ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100, for Tommy Gavin

She chokes back a whimper, forcing herself to stay still until the last button is undone. However, once he has it loosed, she quickly gets him on his back with a shove.

She steadies herself, arms braced on either side of his head, hovering close enough to brush his naked flesh with the silk of her camisole. Her eyes are dark, exhalations hot on his lips. She doesn't linger, however. Sliding down his body, she hits the floor long enough to toe her own boots off. She grunts impatiently as her trousers come off first, followed by her camisole, both ending up in a rumpled pile on the floor. She stretches across his legs to move her gun belt off the bed, laying it out on the chest at the foot.

And then she's back, hovering, spread out over his body like a warm blanket. Hair spilling over her shoulders; a golden corona. She indulges in the inticement of being so close to his lips, brushing her nose against his, leaving wet trails along his skin from her panting, like breadcrumbs connecting all her favorite paths. And, just when it looks like she's moving in to end the foreplay, she pulls back.

Eyes on his, she carefully climbs off his body and crawls back up the bed, laying herself out before him. Her chest is bare, save for a small silver charm hanging against her breastbone. Her lower half is covered by her silk knickers and stockings to her knees, held in place with lacy garters. The gold serpent anklet rests on the outside of her right stocking.

It's not an outfit soon to be seen in a dirty magazine, but Kate manages her own allure. Especially when, keeping eye contact, her hand skates over her belly to pointedly tug the satin bow on her knickers free.

Edited 2012-09-16 18:23 (UTC)

He hits the bed with a breathless grunt. And she teases him, repeatedly, hovering over him, his mouth desperate to make contact with hers, allowing his hands to skim up her sides before she pulls away.

But she reels him in with her eyes. Keeps his gaze, his focus, his everything on her where she wants it. When she lays herself out like that, his breath leaves him again, and he swallows as his throat goes dry.

He's never seen her like this before. As he slowly sits up at her feet, he wonders vaguely if she's been holding back or if it's something new. Either way, he can't take his eyes off her -- from her hair spilled out over the pillow, to her full breasts as they rise and fall with each breath she takes, to her legs, those legs that drive him crazy when they wrap around him.

His attention becomes fixed on her hand resting low on her stomach, the satin ribbon between her fingers. He's torn between watching and helping.

He can only watch so long.

The fabric hushes as the knot comes free. She tugs, loosening the waist, face warm as she watches him watch her. It's terrifying and sensual in the same breath.

She nudges the silk down as far as halfway past her hips, and then stills, stretching out her hand to bid him closer to help.

Reaching for the waistband of her knickers, he slides the silk all the way over her hips, his palms sweeping over her skin. He tugs them down her legs, caressing her stocking-clad shins and calves at the same time, before flinging the garment over the side of the bed among their other clothes.

Parting her legs with a sure touch, he kneels between her thighs, and leans over her on his hands on either side of her shoulders. She's in his shadow, under his heated gaze, under his hot, heavy breath that singes her cheeks and lips.

Every muscle, every nerve ending thrums, seems to say to her, Show me what you want.

As unflinching as ever, she lies in his shadow and peers up at him as innocently as a newborn kitten. Lifting her head off the pillow, she scatters kisses over his mouth. Little pecks and teasing flicks of her tongue, eyes open to him the whole time.

Her leg hooks around his.

Her hands slip between his legs, stroking, rubbing, hunting for the tie to his drawers—

She finds elastic instead.

What.

He'll be able to sense her confidence shift as she fumbles with getting inside, breaking eye contact at last in order to maneuver the stretchy material.

Honestly, what.

The waistband snaps back against his belly by accident.

He catches at her lips with his own, indulging her playful, teasing touch, the fringe of his hair brushing her brow. Exhaling a deep purr as her hands slip down to his crotch, the corners of his mouth twitch as her fingers seemingly find all the right spots to get him worked up--

Uh.

What is she doing?

It never occurred to him that they've both learned something tonight. How to unhook a corset, and how to get inside a pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

"Ow," he breathes through a startled chuckle at the light sting of the elastic.

A minor distraction. He reaches between them to push his shorts down around his thighs and down to his knees, quickly working them off and tossing them away. Leaning over her again, he drops a kiss to her lips and presses one of her hands to his belly, guiding it lower.

"M'sorry."

She'd be laughing too if she wasn't so focused on the ball of nerves sitting low in her belly. Honestly, what is he wearing?

Just wait until he has to untie a corset. Kate would put money on him breaking the cord in frustration.

She waits until he's tossed away the offending britches, stirred back to focus by his kiss. She catches his eyes again, holding his gaze as she slips her fingers around him and begins to stroke. Light at first, gently experimental; firmer when he doesn't complain. Her free hand sweeps through his bangs, clearing his line of sight. She deepens the kiss.

Nipping at his bottom lip, her thumb brushes his head and she arches against him.

He utters throaty grunts into her mouth, sighs against her cheek.

She's more of a novice than a nun, and he has to give her that. Her touch is careful, yet eager and attentive, and just the fact that she wants to do this pleases him to no end. And she'll feel it, obviously enough.

A moan escapes his throat when she moves underneath him, and he caresses the swell of her breast as she presses up against his body.

Humming, she arches into his touch. Sparks are going off inside her, but it's still too little, too slow — she wants more.

She kisses him hard, the fingers that were gently combing through his hair curling against his scalp. Every time he moves she arches against him, trying to speak without words.

Touch me.

God dammit, ravish me.

She draws him closer to her, squeezing tight.

His groan is muffled against her lips, and he returns the kiss just as hard, as his hand sweeps underneath her to follow the the taut arc of her back.

At this point all her cues are clear.

He reaches between them and grasps her wrist, pulling her hand away to pin it to the bed beside her head. Wrenching his mouth from hers, he meets her eyes with a fierce and lusty gaze, and presses his hips firmly against hers.

She grunts when he pins her down, half-heartedly resisting. She feels in no way threatened by him, she just doesn't like relinquishing control sometimes.

She's built to roam free.

Her gaze hones in on his, dark — almost angry — full of desire. The intimacy is ferocious, in stark contrast to the last time they laid together.

Breathing hard, her hips rock against his. She drowns in the friction, steadily working herself up as she tries to position him at her center.

He knows she bucks against being restrained in any way. This certainly isn't as far as he could push her -- right now it's just his way of playing with fire.

With their faces just inches from one another, her breath is hot on his parted lips; her cheeks are flushed and damp from his own breath, the close space between them rapidly heating up.

Pressing the palm of his free hand flat against the small of her back, he angles his hips forward, the head of his shaft meeting her wet flesh just as she rocks downward. With a growl through clenched teeth, he curls his fingers tighter around her wrist at the sensation, his raspy breathing quick and shallow, his eyes burning.

Her struggle is forgotten the instant she feels the press of his flesh. She's thrown into open space for one delicious second, breath caught in her throat, heart skipping a beat, weightless and thrilled. She tosses her head back as he slides inside her, letting out a sharp cry of pleasure.

Jesus. The fit is still tight; she barely notices the way his grip tightens on her wrist.

(Or the way her grip tightens in his hair.)

She hooks her leg over his hip, pressing him in deeper. Little by little, inch by inch, thighs trembling around him. God, she almost hates this, and all she can think is more.

Her cry raises goosebumps up and down his arms. The quiver of her thighs as she takes him in drives every coherent thought out of his brain.

He runs his lips and teeth along her upturned jaw.

"Relax," he rasps into her ear.

Each time she exhales, her inner muscles loosen a fraction, and that's when he pushes deeper into her, bit by bit. The friction is still almost deliriously unbearable; he has to steel himself against coming too soon. Eventually he does slip all the way inside her, and he pauses for a moment, the both of them breathlessly clutching at each other.

Her teeth sink into her lip.

Relax.

She concentrates on breathing, taking him in, resuming her slow struggle to free her hand. Once he's as deep as he can go, she opens her eyes.

His hair tickles her cheeks. She holds his gaze, lips quivering, chest heaving. She's wrapped up in him so completely it's hard to know where he ends and she begins. Her lips bush his. She nudges his nose with her own. Their foreheads touch, hand slipping to the back of his neck, holding him close.

"Don't make me beg."

She kisses him tenderly.

He loses himself in her in this moment, in her touch, her whisper, her body wrapped around him, inside and out.

His grip loosens on her wrist. He returns her kiss, fingers twining with hers, palm-to-palm.

And his lips don't leave hers as his hips begin to move, firmly but slowly at first, wordlessly letting her set the pace that she wants.

She lets out a hard breath with each thrust, voice going from strained and tense to warm, smoke in a shot glass, as he adjusts his pace.

She squeezes his hand.

Her eyes roll back, and she concentrates every other sense on him. The taste of him, the feel of his mouth and tongue, the way he smells (she thinks about catching him just out of the shower, just after a shave), each pleasured sound and breath egging her on.

She wraps her free arm around him, chest chafing against his, yearning to feel every inch of him, hot and slick and strong.

As they settle into a rhythm, his other hand slides along her side, caressing the dip of her slim waist, following the movement of her hips. He would trace every curve of her body if he could right now, committing every slope and swell to memory, like the press of her breasts against his bare chest, the tension of her firm thighs on either side of him.

His teeth lightly rake her lower lip as their mouths briefly part, only so that he can tilt his head the other way, and he resumes the kiss, his tongue twining with hers in a serpentine dance.

Time passes.

She loses all sense of the world outside of their bodies. Nothing seems to matter but the way he touches her, kisses her; the heat building between them, the dampness, the way their pace steadily quickens. She doesn't know how long it's been, hands still clutched, lips breaking only when it's too hard to breathe. Her ecstasy is muffled by his, the taste of the moment heady when she feels the rise toward release.

She drags her nails down his spine, whispering his name, arching hard. She needs closer. Just a little closer to unravel completely.

Edited 2012-09-19 01:31 (UTC)

His back rolls under the scrape of her nails, shuddering with pleasure.

Breathing a guttural growl into her mouth, he digs his fingertips into her thigh as he matches the insistent push of her body. His hips buck harder, faster, punctuated by rough, hot grunts against her lips, driven by the need to get her closer to that edge.

If he loses focus, he'd come right now, every nerve is wound so tight his insides could snap at any second...

Almost there, almost there--

He drives strangled moans out of her that get caught behind clenched teeth. Jesus.. The line between pleasure and pain blurs, her heels digging into him, her fist curling in the bed cloths.

She yanks her head back, teeth dragging sharply over his jaw, and reclaims eye contact. Dark, fierce, and impassioned, holding his gaze, making him watch as the pleasure peaks —

"Ah — !"

Sound stops.

Her jaw works.

She squeezes his hand tight

and the whole world crashes in on her.

She jerks against him, her orgasm hitting so hard she sees stars, every inch of her going completely rigid, seeking his support. Her legs are wrapped around him so tight his hips might leave bruises.

Sweat runs into his eyes but he blinks the sting away just to keep watching, her gaze burning into him and spurring him on until-- until--

Her body reacts like it's been touched with a live wire and it's more than enough to shove him straight into oblivion.

She wrenches a strangled cry from him, half-growled, half-hissed; half-pleasure, half-pain.

His hips still buck erratically, even though he can barely move with her legs clamped so tightly around him, keeping him deep inside her.

He holds on for as long as he can to the mind-and-body-numbing high.

He holds on to her.

Just a few. More. Moments...

She relaxes slowly. Her muscles are burning, but she doesn't want to let go of the ecstasy or the pain. It settles between her shoulders, in her calves, keeping her lit even as the waves of bliss begin to subside.

He's still rocking erratically, and she opens herself up to him, holding on as long as she can to every throb of pleasure. She runs her silk-clad foot down the back of his thigh, rising against each press deeper, moaning as the dimming sparks of release turn to a low, hot hum.

Just a few more moments...

Drowsy-eyed, she pushes his hair back and cups his cheek, her everything focused on him as they spend each other completely.

Eventually his body gives out, utterly, deliriously exhausted, and his limbs turn stiff and heavy. As his fingers loosen from her hand, he leans his face into her palm, eyes closed, turning his head slightly to brush his lips against her wrist.

For a lost second or two, he has to remind himself where he is.

"Oh my god...," he mumbles almost incoherently through a deep, groaning sigh.

He opens his eyes a crack, then drops his head to her shoulder to bury his face in her hair. Resting the leaden weight of his upper body on his elbows so he doesn't smother her, he remains where he is until the rest of him decides it wants to move.

Sex with a woman who rides horses is one of Tommy's favorite things.

He'll be able to feel her heart racing when he kisses her pulse point. Everything feels heavy, sated, her lungs aching like never before.

She breaks a rule with herself. She wraps her arms around him, and hugs him close. It's a rule made mostly on the assumption that Tommy would balk at the intimacy, that it's something they just don't do. She's discovered she doesn't have any idea what they do or don't do, and right now she needs him. She needs the closeness, the intimacy. She needs the minute to come down.

Perhaps now she'll be better able to attempt words. Not right this minute, however. She nudges him to suggest he roll onto his back, still breathing quick and deep.

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