisses down her neck. “Strip for me,” she ordered in a soft tone, her eyes glassing over with lust.
Heat flushed through Summer’s body again. “Yes, my lady,” she murmured. She had to let go of Morgana to obey, and she did so with reluctance, taking a step back. The loss of touch was an ache. Slowly Summer drew loose the lacing of her bodice, until the cord hung loose from one eyelet, and she could pull her arms from the fabric. The overgown crumpled to the floor, leaving the redhead in chemise and underskirt. The laces of the skirt were simpler, a single tug and the cotton slipped to the floor as well.
A cry spills from her lips, and her eyes fly wide. One hand climbs into his hair, fingers tugging at the curls. She bucks into his grip, helplessly.
His movements drag her hands away from where they were, up his body. She curls her nails into his skin, leaving marks. Every touch of his mouth now blazes across her nerves. The fire flares higher yet, casting wild lights and shadows through the room. Helplessly, she makes continuous little sounds, half pleasure, half pleading.
Summer shudders. He’s so close to what she wants, but can’t articulate. It’s all new, overwhelming; she hadn’t even known what she was asking for when she told him she wanted it, but she wouldn’t change her mind now for all of Camelot and Devon besides. She shifts, trying without success to have him touch that place low in her body that burns.