Lochlann realized he'd lost control when Guinevere slowed her movements and his body responded as easily as if she'd choreographed this. He hadn't wanted to slow down--Lochlann wanted to rut into her like a buck taking a doe in heat.
He realized that, even though his hands were on her hips, they were doing nothing more than keeping them together. When she kissed him and her ass rose in the air, Lochlann cupped one cheek in his palm and squeezed it appreciatively.
He'd wanted to spank her. What the hell was he doing?
The woman ontop of him was warm and sensual. Her mouth on his was the taste of a summer afternoon. It was the feel of lying on a beach and having waves lapping at his toes, the blissful pleasure of being alone with no one watching.
But there was danger there, too, and when she jerked back, he thrust into her slick cunt with a new appreciation.
Her fingers came back down to his neck and Lochlann's eyes shot open wide. He'd been expecting this, but it didn't mean he wanted it.
"Please, don't," he whispered, or tried to, because Guinevere caught off his breath. She drowned him with her body, rising and falling up and down on his cock, carrying him away in the sweeping current of her body. He watched her breasts sway and listened to the wet, slapping sounds of her flesh sinking over his over and over again. Guinevere Haze had infected him and this was a fever he couldn't sweat out.
Spots danced on the edge of his vision and his back arched and forced himself further up into her when she echoed his words back to him.
She couldn't do that to him.
He refused to let her do this to him.
He didn't have a choice.
She told him to come and Lochlann barely had time to gasp the words, "But you're mine!"
He thrust up hard into her, sinking every last inch of himself inside her. Lochlann exploded inside of her tight cunt. He felt Guin come after him. Her pussy milked him and their combined fluids dripped down his shaft and onto his pelvis but he didn't care. Each grip of her body against his prolonged his orgasm and Lochlann realized he was gasping for breath, but couldn't breath because her hands were still around his throat.
Guinevere relaxed her grip on his throat and sank onto his chest, and Lochlann's arms embraced her while his cock continued to pump inside of her. The intensity of this had made him dizzy, but it had frightened him, too. He'd never felt something like this with another person before. Why Guinevere?
His heart was racing and he was so, so dizzy. Lochlann swallowed and his bruised throat pressing against her face with the movement. He closed his eyes and held her to him. He was trying to pretend that he wasn't shaking.
"Fuck, christ, fuck, guin," he whispered. He whispered all the things that he couldn't say when he was coming. Her name was a stream of pleading curses and something dangerously close to a sob, but Lochlann wasn't crying. He couldn't cry. That was something humans did.
The sky outside had turned a strange shade of blue that somehow made the room seem darker. Dawn was on the way, but the stars will still the brightest thing in the sky.
He breathed the scent of her hair and licked a bead of sweat from her neck, but there was no more lust behind this action. There was still the faintest traces of need behind it, too, but none of the burning hunger that usually followed a hard fuck.
Guinevere Haze had drowned him. He'd told her he wanted to kill her, but he almost felt like she'd fucked the urge out of him.
That scared him, too, because now Lochlann was afraid he'd be caught off guard. He never knew when the hunger was going to sink in. It was a slow, slithering thing like a snake. It would coil and coil around him and then strike when he least expected it and pump him full of venom.
They'd fucked like animals, but Guinevere made him feel human.
He swallowed again and the action burned him.
He ran his hands through the back of her hair, but he wasn't sure if the action was supposed to soothe her or himself.
One thing was certain: Lochlann did not want to go back.
"Guin," he whispered. Her name was a statement, a question, and a plea.
He did not want to admit that this had been a night of firsts for him. He didn't want to give her anymore power than she already had. He didn't want to feel helpless.
His eyes moved slowly around her room, to their reflection in the mirror, to the window, to the plush horse sitting silently on her dresser.
"Thank you," he whispered. "You don't know what you did for me."
He realized that, even though his hands were on her hips, they were doing nothing more than keeping them together. When she kissed him and her ass rose in the air, Lochlann cupped one cheek in his palm and squeezed it appreciatively.
He'd wanted to spank her. What the hell was he doing?
The woman ontop of him was warm and sensual. Her mouth on his was the taste of a summer afternoon. It was the feel of lying on a beach and having waves lapping at his toes, the blissful pleasure of being alone with no one watching.
But there was danger there, too, and when she jerked back, he thrust into her slick cunt with a new appreciation.
Her fingers came back down to his neck and Lochlann's eyes shot open wide. He'd been expecting this, but it didn't mean he wanted it.
"Please, don't," he whispered, or tried to, because Guinevere caught off his breath. She drowned him with her body, rising and falling up and down on his cock, carrying him away in the sweeping current of her body. He watched her breasts sway and listened to the wet, slapping sounds of her flesh sinking over his over and over again. Guinevere Haze had infected him and this was a fever he couldn't sweat out.
Spots danced on the edge of his vision and his back arched and forced himself further up into her when she echoed his words back to him.
She couldn't do that to him.
He refused to let her do this to him.
He didn't have a choice.
She told him to come and Lochlann barely had time to gasp the words, "But you're mine!"
He thrust up hard into her, sinking every last inch of himself inside her. Lochlann exploded inside of her tight cunt. He felt Guin come after him. Her pussy milked him and their combined fluids dripped down his shaft and onto his pelvis but he didn't care. Each grip of her body against his prolonged his orgasm and Lochlann realized he was gasping for breath, but couldn't breath because her hands were still around his throat.
Guinevere relaxed her grip on his throat and sank onto his chest, and Lochlann's arms embraced her while his cock continued to pump inside of her. The intensity of this had made him dizzy, but it had frightened him, too. He'd never felt something like this with another person before. Why Guinevere?
His heart was racing and he was so, so dizzy. Lochlann swallowed and his bruised throat pressing against her face with the movement. He closed his eyes and held her to him. He was trying to pretend that he wasn't shaking.
"Fuck, christ, fuck, guin," he whispered. He whispered all the things that he couldn't say when he was coming. Her name was a stream of pleading curses and something dangerously close to a sob, but Lochlann wasn't crying. He couldn't cry. That was something humans did.
The sky outside had turned a strange shade of blue that somehow made the room seem darker. Dawn was on the way, but the stars will still the brightest thing in the sky.
He breathed the scent of her hair and licked a bead of sweat from her neck, but there was no more lust behind this action. There was still the faintest traces of need behind it, too, but none of the burning hunger that usually followed a hard fuck.
Guinevere Haze had drowned him. He'd told her he wanted to kill her, but he almost felt like she'd fucked the urge out of him.
That scared him, too, because now Lochlann was afraid he'd be caught off guard. He never knew when the hunger was going to sink in. It was a slow, slithering thing like a snake. It would coil and coil around him and then strike when he least expected it and pump him full of venom.
They'd fucked like animals, but Guinevere made him feel human.
He swallowed again and the action burned him.
He ran his hands through the back of her hair, but he wasn't sure if the action was supposed to soothe her or himself.
One thing was certain: Lochlann did not want to go back.
"Guin," he whispered. Her name was a statement, a question, and a plea.
He did not want to admit that this had been a night of firsts for him. He didn't want to give her anymore power than she already had. He didn't want to feel helpless.
His eyes moved slowly around her room, to their reflection in the mirror, to the window, to the plush horse sitting silently on her dresser.
"Thank you," he whispered. "You don't know what you did for me."