If there’d ever been a moment that she’d been glad for Josephine’s insistence that she get a day off, it was now. With her eyes covered, there was little way to tell how much time had passed since the first, strong coils had been wrapped around her arms.She shifts again, slightly, adjusting her knees on the bed. When Bull had asked to be involved in picking out their new bed, she’d assumed it was to make sure they accommodated for his size. Evidently, he’d been more concerned about other things.
A hand skims over the thick of her ass, and she startles, head jerking, and a definite thread of slick leaking from the slit between her thighs. Ancestors help her, everything was just that much more sensitive like this.
“You’re doing good.”
Her ears strain to try and pinpoint the location of that voice - deep, like an echo in a well. She can hear him moving in a circle around her, heavy footsteps, the sound of cloth shifting.
“I’m going to lower you down. Tell me if you feel anything change.”
It’s slow, a gradual drop down into the plush pillows that had been waiting underneath as a safety net of sorts, her breath leaving her in a long, drawn out sigh. The mattress dips, and heat covers the back of her thighs as he leans into her. Deliberate. He could just as easily have undone the knots without the touch, but this is a reminder of his presence.
The sensation is both grounding and a tease, given that like this, any movement she makes to chase the rush of pleasure spiking in her belly will make it hard for him to undo the ropework - which means retribution. And tempting as that sounds, she will actually need to be able to walk in front of the comtesses tomorrow, or Vivienne will have her head.
So she waits, quivering, the ache in her cunt exacerbated by the proximity to her desire, until the ropes finally fall loose, and a thick arm slides underneath her belly to tug her hips up. He’s so stupidly big, it’s a wonder she hasn’t fallen apart yet.
Her hands are gathered again, this time in the hold of a palm twice as big as hers; gripped tight, and hot breath runs up the length of her spine to the shell of her ear. A shiver that she knows he can feel with the way he’s pressed up against her, and the low chuckle he lets out burns a path straight to her sex.
He takes the low moan she lets out as assent.
The breath is driven out of her with the first, brutal thrust, filling her to capacity in a way that will ache in the hours to come, the grip on her arms hard enough to bruise the delicate skin, already sensitive from the binds.
“Fuck-” gasped out at the same time as the groan above her echoes off the walls, and she can’t even scratch at the sheets as a distraction - left to bear down on the girth splitting her open, wet noises filling the room punctuated by the slap of skin on skin. Rocked forward with each impact, the whining in her throat a harmony to the low grunts Bull lets out, not pausing in that breakneck pace for a minute.
When he empties himself on the backs of her thighs, it’s not the first time in the day. And it won’t be the last. Not with the Qunari’s appetite - and not with her body’s need to sate him. The next morning will bring the aching, and breakfast in bed, and she’ll cover up the bruises as best as she can before meeting with the comtesses and their roaming eyes.
pixelskylines
stormborns
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
2087
blakekathryn
