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.
Tag Archives: rp: meeting mordred
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.
”Mordred,” she gasps back. Instinct guides her hands now; thought is lost to the haze of sensuality, and with it control. The desire and need she’s feeling, is drowning in, spills from her skin, pressing against his. The fire flickers brighter. “Please, please,” she begs, without any clear idea of what she’s begging for, only more.
Summer’s body curves into his hands, her mouth falling open with the pleasure of it. Blindly, she grips more tightly, pushing aside the leather to find flesh, slightly startled by the heat of it.
Summer manages a small chuckle at the expression on his face before she’s drowning under his mouth again. His name comes out on yet another moan. Hands still trembling a little, she reaches down, sliding down over scars and skin, muscle and bone alike, to find the flap of his breeches and shyly stroke there.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “I told you, I want this. I want /you/.” She pulls at his shirt, dragging it over his head, then scrapes her nails down his chest. “Please.” By dint of some writhing, including a lot of arching of her body against his, she frees one arm from her dress.
Oh, oh, that’s new. Summer moans, eyes sliding closed. Her whole body is on fire, she wants his touch so badly. She’d meant to return the favour, but all she can do is hold on, head thrown back and hands shaking slightly against his shoulders.
She’s so open to him now, the thread of curses intrudes like a slash of lightning. But then he’s kissing her again, muffling any words she might form. The weight and warmth of his body soon drives it from her mind; she slips her hands under his loose shirt and delights in the flesh she finds there. She counts each rib, moving upward to find the tense muscles of his shoulders.
A gasp escaped him as her hand delved under his shirt, her fingers tracing against his burning chest but to him, her touch felt like someone had allowed ice to run down his torso. After a moment he moved his lips back down to her neck, pushing the material down as he kissed over her torso gently, glancing back up at her for a second, casting her a look of questioning.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “I told you, I want this. I want /you/.” She pulls at his shirt, dragging it over his head, then scrapes her nails down his chest. “Please.” By dint of some writhing, including a lot of arching of her body against his, she frees one arm from her dress.
Summer puts her head back for him, exposing her throat. Her hands slide down his body, spanning his waist, sliding lower to grip at his hips. “Mordred,” she says, and it comes out a whimper, pleading. She drops her hands to fumble at the lacing of her bodice.
Mordred’s fingers found the lace of her bodice, skillfully helping her loosen the fabric around her body, silently cursing himself for not being able to hold out like he had told her. The knight turned his attention back to her lips, ceasing the formation of any other words for the time being.
She’s so open to him now, the thread of curses intrudes like a slash of lightning. But then he’s kissing her again, muffling any words she might form. The weight and warmth of his body soon drives it from her mind; she slips her hands under his loose shirt and delights in the flesh she finds there. She counts each rib, moving upward to find the tense muscles of his shoulders.
The growl makes her shudder, in a good way. There’s an ache low in her body, and there’s not nearly enough skin. Please, she thinks, please Mordred; the thought is tangled up with yearning and need. She kisses harder, craving his mouth, his hands.
Mordred flips them over so he is on top of her, his lips trailing down over her jaw, his knee moving in between her legs. “I lied,” he whispers, nipping at the skin on her neck, “I can’t wait.”
Summer puts her head back for him, exposing her throat. Her hands slide down his body, spanning his waist, sliding lower to grip at his hips. “Mordred,” she says, and it comes out a whimper, pleading. She drops her hands to fumble at the lacing of her bodice.
She can’t help writhing in his hold, instinctively pressing harder against the length of his body. She’s half lying on top of him now, one hand climbing into his hair to somehow try to merge them closer. She makes a sound low in her throat, something between a moan and a whimper, and all but melts under his mouth.
He tilts his head, wrapping his leg around her own, pulling her closer to him. A soft growl escaped him as he nipped down on her lip again, pulling her on top of him.
The growl makes her shudder, in a good way. There’s an ache low in her body, and there’s not nearly enough skin. Please, she thinks, please Mordred; the thought is tangled up with yearning and need. She kisses harder, craving his mouth, his hands.