#flash-sweat

He was surrender incarnate, his pleas whispered benedictions against her skin.  Each word arrived wet and trembling on her breasts, the pull of his lips a tantalising tickle against sucked-pink skin.  His vulnerability, the tremor in his body beneath her, deepened her already fierce adoration.  Anri smiled down at him – darling, dark-eyed, daring – and murmured:

“Good boy.”

A hand found his face, fingers caressing his bearded jaw.  His mouth hung open, drunk with pleasure.  Leaning down, Anri kissed that slack mouth, licking over and past those parted teeth.  Laurentius responded, hazy and eager in his need, but she retreated to hover above him, the throne of his hips hers to command.

Gripping the base of his cock – quietly awed by his hardness, the swollen fullness of his balls – she guided him to her entrance and sank slowly into her seat.  The sensation was both a tease and a fulfilment, a shiver rippling through her as she enveloped him, as he filled her.

“Not yet,” she whispered, her voice all velvet and steel.  “I want to come again.”

Then she began to move – not with urgency, but with deliberate, measured rhythm.  Her hips ground against his, pressing him deeper, seeking the most tender places inside her.  Anri’s eyes never left his face – watching him watch her – as her fingers danced across her own body, tracing the soft curve of her milk-pale belly, stroking through golden curls to the delicate spot already thrumming with pleasure.  Drawing circles quick and light, her other hand moved to cup a breast, pinching the dusky peak until she gasped. 

Laurentius’ gaze was glazed with desire, his wrists straining subtly against the restraints, fingers twitching as though they longed to touch her.  Anri clenched around him, and his cock responded with a helpless twitch, each reaction a silent testament to his need.  Mercy, then, as her movements quickened, her rhythm becoming sharp and insistent.  Every impact of her hips against his sent jolts through her body, registering in the soft of her thighs, her belly, her breasts.  

“I love it when you come inside,” she confessed, her voice breathless and honey-sweet.  “I love being full of you.  I love being yours.  I love that you are mine.”

Those words seemed to unravel him.  She felt the tension in his body reach its breaking point, his control slipping as he shuddered at the edge of release. 

“I hope there’s a lot,” she continued teasingly.  “I love it when your come leaks out of me and makes a mess in my panties.”

Her body fluttered, rapid pulses signalling her own impending climax.  

“Come with me, sweetheart,” she urged, her voice a petal-soft command.

At her words, Laurentius surrendered completely.  He had held on so valiantly, so obediently, and now his release was her triumph.  It triggered her own, a simultaneous detonation of pleasure that left them both breathless.  Anri rode him through it, her hips moving with wicked intent, each exaggerated bounce drawing out every last drop, their bodies meeting with a resonant slap.  She ground, rocked, and dragged him deeper into her ecstasy until the sensations bordered on unbearable, until their cries mingled in shared rapture.

As the waves subsided, she collapsed onto his chest, their breaths tangling, their hearts pounding in unison. She pressed a gentle, shivery kiss to the damp hollow of his neck, her lips lingering against his salted skin.

Shyness cracked like a shell under the greedy press of her hips.  Anri clenched – deliberate, distracting – banishing all concern for the unblinking, bead-eye of the phone’s lens. 

Laurentius was so good to indulge her, so good to play pornstars, so good to send his hand skirting along her spine, so good to tangle his fingers in her hair.  It was a show of strength that had gooseflesh rising along her flanks, her back arching, her nipples pebbling.  Eyelids heavy, the smoky scent of the man behind her filling her lungs, Anri obediently lifted her head, facing him in the pool of glass – and then he told her she was a good girl.

“Ohmygod, yes, yes I am,” the words shot from her, though he had spoken a statement rather than a question.  “I want to be so good for you.”

Laurentius looked beautiful – he always did – but now he was behind her, over her.  Any remaining uncertainty had bled from the edges of his face, his focus narrowing onto her like a spotlight.  Yes, let him look, let him see.  No need for stolen glimpses over her shoulder this time, no frantic, fractured seconds of craved eye contact.  Now he could watch, see that every time his pelvis connected with her rear, it sent a ripple running through her, jiggling her backside, jostling her breasts.  Now she could watch, see that each impact reverberated through him too, over his abdomen, all the way to pectorals.

Anri stared, lust-eyed, her pink lips parting as a moan hollowed out her throat, watching as Laurentius pistoned into the place where her body split open like overripe fruit.  Just as sweet, just as juicy.  It almost shamed her how wet she was, how quickly their joining had become a sticky mess, her slick shining on her thighs – on him, beading in his dark curls, dampening his balls as they slapped her folds, striking head into her hooded peak.  It was loud in the quiet of her bedroom, and it was captured on camera – on camera.  Wicked thoughts took hold, and she imagined him alone, watching their movie back, his fist a blur over his length.  Better yet, her mouth wrapped around him while his phone hovered inches from his face, blue light burning in his hazel eyes.

No need for idle daydreams, not now, not in a present that blistered her with its intensity.

“I’m so wet,” she whined then, as if he couldn’t hear and feel it for himself.  Anri watched in the mirror as her flush deepened, sweeping over her cheeks and chest and thighs in a rosy tide.  Her next cry was an unintelligible slurry of sounds that poured from her as Laurentius picked up the pace.  Pale hands gripped the bedsheets in earnest, and she pushed back into every roll of his hips.  Every so often, the angle of his thrusts would plant bruising kisses to some soft, sensitive spot inside of her, the sensation hanging stars in the backs of her eyes.  Close, closer still.  The sound of Laurentius’ skin slapping against hers drowned out the phone, the room, fading them from existence, until all she could focus on was the push and pull of him inside her.  

“I’m yours,” she bleated, a happy whimper bubbling in her throat.  “Your girl – yours.”  

Ever a fanciful creature, she imagined that Laurentius had carved a place in her, that she was moulded to his contours, made to fit him and him alone.  Whatever sins the church branded her with were washed away by him, unseen wounds healed by his hands.  He was all that was holy and good, and he was going to make her come.  The edge snuck up on her like the tide, a violent rush that had her locking up in his grip, startled – crushed under a sudden wave of shyness, an animal urge to hide.  

Closing her eyes, Anri wilted, sinking towards the bed, meaning to bury her face in the crumpled sheets.  Laurentius did not allow it.  Still holding her hair, his hand tightened into a tender fist.  He kept her from falling, his meaning ringing clear even without the feverish no, don’t that slipped through his gritted teeth.  At that, her desire boiled over, and she never lowered her eyes from his, not even when she squealed and bucked and trembled.  

Messy tendrils of hair fell into her face, but Laurentius quickly swept them away, inviting her to stare at their shared reflection – to watch as his stomach tensed, as he rode out the greedy squeeze and pulse of her climax.  Evidently resisting his own release, his hands staggered to grip her hips, holding them so tightly that Anri prayed she would be left with fingertip-sized bruises.

Still shuddering, her throat burning with ragged breaths, she pushed herself up and onto her knees, leaning back to sink herself fully onto him.  Taking one of his twitching hands, she guided it to her belly, so he could feel what she felt, whimpering as his palm pressed against the intrusion.  In the mirror, their reflections were wrecked, blissed out, both shining with sweat, their cheeks stained with blush. 

“God, look at you, you’re perfect...” Anri whispered hoarsely.  Laurentius’ bearded chin came to rest on her shoulder, his broad body haloing hers.  Cheek to cheek, their necks and collarbones kiss-bitten from their foreplay, they watched as his pace slowed to deep, lazy rolls.  Still she took and took everything he gave her, she showed him how good she could be.  She could not have looked away even if she tried, his eyes boring into hers through the mirror. 

Laurentius rutted into her again and again, never breaking eye contact.  His mouth hung open, his gaze glazed over, while Anri’s body sang with the loss of control.  The hand that had pressed into the soft of her belly skirted upward – briefly pausing to palm her breasts – before coming to rest lightly, possessively, on her throat.  Such sweet sounds thrummed beneath the touch.  All she could do was take the pleasure he gave her and be grateful.  Anri licked the bowl clean, pleaded wordlessly for more. 

No circling fingers were needed – another release struck like lightning from the blue, while her body still hummed in the aftermath of the first, and she collapsed under its weight.  Laurentius went with her, still bucking, still driving her on, her breathless and boneless body sandwiched between his and the mattress.  At last his rhythm stuttered, his hips pressing flush against her backside as he poured himself inside her. 

Beneath him, Anri lay like a ragdoll, looking up in exhausted awe.  Kisses rained down on her red face, falling on her hot cheeks, her damp temple, as Laurentius murmured about how good she was:  good and perfect and pretty and his.  Anri listened from the far end of a tunnel, every nerve alight, her heart swollen and raw with adoration, still so full of him.  When she spoke at last, it was through a hazy smile, her voice strangled and thick and adoring:

Hesitance hung itself in her frame, shame burning in her bones.  If not for Laurentius’ steady hands supporting her waist, guiding her, she might have balked.  Instead, Anri settled into place – albeit with less grace than she would have liked – her shins pressed to the pyromancer’s shoulders, her knees bearing her weight.  For a moment, she fluttered with uncertainty, thinking perhaps she should face his feet, that it might be polite to repay his efforts by putting her own mouth to use – 

That thought evaporated the moment Laurentius’ grip tightened, drawing her down to him, wordlessly assuring her that this was precisely where she needed to be.  Warm and wet, his tongue dragged over the soft curve of her inner thigh, tasting the salt of her skin.  Anri’s breath stuttered at this first touch, her fingers instinctively curling into the loose strands of his hair.  When his tongue travelled higher, to trace the very seam of her, a gasp escaped her lips, raw and startled.  

Holding her firmly, Laurentius pulled her closer when she skittishly tried to rise – could he breathe, was she suffocating him?  A growl vibrated into her, protest pouring from a mouth both hot and eager.  It was all the reassurance she needed.  A shiver coursed through her spine, waves of pleasure cresting over her as she relaxed against him.

“Good,” she murmured, the word breaking apart on her tongue, her gentle voice hoarse with awe.

Between her thighs, Laurentius’ face flushed, pleased by the praise.  His hazel eyes were dark with focus, watching her from beyond her mound, but it was the hot cavern of his mouth – gods, his mouth – that ruined her.  Anri whimpered, trembling sweetly under the weight of sensation.  The rasp of his beard scraping against her, the soft but urgent press of his lips, the hum of his breath fanning her flesh.  Emboldened, her grip on his hair tightened, and she spread her legs wider.  

“Your mouth – ” she panted, voice barely a whisper.  “Gods, you are so good to me…” 

Her body moved without thought.  Hips rolled against him, grinding his head into the bedroll, craving more of that velvet mouth, that shameless tongue.

“Don’t stop – just like that,” Anri pleaded, her voice rising, fractured and fervent.  

Laurentius answered not with words but with deeper devotion, a pull that left her breathless.  As he feasted – slurping, sucking, swallowing hard, filling the night with lewd sounds – bliss built inside of Anri in white-hot blocks.  Desperately, instinctively, she pulled him deeper between her legs, rocking her pelvis with more insistence.  Laurentius groaned with what might have been approval, sealing his mouth where she was most sensitive, his nose flattened against her, his breaths coming in heaved huffs.

“Yes!  Yes-yes-yes-yes– ”

Lungs emptied rapidly as the sharp edges of ecstasy took her apart, piece by piece, until she shattered and shook above him, a wail climbing its way out of her throat.  Soot-streaked fingers gouged her rear, Laurentius fighting to keep his face flush, to have her to ride out her release on his tongue.

When at last she sat back on his chest, Anri found him gazing up at her, his handsome, heated face framed by the buttermilk flesh of her thighs.  Hair mussed, mouth glossy, eyes hazy and love-drunk.  There was something tender in his expression – a heady mix of adoration and pride.

With stars hung in her eyes, Anri reached for him. Her fingertips traced the line of his jaw, her arousal beaded in his beard like dew drops, her voice arriving in a breathless and approving murmur.

Firelight painted them in strokes of gold and ember, throwing their shadows long and dark, stretching them into something mythic – two figures carved from stardust and fire, suspended in that primal glow. 

Anri had thought it would be mechanical, this act.  Something understood only by its function, like the stringing of a bow, the setting of a bone.  She had thought it would be nothing more than flesh and heat and movement, feared it would be akin to the loveless rutting of animals.  It was something else, however. Something more. Something bruising and splendid that left her enraptured and unmade by him.

Laurentius – his name hung on her lips like a heavenly banner.  Anri bore down on him, hips rolling in an inexpert rhythm that was instinctive, ancient.  His hands framed her waist, hot fingertips branding her skin, pressing her down until there was nothing left between them.  

She had been warned that men took, that women gave, that desire was a game of scarcity and barter.  But there was no withholding here, no measured meting-out of favours.  She wanted all of him – to be filled with him, to drown in him.

Breath stuttered against his mouth, breaking into a low, shivering moan.  His hands slipped up her back, fingers pressing into moon-pale flesh, guiding her with the ease of a man who had spent his life tending flames – shaping, coaxing, never smothering.

It hurt a little, her thighs trembling as they had when she first learned to ride, legs parted over the barrel-broad back of Ryland’s destrier.  It was that same ache, that same unfamiliarity in learning the shape of another body, in finding a rhythm that did not entirely belong to her.  Pleasure bloomed just beneath the pain, curling at the edges of her consciousness like the first spark to dry tinder – if she moved just so, if he pressed just there – close, so close.

Laurentius groaned, and the sound alone sent something molten shimmering through her, pooling in the pit of her belly.  

“I love you, too.”  Never had she spoken truer words, and the presence of them filled her with something vast, something boundless.  

Heat built between them, the wet slide of her body over his, slick and unrelenting, faster, until his breath stuttered, hips jerking, his voice breaking against her throat as he came undone inside her.  Anri held him through it, arms wrapped around his shoulders, thighs shivering where they bracketed his hips.  Foreheads pressed, their breath mingled in the firelight, the silence between them thick with aftershocks.  

It was a holy thing, to be this close. Watching him break beneath her was like glimpsing the face of god.