the_gene_genie | OOM: Texas, 1888. Just outside Oakville

She nods gently, settling herself astride him. The kiss is reassuring, and she goes back in for another.

Just relax, Kate. Relax.

She moans quietly, not breaking from his lips. Her hands move between them, and before she guides him to her opening she spends a few seconds stroking him, recalling all the things that drove him crazy earlier. She doesn't want this to be disappointing for him. She wants to make him as excited as he makes her.

He moans quietly when her hands stroke him, and his hands curl around her backside, easing her forward, silent encouragement to sit down on him.

It'd be hard for this to be disappointing for him - unless he can't get her off. Then it would be, and a firm blow to his ego as well.

'Take your time. He's not' goin' anywhere.'

He hopes.

She snickers softly, tension easing from her shoulders.

"Not yet, anyway."

She hopes.

She draws in a deep breath, circling his corona with the pad of her finger. Grasping to the lingering satisfaction of her orgasm, she brings one hand to the brass headboard and eases down on him, running his head along her slit before pressing him to her opening. She doesn't break eye contact, almost level with him for once and needing to see the look in his gorgeous blue eyes.

'Don' you listen to her,' he mutters, in the direction of his cock.

Yes, he talks to his penis. Sometimes.

But not for long, this time. No danger of losing his edge when she plays with him like that; he's definitely got a weakness for the gentle touch. And as they're almost level, she'll be able to see the lust in his eyes when she eases down on him. Should certainly be able to feel the way his hands tighten, and hear the way he sucks his breath over his teeth.

There are so many things to tease him for. Every time she turns around, he's given her fresh ammunition. She'll save it for later this time, only because he's already shut up, and likely for the same reasons she's not speaking either.

There's a distinct femininity in the way her breath catches, in the little tremor, and gasp. This is a whole new way of doing things, and she finds already that she likes it. Having the control of riding him, while still being able to look in his eyes, feel his hands on her, touch her chest to his.

She takes him in as deep as last night and pauses. A wrinkle forms in her brow, and she allows her eyes to slip shut for a second. She hums, a quite mmm that sounds like she's taken a bite of something truly decadent.

He smiles breathlessly, and brings one hand up to caress her breast, dragging his thumb lightly over the nipple.

'Better?'

It's looking promising. And feeling even more so. He loves this position too, because it gives a great view of her chest, and can be varied to suit.

He leans in, turns his head so he can kiss her throat softly, and taste the sweat there. His turn to hum in appreciation, though he doesn't try and push her down further. She can take all the time she needs.

She moves her hips in a slow, circular motion, testing and savoring, adjusting. She nods, a quiet mm-hm falling from her lips before she reopens her eyes, and catches him just before he leans in to kiss her. She sighs, moving her hand to his shoulder, and carefully starts to rock.

He loses a moan as soon as she starts, muscles tensing through his shoulders. But he reminds himself to breathe easy, and is glad she already sorted him out once today, so that this is less desperate than it might have been. He can relax, let her play, let himself enjoy her body.

So he leans back, resting his head against the wall and watching her from under half-lowered lids. His hand remains at her breast, the other helping her keep steady, curled around the taut swell of her backside. The steady roll of pleasure washing through him can be seen in the sharp bobbing of his Adam's apple; when she clenches too hard his eyes close, and he can't swallow at all, holding his breath until a grunt escapes and frees him again.

It's still more passive than he generally likes, but when she's this tight, it doesn't matter. Any position's going to get him off, it's just a matter of holding off until she's had her fill. And anyway, she looks bloody gorgeous like this.

She's so careful at first, more steady than slow; grateful for the natural lubrication of her orgasm. Once they find a rhythm it's more about the penetration than the speed. Every time he pushes her limits she gasps, slows a bit, and has to find her bearings again.

It really doesn't take that long. Her hand slides over his knuckles, cupping the back of his hand the way he's cupping her breast. She holds onto the headboard, desperate to keep it from knocking against the wall as they move. And then she's free to speed up in increments.

She's still putting forth a lot more concentration than would likely make them both most comfortable. Concentrating on keeping the thrusts light; concentrating on keeping the rhythm; concentrating on making this good for him. However, she catches herself every now and then. She'll lean in, feather her lips over his, kissing him so gently it's barely there at all, leaving wet, warm prints behind her as she moves on to someplace new.

His eyes are more closed than open now, breathing in small, soft pants. She is so tight. She is so tight, and it doesn't matter how she moves, she's locking him in a velvet fist and squeezing the damn life out of him. It's almost painful, but in a really good way; any worse, and he'd fear for Sergeant Rock's ability to keep his concentration. But it's not that bad, adds a delicious layer of pain to the pleasure, and he's starting to tighten up, cinched a little tighter every time her lips touch him.

He's worried, though, that she isn't enjoying it as much as she could. He can feel the tension in her hand on his, in the clenching of the muscles of her arse.

'Relax, luv,' he murmurs, next time she kisses him, barely able to respond with the way the angle changes, and takes his breath away.

'Jus' relax. Or try leanin' back.'

Women like that, he knows. It hits them in the right place. Though he doesn't know how he'll cope with it if she tries.

"Ohh, sorry. Sorry, sorry."

She assumes he's complaining that she's squeezing him too tight. Not that she'd blame him. Her walls spasm now and then, setting off rockets of pleasure that are quickly snuffed by the tight twinge of pain.

She sits up straight, pulling in a few deep breaths. Her eyes are bluer than usual, sharp and bright even in this low light. She nods gently, keeping her eyes on his, and eases herself back. She presses the heels of her palms to his thighs, keeping with the rhythm.

Her teeth pull at her bottom lip, and once again her eyes are sliding shut as she moans — an oh baby lost somewhere in the sound.

'No no no, s'fine.

More than fine. And oh God, she's moaning. His eyes clamp shut, and he works his jaw, struggling not to move up into her. No way is he going to ruin this now by losing control and hurting her, no matter how much his body screams for it.

A hand slips over her leg and pauses, because the flush of her skin feels warm. It's nice to know he's got her worked up, but he needs more, needs to help her along. So his fingers seek out her clit, fingering it lightly to see how she likes it.

"Jesus, Gene."

She takes a sharp breath and holds it. If that isn't indication enough of her approval, the way her hands tighten on him and her head rolls back should give her away. Her hair tickles at her knuckles.

She's sensitive to him. Every time he pulls a reaction out of her she loses the rhythm of her hips, and it switches up her speed and angle.

He lets ous a tight laugh, more a huff of breath than anything.

'Hold still a minute.'

He's moving, but carefully, in case the slight change in body position pushes him deeper by accident. He's just leaning forward though, because with her leaning back like that, her tits look magnificent. He can't resist getting his mouth on them. So he flicks his tongue over a nipple, still working his fingers gently, and tries his hardest not to think about how good she looks.

She laughs breathlessly.

He had her worried there for a moment, but as soon as she sees him dipping toward her chest she feels all of her tension unwind. Ridiculous. She brings one hand around to cradle the back of his head, pulling her nails lightly down the nape of his neck. Mercy, he knows a woman's body.

"S'good."

Slowly, she starts to move again. Pressing into his touch as much as she can. Her nails continue down his neck, dragging up and down the length of his spine.

"I-I like that."

'Good.'

His lips pull at it gently, and OK, he might rock up into her slightly. But really, hardly at all. It's just that the tension is starting to kill him a bit, and his shoulders ache from holding it all in his muscles.

''cos I do too. You've got bloody lovely tits.'

She groans quietly.

"Where ever did y'learn t'speak t'women like that? S'like — oh — like poetry."

She smirks, and almost immediately dissolves into an expression of pain and pleasure.

'Sorry, sorry.'

He forces himself to still once more, using all sorts of swear words in his head that rarely come out of his mouth.

'Anyway. You said you...di'n want poetry.'

He pulls at the nipple again, twisting off it lightly as his fingers press harder.

'An' you don' seem t'be complainin' at the moment.'

Miracle.

Edited 2011-09-21 02:16 (UTC)

She works her jaw, fingers pressing into his thigh so hard he'll end up with little moon-shaped indentations in his skin, all to keep herself from crying out.

"No."

It takes her a few seconds to pull herself back together and breathe. The hand she had at his back curls around his jaw, gently cupping his face in an attempt to get his attention. She looks at him through her lashes; her eyes have grown dark again.

"Don't stop."

She wants to feel him move inside her.

His eyes flick up to meet hers, showing all the pent-up lust he's trying to hold back.

'Sure?'

He forces himself to sound neutral about it, so she doesn't feel pressured into taking the pain for his sake. But oh God, he wants to so bad. Give anything to be able to move.

She tugs at him gently, nodding before she tips her head and moves in to kiss him.

"Gently?"

She kisses him again, deep and full of passion.

"Slow."

But she wants him to. She wants him to hold her, and move with her. She wants him to take her.

She just wants him.

'Yeah. Yeah, OK.'

He speaks between kisses, as tiny spasms of arousal flare through him in anticipation, pads of his fingers rubbing tiny circles between her legs. He has to take his hand away though, just for a bit. Just to steady her as he leans back against the wall, and draws his knees up until his feet are flat on the bed.

Perhaps he should give her a heads up. But he doesn't, because he doesn't want her to tighten up in anticipation. He just holds her hips still, and pulls back an inch or so, then pushes up into her, so slowly he's barely sure he's doing it. He must be though, because a bolt of pleasure shoots up into his gut, and blossoms outwards, seeping through his system as he pulls back to do it again.

'How's that feel?'

Her breath shudders in her lungs.

For a moment, she can't speak, she can't breathe — she can't even see. It isn't until he's pulling back to do it all again, his sandpaper whisper in her ears, that she can feel how tight her stomach has gone, her hands wrapped around his thighs, and the pulse of pleasure working its way through every inch of her.

"Good."

She can't help but feel a little tense, feel that urge to draw back when he thrusts up; but with the discomfort comes the most exquisite relief having him work with her. It pools in her chest, as if a great weight has been lifted.

"Perfect. Jus' li-like that."

''K.'

He swallows hard, and shuts his eyes again, forcing himself to keep it gentle. He's holding his breath as he pushes up , carefully not going any further than last time, feeling the squeeze lock up his body, muscle by muscle, as the sensation swells through him.

'Tell me...if you...wan' more.'

She's biting her lip again, playing with it, the sensation of her teeth dragging over her skin a counterbalance to the rocking of his body. The flesh sneaks out from under her ivory whites, a pop of cherry pink to her pale skin. She moans quietly.

"Please."

She touches one of his hands, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. Carefully rolling her hips to his rhythm. Upping the tempo just slightly.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject