Even now it’s an eternal push-and-pull, this needling game between them, nudging each other along and testing each others’ limits and seeing how much they can get away with, what interesting noises and facial expressions the other one might make—
And it’s his blue eyes trapped on the direction and then lazy movement of Gwenaëlle’s fingers, the artful angle of her knee (this is a woman who has posed for nude paintings, if anyone’s forgotten). The sudden dry-mouthed heart-pounding want of it all, ratcheting straight to his dick. The heat in his gaze. It feels like she’s thrown a bomb into the room; it’s a wonder his control on his magic doesn’t slip and the bed canopy doesn’t just catch fire.
It turns out it’s easier, when you’re being egged on.
Stephen reaches up, and hauls off his shirt.
She knew his proportions to a mathematical degree, he’d been briefly shirtless in front of her when she had to tailor his shirt, but the context is entirely different now as he eases up the bed and between her legs.
“You’re a menace,” Stephen says, fond — he’s thought it before, certainly, but is this the first time he’s told her in those exact words? it might very well be, and it’s accompanied by him hitching Gwenaëlle’s knee over his shoulder; his hand sliding up the path of her scars before settling across her abdomen, forearm and elbow pinioning her in place as promised; and batting her hand aside before he replaces it with his mouth, tongue licking a stripe up the very core of her.
And here’s the thing: Stephen might have his doubts about the shakiness of his hands, but his mouth works just fine, and it turns out he does remember how this goes, all hot wet suction as he starts to work her over.
no subject
And it’s his blue eyes trapped on the direction and then lazy movement of Gwenaëlle’s fingers, the artful angle of her knee (this is a woman who has posed for nude paintings, if anyone’s forgotten). The sudden dry-mouthed heart-pounding want of it all, ratcheting straight to his dick. The heat in his gaze. It feels like she’s thrown a bomb into the room; it’s a wonder his control on his magic doesn’t slip and the bed canopy doesn’t just catch fire.
It turns out it’s easier, when you’re being egged on.
Stephen reaches up, and hauls off his shirt.
She knew his proportions to a mathematical degree, he’d been briefly shirtless in front of her when she had to tailor his shirt, but the context is entirely different now as he eases up the bed and between her legs.
“You’re a menace,” Stephen says, fond — he’s thought it before, certainly, but is this the first time he’s told her in those exact words? it might very well be, and it’s accompanied by him hitching Gwenaëlle’s knee over his shoulder; his hand sliding up the path of her scars before settling across her abdomen, forearm and elbow pinioning her in place as promised; and batting her hand aside before he replaces it with his mouth, tongue licking a stripe up the very core of her.
And here’s the thing: Stephen might have his doubts about the shakiness of his hands, but his mouth works just fine, and it turns out he does remember how this goes, all hot wet suction as he starts to work her over.