[She comes up, closer, her smile quirking the corners of her mouth.]
Well you should be.
[Shes not entirely sure that he realizes what she means when she says that, beyond the charming image of her fingers in her pussy. That she felt secure with his scent around her, that she missed him that much, that no one else was good enough after.
[when he's considered it more with his upstairs brain than the downstairs one, he'll be more than flattered. when it sinks in that she really did mean it, and that this isn't some kind of elaborate foreplay that just happened to get teased out by duplicity, he'll devour this feeling: of being what she wanted most, even for a little while.
for now, he straightens, and slides an arm around her waist to pull her against him, into a luxurious kiss. his hand slips up and down her back.]
Ready when you are, tigress.
[he heads over to his temporary nest, propping the pillows up against the wall for an optimal view.]
[She lives in terror if coming here one day and finding it cold, finding him gone again, but ultimately she canāt think about that. She isnāt thinking about it now, or the fact that he knows how much she thinks about him, how she does, and the opposite isnāt necessarily true.
In any case.
She moves to tug her shirt off and then opens the bag to tug the one she stole on, and ties a red sash at the waist, just to keep the fabric out of the way (and to highlight her breasts: what is she, stupid? No.). She gives a quick stretch. Sets up her music, on her phone.
What follows, then is a slick series of movements. Itās true she was trained as a dancer, both Indian and Mexican, but this is clearly more Indian in background. Itās what they taught her when she was young, before she shifted, to teach her to be at one with her body; mudras with her hands, yes, but it only takes a keen eye to see where each shape her body takes, each leap, each twist, would train someone to fight, too. Itās art and itās practical, showing off her flexibility and her precision.
At some point, her pants, slim and skintight, they go, until sheās just in his shirt.
Sheās watching him, too. Her smile flashes, the more she moves, until sheās on her knees, her legs spread. Sheās too far away for him to touch, or to move without her being able to dance out of his way.
She has a very clever smile as she starts to play with the hem of his shirt.]
[he had every intention of sitting back and relaxing for what he expected would be an outrageously sexy performance, but he completely underestimated just how badly daphne makes him want to touch her. at all times. no matter what she's doing.
but especially now.
so much for lounging back against the pillows - by the time she goes down to her knees, he's leaning forward with a look in his eye that suggests he's strongly rethinking his earlier promise not to touch. she moves like water, and looks so fucking good, wearing nothing but a shirt that once belonged to him.]
You can have my whole fucking wardrobe if this is what you do with it.
[not that there's much of one to speak of, or even will be as he accumulates more modern things, but the point remains.]
[She spreads her legs wider, and uses one hand to lift the hem of the shirt so he can see the slickness in her curls. She's sweating and its making the shirt stick to her a little, to cling to her breasts and her hips just a little more.
Her other hand slips between her legs, but she's just teasing herself, fingertips against her puffy cunt, toying just with the skin there. The truth is that she's watching the way he's looking at her. She wonders how long it'll take before he gives up and moves to touch her.]
You have all those clever calluses. I don't have that.
[She gives a little intake of breath as she presses one fingertip to her clit.
Not really an answer, Daphne. But she wants to see if he growls for her to elaborate.]
[he's watching her like he's trying to take in every detail at once, but when her finger touches her clit he goes very still.]
What else?
[obviously it felt different. how could it not, when their hands are shaped differently, his touch less attuned simply by not being part of her, so all he has to go on is the way she responds to him. he wishes it was his touch she was responding to now - though not yet enough to interrupt what she's letting him watch.]
I want to know how it felt. What you imagined when you slipped your fingers into your wet cunt and thought of me.
[She's clearly rubbing right there, a little more insistently, her hips starting to sway just a little. But she keeps herself in check, even as she lets out a long, pleased breath.]
My fingers aren't as long as yours, or as thick. You always pressed in two, right from the start, you never held back, but I need to use three to even begin to pretend.
[And she does, moving away from her clit. There's the wet sound of her fingers inside of her now, and she tips her head back a little, showing the long line of her throat.]
I would close my eyes and with the smell that lingered I could almost imagine you right there, one hand against me, pushing into me, and your eyes focused right on me. You look like a predator when you touch me.
[She's closing her eyes now, even though he's right there, even though he's watching, and her free hand goes up the length of her torso. It keeps the fabric out of the way, but she catches one breast, catches her nipple between her fingers and toys with it.]
[the curse that leaves his mouth is silent, because her eyes are closed and it feels like a spell's been cast over both of them. he's still frozen, at first, hypnotized by her and everything she's saying to him. the sound of her fingers in her wet cunt goes straight to his cock, already stiffening from watching her, but he barely notices how good he feels when he's so focused on how good she feels right now.
then he moves, shifting forward.]
Keep your eyes closed.
[his voice is very low. he hasn't touched her yet. his mouth is practically watering, but he stays still, closer to her but still apart.]
Take your fingers out, and put your arms behind your head for me.
[There is a very specific moment, something that happens right then.
Daphne doesn't usually submit - in any way, shape, or form, during sex, or anything else, for that matter. It's not that it's not in her nature. It's that no one has ever really merited being handed her submission - no one has ever earned her respect in a way that made it something she was willing to consider.
And it's not that this is submission, precisely. It's vulnerability. It's giving over sensation and control to him, because Charles Vane asked her to, and because over the time they've known each other, he's always understood the respect she demands in a primal way.
So the moment comes, and she takes her fingers out of her cunt, and moves her hand away from her breast. She keeps her eyes closed, and lifts her hands up and behind her head. She's distinctly aware of him, but she's not tracking him with any of her senses, not really.
Instead she opens her mouth just a little, breathes out through it. She knows what she must look like and it's making her wetter, just the feedback of what he looks like when he watches her.]
[he told her to do it, but a part of him thought she wouldn't. and when she does, it stills him all over again because he has to fucking commit it to memory.
talk about a picture he'd like to save for later.
but he just files that away; now's not the time, and he isn't inclined to do it without telling her, and more than anything else he wants her to stay right there, exactly like that, and let him touch her instead.
he settles in front of her, on his knees, watching her face. all he uses are his fingers. they slide slowly over her cunt, rubbing her own slickness over her. let it be like her imagination, still, like he's not really there, but his scent is close and it's his fingers teasing her instead of her own. he doesn't touch her anywhere else, or make a sound.]
[She doesn't open her eyes, but she can tell he's closer now. Her face is relaxed, right until he touches her. It's not a surprise, but the intake of breath makes it clear that she likes it, and she lets out a long sigh, and starts to move her hips. It's a bit like that dance; the pulsing of someone who has mastery over the movements of their own body. Her eyes are squeezed closed, but they're shut, and she's trying to keep this in her head. The smell of him, the way his fingers feel, rough against her, the way he's spreading her own slickness over her cunt, the way that he's just teasing.
She swallows, and licks her lips.]
More.
[She asks, greedy. She's always been greedy for him, from the first moment she met him on that beach and he looked like a lion. From the first time she opened her legs for him and pressed a pair of panties in his back pocket for him to keep, like some kind of treasure that he won.]
he has to grit his teeth to keep from sinking them into her. he wants to suck on her breasts, twist her nipples with his tongue, feel her pulse race and her lips part, or just throw her down and fuck her - but he doesn't want any of it quite as much as he wants to touch her exactly like this. she's exquisite. she is a treasure that he would burn through a fleet of ships to find.
his lips part, but he says nothing as his fingers press inside her with an obscenely wet sound - two of them, like she said. those fingers curl and coax her to ride them, pumping slowly at first, letting it build on her, covering her pussy with the palm of his hand. the chilled air seeps in easily through the broken beams, but he feels like he's melting from the inside out. or maybe she is, and she's taking him with her.]
[He's not moving fast enough for her, but it's fine, because she can move in response, like a dancer, like something fine. She rides his fingers and feels like the entire world is just the two of them. He can always make her feel this way.
She takes a breath.]
Sometimes-
[She must be going insane.]
-sometimes, I would think, if I was yours, if we were somewhere where you could be a pirate and the wildness of the world was our, I would think, Jesus-
[She needs just a second, but she's holding herself up, riding him.]
-I would think that I would be on shore, waiting for you, and I would be like this. Desperate for you. Waiting. Pacing the beach and everyone would know that I was your woman-
[It's a fantasy. It's a fantasy, and she's allowed to have it, but she never actually thought she would tell him. She held it close. The idea of him coming back from sea, to her bed, smelling of the ocean and blood and everything else.]
[if his desire for her is a flame, then every word out of her mouth ignites it into a bonfire. he wants to bring the walls down from her, because her primal nature excites him like nothing else - when she is raw, whether out of pleasure or rage.
of course it makes him diamond-fucking-hard, but it also goes straight to his imagination. when he buries a hand in her hair and crushes her against him for an insatiable kiss, it feels like that fucking moment, when his boots would hit the sand for the first time and he'd have her waiting for him.
fuck, he missed her.
he kisses her like he wants them to devour each other, and his hand finally matches the pace she sets with her hips, fingering her harder and faster than she tries to ride him. his fingers curl into her hair, twisting, catching the back of her head, and he rolls her clit with the ball of his hand, licking into her mouth for a taste of that moment. his woman.
it's completely impossible. even if the worlds they come from turned out to be one and the same, they're separated by hundreds of years, and he's already dead. nor can they have that moment here - the world where they met - because they're trapped here together, and the only separation they've experienced was not nearly so idyllic as putting off to sea.
but if that's all they can get, maybe he'll just fucking take it, because he thinks he might be in love with her.]
[It felt so stupid. That fantasy, that thing she could never have. Even if they weren't separated by dimensions, they were separated by time. He would never get to be hers like that, she would never get to be his, and it felt self-indulgent, but if this is anything it's a moment for self indulgence. That fantasy of waiting, and seeing the ship and knowing, and watching him come ashore and knowing. That he was thinking of her like she was thinking of him, that he may have been filthy and tired and ragged but damned if he was going to wait any longer.
She doesn't open her eyes but she does fling her arms around his shoulders and kisses him back, unable to stop herself now.]
Charles-
[She manages that word, and only that word, before she's kissing him again and trying to press her hips down onto him.]
Add another finger, come on, either you're going to end up with your fist in me or you're going to fuck me so don't hold back.
[Okay, so his hand is too big for that to be easy, and it might not be a thing for something so heated. Something for when they're sated with each other and he can take his time. She suspects, at this moment, that he won't be able to.]
[fuck, that makes him ache so hard it nearly unbalances both of them. vane bites back into the next kiss, and he slides that third finger in alongside the other two, all but dragging her hips against his with the hand thrusting into her pussy.]
I'm gonna fuck you, Daphne.
[she's completely right that he's swiftly losing patience for letting things build, but this last taste of it is too good to just throw aside. he's not going anywhere, certainly not by choice. they'll have whatever time she wants, and he'll open her up to his whole fist.]
[Oh, he wants more of her story, he wants more of her fantasy. Itās his, now, she thinks, something that they can craft together when sheās pressed against his heart and listening to the insistent thump of it, demanding her attention.
But she can give him more now, even as her pussy aches for more, even as she feels skin hunger for all of him.
Her eyes are still closed, shut tight.]
Iād be wet from the second your ship came into view. It might take hours, oh, hell - [there is a desperate keening noise, then, as his fingers spread her open like sheās made for him] - but my body would know, dripping and hot, my nipples tight for you.
No one else would do, Jesus, Charles, my cunt would practically have the memory of the shape of your cock.
[the fact that she hasn't opened her eyes yet drives him a little bit insane. it's like she's there right now, on that beach that doesn't exist, seeing each part of it as she describes it to him. the wind, the sand, the sea.
and he doesn't want to wait anymore.
vane snarls into the kiss, frustrated not by her but by the delay of having to get his dick out. having to take his fingers out of her is the worst part of it, when she's so wet it's leaving streaks on his trousers.
but as soon as he frees his cock, he can lift her up and hook her thighs around his waist, practically gliding inside her within the molten-slick walls of her cunt. that's when he really moans, wrapping both arms around her, clutching at her like he wants to sear every detail into his memory.
it would be wilder than this, in that moment. they would crash into each other like a storm.]
[She gasps, then, and her eyes fly open, and her fingers come up around his head, tangling in his hair, slick smearing there, too. They're going to smell like her, from top to bottom, and she's going to revel in that.
Her whole body clenches around him, and she's biting at his mouth, catching it as she practically rides him, and she whimpers his name against his mouth.]
Just like this, every time, fuck me-
[She pulls him, leaning back, one hand coming behind her to catch their weight and pull him down over her, her legs tight around his slim waist, trying to get him to move into her faster.]
[vane falls with her immediately, more than willing to be dragged into her, demanded, like they really are making up for lost time. the way it felt before, when he'd just returned to the city and she welcomed him back, unconditionally.
he hadn't expected that.
so he presses her down into the bundle of covers, thrusting into her at the ruthless pace she wants, but he keeps one hand buried in her hair, his mouth against her beautiful neck. he wants the scent of her to be everywhere, to surround his bed for when he wants to lie there and think of her. deeper than that, he wants to be certain that she thinks of him, too, when he's not there.
then he bites her at the curve of her shoulder. last time, that left a mark.]
[That's going to leave another mark; it takes a few days for a bite to disappear from her skin. She knocks her head back and cries out, her pussy practically milking his cock as she comes. Her entire body rocks up against him, and to her shock, there's a second orgasm chasing the first one.
She reaches to tug his face up to hers, to give him a kiss and then press their foreheads together, her nose against his.]
Come for me, I want you to, I want you to feel good, Charles.
[she's done her part, he feels fucking incredible. if there was any air left in his lungs when she pulls him against her like that, he'd kiss her, but it's almost a nuzzle instead as he gasps and thrusts into her quaking body.
then he comes, filling her up with his cock so that it spills out deep inside her, and he pulls her tightly against him, pressing his face to the mark he's already left behind. she can't possibly know what she does to him, how good she always makes him feel. knowing that would give her more power over him than he wants her to have.]
[She doesn't know. She doesn't know, because she's almost entirely convinced that she wants him more than he could possibly want her. He doesn't know what he's done to her, undone her, obsessed her, unraveled her and rewrote her.
It terrifies her to the center of her.
Her hands come up to hold him tight to her, and her body eases, relaxes, holds him close. She stays there a minute, not moving, not saying anything.
Finally:]
I didn't know just that fantasy would make you so eager.
[he feels the same way she sounds, except for a sharp point of focus on her, and absolutely nothing else beyond that.]
I liked the way it sounded.
[fucking understatement - but it's easier to temper his reaction now that the frenzy of it has passed. he manages to work his hand back up into her hair, playing with the long strands.]
Couldn't resist, when it was already affecting you.
[Her own world would not be kind to a man like Vane. There aren't many places that he could have managed, except maybe if he were kinfolk, living away from the bustle of the modern world. Not because she doesn't think he's capable, but civilization isn't just there, it's relentless, shaping the entire planet. Daphne knows it better than anyone.
So better to focus on his, a world that they can both, to a degree, understand, even if Daphne's perspective is as much out of a book as anything.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Well you should be.
[Shes not entirely sure that he realizes what she means when she says that, beyond the charming image of her fingers in her pussy. That she felt secure with his scent around her, that she missed him that much, that no one else was good enough after.
It hardly matters now. He should be smug.
She comes just close enough to touch.]
Give me a kiss, Charles, then go get comfortable.
no subject
for now, he straightens, and slides an arm around her waist to pull her against him, into a luxurious kiss. his hand slips up and down her back.]
Ready when you are, tigress.
[he heads over to his temporary nest, propping the pillows up against the wall for an optimal view.]
no subject
In any case.
She moves to tug her shirt off and then opens the bag to tug the one she stole on, and ties a red sash at the waist, just to keep the fabric out of the way (and to highlight her breasts: what is she, stupid? No.). She gives a quick stretch. Sets up her music, on her phone.
What follows, then is a slick series of movements. Itās true she was trained as a dancer, both Indian and Mexican, but this is clearly more Indian in background. Itās what they taught her when she was young, before she shifted, to teach her to be at one with her body; mudras with her hands, yes, but it only takes a keen eye to see where each shape her body takes, each leap, each twist, would train someone to fight, too. Itās art and itās practical, showing off her flexibility and her precision.
At some point, her pants, slim and skintight, they go, until sheās just in his shirt.
Sheās watching him, too. Her smile flashes, the more she moves, until sheās on her knees, her legs spread. Sheās too far away for him to touch, or to move without her being able to dance out of his way.
She has a very clever smile as she starts to play with the hem of his shirt.]
It barely smells like you now.
Iāll have to get a new one.
no subject
but especially now.
so much for lounging back against the pillows - by the time she goes down to her knees, he's leaning forward with a look in his eye that suggests he's strongly rethinking his earlier promise not to touch. she moves like water, and looks so fucking good, wearing nothing but a shirt that once belonged to him.]
You can have my whole fucking wardrobe if this is what you do with it.
[not that there's much of one to speak of, or even will be as he accumulates more modern things, but the point remains.]
Did your fingers feel as good as mine?
no subject
Her other hand slips between her legs, but she's just teasing herself, fingertips against her puffy cunt, toying just with the skin there. The truth is that she's watching the way he's looking at her. She wonders how long it'll take before he gives up and moves to touch her.]
You have all those clever calluses. I don't have that.
[She gives a little intake of breath as she presses one fingertip to her clit.
Not really an answer, Daphne. But she wants to see if he growls for her to elaborate.]
no subject
What else?
[obviously it felt different. how could it not, when their hands are shaped differently, his touch less attuned simply by not being part of her, so all he has to go on is the way she responds to him. he wishes it was his touch she was responding to now - though not yet enough to interrupt what she's letting him watch.]
I want to know how it felt. What you imagined when you slipped your fingers into your wet cunt and thought of me.
no subject
My fingers aren't as long as yours, or as thick. You always pressed in two, right from the start, you never held back, but I need to use three to even begin to pretend.
[And she does, moving away from her clit. There's the wet sound of her fingers inside of her now, and she tips her head back a little, showing the long line of her throat.]
I would close my eyes and with the smell that lingered I could almost imagine you right there, one hand against me, pushing into me, and your eyes focused right on me. You look like a predator when you touch me.
[She's closing her eyes now, even though he's right there, even though he's watching, and her free hand goes up the length of her torso. It keeps the fabric out of the way, but she catches one breast, catches her nipple between her fingers and toys with it.]
no subject
then he moves, shifting forward.]
Keep your eyes closed.
[his voice is very low. he hasn't touched her yet. his mouth is practically watering, but he stays still, closer to her but still apart.]
Take your fingers out, and put your arms behind your head for me.
no subject
Daphne doesn't usually submit - in any way, shape, or form, during sex, or anything else, for that matter. It's not that it's not in her nature. It's that no one has ever really merited being handed her submission - no one has ever earned her respect in a way that made it something she was willing to consider.
And it's not that this is submission, precisely. It's vulnerability. It's giving over sensation and control to him, because Charles Vane asked her to, and because over the time they've known each other, he's always understood the respect she demands in a primal way.
So the moment comes, and she takes her fingers out of her cunt, and moves her hand away from her breast. She keeps her eyes closed, and lifts her hands up and behind her head. She's distinctly aware of him, but she's not tracking him with any of her senses, not really.
Instead she opens her mouth just a little, breathes out through it. She knows what she must look like and it's making her wetter, just the feedback of what he looks like when he watches her.]
no subject
talk about a picture he'd like to save for later.
but he just files that away; now's not the time, and he isn't inclined to do it without telling her, and more than anything else he wants her to stay right there, exactly like that, and let him touch her instead.
he settles in front of her, on his knees, watching her face. all he uses are his fingers. they slide slowly over her cunt, rubbing her own slickness over her. let it be like her imagination, still, like he's not really there, but his scent is close and it's his fingers teasing her instead of her own. he doesn't touch her anywhere else, or make a sound.]
no subject
She swallows, and licks her lips.]
More.
[She asks, greedy. She's always been greedy for him, from the first moment she met him on that beach and he looked like a lion. From the first time she opened her legs for him and pressed a pair of panties in his back pocket for him to keep, like some kind of treasure that he won.]
More.
no subject
he has to grit his teeth to keep from sinking them into her. he wants to suck on her breasts, twist her nipples with his tongue, feel her pulse race and her lips part, or just throw her down and fuck her - but he doesn't want any of it quite as much as he wants to touch her exactly like this. she's exquisite. she is a treasure that he would burn through a fleet of ships to find.
his lips part, but he says nothing as his fingers press inside her with an obscenely wet sound - two of them, like she said. those fingers curl and coax her to ride them, pumping slowly at first, letting it build on her, covering her pussy with the palm of his hand. the chilled air seeps in easily through the broken beams, but he feels like he's melting from the inside out. or maybe she is, and she's taking him with her.]
no subject
She takes a breath.]
Sometimes-
[She must be going insane.]
-sometimes, I would think, if I was yours, if we were somewhere where you could be a pirate and the wildness of the world was our, I would think, Jesus-
[She needs just a second, but she's holding herself up, riding him.]
-I would think that I would be on shore, waiting for you, and I would be like this. Desperate for you. Waiting. Pacing the beach and everyone would know that I was your woman-
[It's a fantasy. It's a fantasy, and she's allowed to have it, but she never actually thought she would tell him. She held it close. The idea of him coming back from sea, to her bed, smelling of the ocean and blood and everything else.]
no subject
of course it makes him diamond-fucking-hard, but it also goes straight to his imagination. when he buries a hand in her hair and crushes her against him for an insatiable kiss, it feels like that fucking moment, when his boots would hit the sand for the first time and he'd have her waiting for him.
fuck, he missed her.
he kisses her like he wants them to devour each other, and his hand finally matches the pace she sets with her hips, fingering her harder and faster than she tries to ride him. his fingers curl into her hair, twisting, catching the back of her head, and he rolls her clit with the ball of his hand, licking into her mouth for a taste of that moment. his woman.
it's completely impossible. even if the worlds they come from turned out to be one and the same, they're separated by hundreds of years, and he's already dead. nor can they have that moment here - the world where they met - because they're trapped here together, and the only separation they've experienced was not nearly so idyllic as putting off to sea.
but if that's all they can get, maybe he'll just fucking take it, because he thinks he might be in love with her.]
no subject
She doesn't open her eyes but she does fling her arms around his shoulders and kisses him back, unable to stop herself now.]
Charles-
[She manages that word, and only that word, before she's kissing him again and trying to press her hips down onto him.]
Add another finger, come on, either you're going to end up with your fist in me or you're going to fuck me so don't hold back.
[Okay, so his hand is too big for that to be easy, and it might not be a thing for something so heated. Something for when they're sated with each other and he can take his time. She suspects, at this moment, that he won't be able to.]
no subject
I'm gonna fuck you, Daphne.
[she's completely right that he's swiftly losing patience for letting things build, but this last taste of it is too good to just throw aside. he's not going anywhere, certainly not by choice. they'll have whatever time she wants, and he'll open her up to his whole fist.]
How well would your beautiful body remember me?
no subject
[Oh, he wants more of her story, he wants more of her fantasy. Itās his, now, she thinks, something that they can craft together when sheās pressed against his heart and listening to the insistent thump of it, demanding her attention.
But she can give him more now, even as her pussy aches for more, even as she feels skin hunger for all of him.
Her eyes are still closed, shut tight.]
Iād be wet from the second your ship came into view. It might take hours, oh, hell - [there is a desperate keening noise, then, as his fingers spread her open like sheās made for him] - but my body would know, dripping and hot, my nipples tight for you.
No one else would do, Jesus, Charles, my cunt would practically have the memory of the shape of your cock.
no subject
and he doesn't want to wait anymore.
vane snarls into the kiss, frustrated not by her but by the delay of having to get his dick out. having to take his fingers out of her is the worst part of it, when she's so wet it's leaving streaks on his trousers.
but as soon as he frees his cock, he can lift her up and hook her thighs around his waist, practically gliding inside her within the molten-slick walls of her cunt. that's when he really moans, wrapping both arms around her, clutching at her like he wants to sear every detail into his memory.
it would be wilder than this, in that moment. they would crash into each other like a storm.]
no subject
Her whole body clenches around him, and she's biting at his mouth, catching it as she practically rides him, and she whimpers his name against his mouth.]
Just like this, every time, fuck me-
[She pulls him, leaning back, one hand coming behind her to catch their weight and pull him down over her, her legs tight around his slim waist, trying to get him to move into her faster.]
no subject
he hadn't expected that.
so he presses her down into the bundle of covers, thrusting into her at the ruthless pace she wants, but he keeps one hand buried in her hair, his mouth against her beautiful neck. he wants the scent of her to be everywhere, to surround his bed for when he wants to lie there and think of her. deeper than that, he wants to be certain that she thinks of him, too, when he's not there.
then he bites her at the curve of her shoulder. last time, that left a mark.]
no subject
She reaches to tug his face up to hers, to give him a kiss and then press their foreheads together, her nose against his.]
Come for me, I want you to, I want you to feel good, Charles.
[Her voice is soft, gentle.]
I want you to. I want you.
no subject
then he comes, filling her up with his cock so that it spills out deep inside her, and he pulls her tightly against him, pressing his face to the mark he's already left behind. she can't possibly know what she does to him, how good she always makes him feel. knowing that would give her more power over him than he wants her to have.]
Oh, fuck, Daphne.
no subject
It terrifies her to the center of her.
Her hands come up to hold him tight to her, and her body eases, relaxes, holds him close. She stays there a minute, not moving, not saying anything.
Finally:]
I didn't know just that fantasy would make you so eager.
[She sounds hazy, a little drunk.]
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I liked the way it sounded.
[fucking understatement - but it's easier to temper his reaction now that the frenzy of it has passed. he manages to work his hand back up into her hair, playing with the long strands.]
Couldn't resist, when it was already affecting you.
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Is that how it would have gone?
[Her own world would not be kind to a man like Vane. There aren't many places that he could have managed, except maybe if he were kinfolk, living away from the bustle of the modern world. Not because she doesn't think he's capable, but civilization isn't just there, it's relentless, shaping the entire planet. Daphne knows it better than anyone.
So better to focus on his, a world that they can both, to a degree, understand, even if Daphne's perspective is as much out of a book as anything.]
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