possessive.
Perhaps my nails finally dug in enough, through his shirt, to relay the brink he’d brought me to. He stopped moving. Pressed his lips to mine--down below. Held them there, with his eyes closed.
Savored the taste of me.
Talk about a sweet, sweet moment. I felt the pressure of his lips--up through the core of my body. It shot spirals of something warm through me. Speared me all the way to my heart.
That made my eyes pop open. Yes, I wanted to cry.
He must’ve felt my whole body heave in preparation, in fighting it. Another kiss followed, very soft, immensely brief, and then he sat up on his knees. Had to push himself up with some effort. Took a minute.
I hadn’t realized how his fingers had been sliding over my legs and my hips, holding me while he adjusted to the different angles required in his lovemaking kisses. At least, not until he pulled them from me, and rested them on his own hips, looking down at me. At the golden curls between my legs.
Gingerly, he reached out again, as if he couldn’t stand not touching me there. In awe?
He said, “You’re--” His voice trailed off.
I felt sure that he’d been ready to say 'beautiful'. I’d heard that before.
He seemed to be searching for a better word. It made me smile, a little. I couldn’t wait to see what he came up with.
“What?” My voice sounded husky.
Of course it did. I’d been purring for so long, it was amazing I could even form words at all.
It took a minute, but his brow furrowed, and he said with a hard swallow, “Taboo.” It made him sad, and self-deprecating. I could see it in his eyes. And I felt bad for that.
“I’m sorry.” It was the first time I was ever sorry for being bastet.
But not the last. That’s another story.
In one fluid motion, I rolled up to a sitting position, slid up to him, wrapped my legs around him and cupped his face. It felt round in my hands. So...big.
His puppy dog eyes got me.
I kissed him, just a quick, plush sort of kiss. His lips were swollen-feeling to mine. Or maybe mine were. I don’t know. It felt cushy. Wet. Perfect. Very lovable.
Putting my forehead to his, I said, “Don’t think. Okay?” I knew he was having second thoughts, trying to get a grip, to remember how wrong it was for the two of us to be together. I had never felt anything so wonderful in my life, though. I couldn’t imagine stopping.
Which is why I started kissing him. Temple to temple. On his forehead. Climbed up onto my knees, holding him to my bosom, begging, “Please don’t stop making love to me.”
He shuddered.
There is nothing more...aching...than feeling a grown man, a man big enough to snap most other guys in half with his bare hands, feeling a man like that shake and tremble beneath your hands. He wrapped his massive arms around me and held on.
He couldn’t get any control, though. At least, I think that’s what he was fighting, because he turned his face upward and muttered, “Gaia help me. I don’t want to stop.”
My fingers slid to the sides of his face again, and my thumbs spread, smoothing his skin through the crow’s feet by his eyes. And I felt tears.
“Please don’t.” I started kissing him frantically, repeating, “Please, please don’t.”
Don’t cry. Don’t stop. Don’t say it’s wrong.
I don’t think he could fight me. Not that he really wanted to. But, he wouldn’t budge when I tried to lay him back, unbuttoning his shirt as fast I could, smoothing it over his shoulders, sliding and gliding my hands over him, feeling every contour. I couldn’t get enough of that. I was afraid that he’d push me away, so I put my lips to his and kissed him deep. Undressing him. Got the shirt off. Undid his pants. Fumbling effort, but I managed it.
When he
Perhaps my nails finally dug in enough, through his shirt, to relay the brink he’d brought me to. He stopped moving. Pressed his lips to mine--down below. Held them there, with his eyes closed.
Savored the taste of me.
Talk about a sweet, sweet moment. I felt the pressure of his lips--up through the core of my body. It shot spirals of something warm through me. Speared me all the way to my heart.
That made my eyes pop open. Yes, I wanted to cry.
He must’ve felt my whole body heave in preparation, in fighting it. Another kiss followed, very soft, immensely brief, and then he sat up on his knees. Had to push himself up with some effort. Took a minute.
I hadn’t realized how his fingers had been sliding over my legs and my hips, holding me while he adjusted to the different angles required in his lovemaking kisses. At least, not until he pulled them from me, and rested them on his own hips, looking down at me. At the golden curls between my legs.
Gingerly, he reached out again, as if he couldn’t stand not touching me there. In awe?
He said, “You’re--” His voice trailed off.
I felt sure that he’d been ready to say 'beautiful'. I’d heard that before.
He seemed to be searching for a better word. It made me smile, a little. I couldn’t wait to see what he came up with.
“What?” My voice sounded husky.
Of course it did. I’d been purring for so long, it was amazing I could even form words at all.
It took a minute, but his brow furrowed, and he said with a hard swallow, “Taboo.” It made him sad, and self-deprecating. I could see it in his eyes. And I felt bad for that.
“I’m sorry.” It was the first time I was ever sorry for being bastet.
But not the last. That’s another story.
In one fluid motion, I rolled up to a sitting position, slid up to him, wrapped my legs around him and cupped his face. It felt round in my hands. So...big.
His puppy dog eyes got me.
I kissed him, just a quick, plush sort of kiss. His lips were swollen-feeling to mine. Or maybe mine were. I don’t know. It felt cushy. Wet. Perfect. Very lovable.
Putting my forehead to his, I said, “Don’t think. Okay?” I knew he was having second thoughts, trying to get a grip, to remember how wrong it was for the two of us to be together. I had never felt anything so wonderful in my life, though. I couldn’t imagine stopping.
Which is why I started kissing him. Temple to temple. On his forehead. Climbed up onto my knees, holding him to my bosom, begging, “Please don’t stop making love to me.”
He shuddered.
There is nothing more...aching...than feeling a grown man, a man big enough to snap most other guys in half with his bare hands, feeling a man like that shake and tremble beneath your hands. He wrapped his massive arms around me and held on.
He couldn’t get any control, though. At least, I think that’s what he was fighting, because he turned his face upward and muttered, “Gaia help me. I don’t want to stop.”
My fingers slid to the sides of his face again, and my thumbs spread, smoothing his skin through the crow’s feet by his eyes. And I felt tears.
“Please don’t.” I started kissing him frantically, repeating, “Please, please don’t.”
Don’t cry. Don’t stop. Don’t say it’s wrong.
I don’t think he could fight me. Not that he really wanted to. But, he wouldn’t budge when I tried to lay him back, unbuttoning his shirt as fast I could, smoothing it over his shoulders, sliding and gliding my hands over him, feeling every contour. I couldn’t get enough of that. I was afraid that he’d push me away, so I put my lips to his and kissed him deep. Undressing him. Got the shirt off. Undid his pants. Fumbling effort, but I managed it.
When he
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