A man. Her man. Sometimes the thought that she should have something so wonderful in her possession baffled her. Like now. For no reason that she could understand other than the fact that he was looking at her in that way, dark eyes gleaming between eyelashes sooty and thick with passion.
Intense. Possessive. Hungry.
Grinda lowered her eyes as she dragged her fingertips lightly down his chest. It was hard to meet that gaze sometimes. It made her shiver, made her heart pound, made the blood rush into her cheeks, into her nipples, down into her hips until her whole body throbbed and thrummed and burned.
And when he touched her …
She shivered again, her skin prickling into goose bumps as he brushed his fingers against the side of her right breast, then held her around the ribs, his hand so big against her it almost seemed there was more of him than her.
They were sitting opposite each other, legs crossed, shins pressed up against each other. They often did this, just touching and exploring. The flames of their little fire flickered against their naked skin, turning Grinda scarlet and Mock burnished copper. Not so dark tonight; the moon coasted along a tide of white fluffy clouds.
His hand lowered, cupping her hip, as Grinda dragged her fingertips down his muscular abdomen and into his lap. He sucked in a breath as she touched him there, then arched his neck with a groan that rumbled through his body as she wrapped her hand around him.
Though they had barely known each other three months, it was hard to remember when Grinda hadn’t known him. Had she ever been alone? Had she never not known the warm heat of his hands, his gentle eyes, that smile that made her heart burst with excitement?
Had she ever been a virgin?
He gasped as she smoothed her hand along his length. How could something so hard be so velvety and soft? Up and down, up and down, she stroked him. He dropped his chin, watching her. His eyes were glittering now, almost predatory and oh so very very dark.
He released her hip, clenching both his hands around his knees instead. Veins bulged on the backs of them, up his forearms, across his chest. One throbbed in his temple. Then be began to tremble.
Grinda smiled. How could someone so big and strong be so completely under her power?
A warm droplet of seed trickled over her fingers. Her smile broadened, then she laughed, shattering the quiet of the woods, taunting him. He smiled too but it was dark and dangerous. How long could he last?
She leant towards him, he met her halfway, and they kissed. Soft and slow, their lips barely brushing, their tongues sweeping briefly against each other, though she knew how Mock must be fighting to hold himself back.
Pulling away, she touched his hair, ran it through her fingers, then touched his knee, his inner thigh, slowly walking her fingers back towards his groin. Mock grunted, licked his lips, shifted as his cock engorged even more. It was red now. Scarlet. Thick and hard. Another bead of seed glistened at the tip.
He grunted again as she touched one of his balls. His ribs rippled beneath the muscles of his broad chest as he began to pant, then gasp. She was stroking them both now, so soft and wrinkled in her hand. She winced. Not so long ago they were gone, nothing but a bloodied mess between his legs. Closing her eyes, she took a breath.
She opened them again. He swallowed, gritted his teeth. The big tendon in his neck strained. Sweat beaded the hairs on his chest, more pooled in the creases of his abdomen.
No need for him to ask, to beg, to plead. She crawled into his lap.
Mock released a breath, tried to suck in another but it caught in his throat. Her lower parts were soft and warm against him—and very wet. He touched her there—sopping. Clutching onto him, she gasped as he stroked her opening.
Then she shifted, and Mock settled his hands on her hips as she grabbed his cock and lifted herself, her warm wetness brushing against his tip as she slowly eased herself over him. Soft, warm, slippery—she encompassed him. Sweat trickled down the side of his face. His heart hammered in his chest so hard he thought he might pass out. He tried not to dig his fingers into her hips as she gazed at him in that way, eyes bright and glittering. She gave a small hiss of discomfort as she took all of him inside. He could feel the muscles of her channel tense around him. Even after all their lovemaking, he was still a tight fit.
Then she relaxed, smiling up at him, no doubt enjoying the look on his face. She liked torturing him, and he couldn’t deny how he liked being tortured. It took everything he had not to erupt right then.
Grinda didn’t move, brushing her hands slowly down his arms. Grabbing one of his hands, she kissed his palm, then tilted her face towards him and they locked lips. Still, she didn’t move. Mock tried to focus on the softness of her mouth, the wetness of her tongue, rather than the warm, soft slipperiness of her insides.
He pulled away, panting, eyes burning in his head. His heart was knocking against his ribcage. All his muscles were tensed to breaking point. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The world had vanished: the clouds, the forest, the ground beneath. All he knew was the ache in his balls, the fire in his cock and that look in Grinda’s eyes.
‘Biala.’ He swallowed, licked his lips. ‘You’re destroying me.’
She touched his face, dragged her fingers through his beard, and finally began to rock. He pulled her against him with a grunt. It was beyond pain and pleasure now. A wild throbbing that burned through his body. He thrust his hips, and she cried out. Deep. Hard. Long. He thrust again. She arched her neck and he kissed her on that pulsing notch at her throat, between her breasts, tongue brushing at her nipple.
That burning became liquid. Molten. She cried out again and it was as though her whole body convulsed around him. A tide. A surge. A crashing wave. Crushing her against him, Mock shuddered. Throbbing. Aching. He shivered, shuddered again, crushed her some more. Pulsing, and he couldn’t tell whether it was him or her.
Finished. Over. But he didn’t let go, still holding her to his chest, feeling how her heart hammered against him. Still, that wild throbbing. Easing now. The sounds of their gasping filled the quiet of the night. Grinda didn’t move, slumped against him, her breath hot in his ear, her skin warm and sticky against his. Brushing away her hair, Mock laid his lips against her neck, simply enjoying the feel of her, the smell of her, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he liked this part more. After everything was done. Being a part of each other.
Connected. United. One person.
Finally, Grinda pulled back, her breasts rising and falling, shining with sweat. Scarlet glowed in her cheeks. Her hair was tousled and damp, her lips swollen and red.
She had never looked so beautiful.
Gently, he gripped her neck with both his hands as he gazed at her, kissed her warmly, gently, achingly. Releasing her, he floated his hands over her shoulders, her breasts, her gasping ribs, his eyes travelling over her curves as he did. He peered into their laps. Her thighs were clamped around his hips, her yellow thatch pressed up against his belly, and he imagined how he must look inside her. His cock gave a small throb at the thought. Still hard but fading quickly.
‘Bial,’ she panted.
He looked up. ‘Biala.’
Smiling, they kissed again, hearts thudding, bodies aching, arms wrapped around each other.
As close as they could get.
Not letting go.