Every word out of her mouth is another scream of desire in his head, in the marrow of his bones. The way she wiggles in his lap in reaction to his lips is irresistible, his trousers more uncomfortable by the second with her straddling him. She used to be so innocent, such a cheeky, sweet little girl, and he supposes she still is. Every now and again a thought surfaces as though to suggest that this is an awful idea, and every other neuron in his brain converges to destroy it before it can form.
While she speaks, his thumb strokes up and down the curve of her shoulder blade, over the back of her shoulder, down her ribs. How bizarre, how unreal, to see her like this now--and how beautiful. The libertine in him could sob for joy, particularly at her confession, so sweet and shy and perfectly pure in the desires it reveals. His hands rove up and down her waist, tightening when she grinds against the bulge in his pants. Shocks of pleasure shoot straight through him, good as shooting up, and he grins and nuzzles up against her mouth.
"Such language, little girl. Where did you get a mouth like that, hm?" Grinning wider, he flicks a glance down to the skirt she grips and he shudders, a groan falling from his lips. "Oh, Salome, Jesus, yes." He nips her lower lip and his hands slide down, past hers, his palms stroking up and down her thighs. The tips of his fingers brush experimentally over her panties, the contact enough to steal all the air from his lungs, this is disgusting and wrong and beautiful. He pushes her back, plucks her from his lap by the hips and lays her down upon the bed to slide her skirt from her legs. The trail of kisses starts at her ankle, then continues up her knee, her thigh, completely skips the portion of her that most wants his attention, and makes his way up until he's kissing that mouth.
What words he can manage come between his kisses, his hand reaching down between her thighs while his tongue probes against her lips and his voice pours out into her mouth. "Of course it's wrong. But that just makes me want to fuck you all the more." His fingers slide over the wet mess she's already making over her panties and it provokes a sharp moan from him, the pressure in his pants unbearable but permissible for now. "Daddy wants to fuck you so bad it's driving him crazy, but it's important that we take our time."
His hand slides into her panties, now; slow, gentle, affectionate, while it makes its way down toward the pair of lips that's far damper than the ones he speaks against. "Because I want you to have a nice, nice time, Salome." His fingers slide down into that valley, not daring to push inside her, but acquainting themselves with her soaked terrain, and his eyes fall closed in absolute awe for what he feels. Every sudden jolt of reality hops its rails and turns to instant pleasure. "We've got all evening, and I don't want to hurt you right now, so we'll go nice and patient and slow."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-07-29 07:33 pm (UTC)While she speaks, his thumb strokes up and down the curve of her shoulder blade, over the back of her shoulder, down her ribs. How bizarre, how unreal, to see her like this now--and how beautiful. The libertine in him could sob for joy, particularly at her confession, so sweet and shy and perfectly pure in the desires it reveals. His hands rove up and down her waist, tightening when she grinds against the bulge in his pants. Shocks of pleasure shoot straight through him, good as shooting up, and he grins and nuzzles up against her mouth.
"Such language, little girl. Where did you get a mouth like that, hm?" Grinning wider, he flicks a glance down to the skirt she grips and he shudders, a groan falling from his lips. "Oh, Salome, Jesus, yes." He nips her lower lip and his hands slide down, past hers, his palms stroking up and down her thighs. The tips of his fingers brush experimentally over her panties, the contact enough to steal all the air from his lungs, this is disgusting and wrong and beautiful. He pushes her back, plucks her from his lap by the hips and lays her down upon the bed to slide her skirt from her legs. The trail of kisses starts at her ankle, then continues up her knee, her thigh, completely skips the portion of her that most wants his attention, and makes his way up until he's kissing that mouth.
What words he can manage come between his kisses, his hand reaching down between her thighs while his tongue probes against her lips and his voice pours out into her mouth. "Of course it's wrong. But that just makes me want to fuck you all the more." His fingers slide over the wet mess she's already making over her panties and it provokes a sharp moan from him, the pressure in his pants unbearable but permissible for now. "Daddy wants to fuck you so bad it's driving him crazy, but it's important that we take our time."
His hand slides into her panties, now; slow, gentle, affectionate, while it makes its way down toward the pair of lips that's far damper than the ones he speaks against. "Because I want you to have a nice, nice time, Salome." His fingers slide down into that valley, not daring to push inside her, but acquainting themselves with her soaked terrain, and his eyes fall closed in absolute awe for what he feels. Every sudden jolt of reality hops its rails and turns to instant pleasure. "We've got all evening, and I don't want to hurt you right now, so we'll go nice and patient and slow."