Her lips are roughly chapped in places and silk-soft in others, a fact he revels in when it sinks into his brain properly. He slides the hand he'd placed unconsciously at her neck around to her chin, gently tilting her head just so and taking control of the kiss, lips moving against hers in a new pattern that sends a spark through his head and draws a small, desperate noise out against his mouth. He drinks it down like water, and pulls her deceptively slender frame against him, satisfied in the way both of her hands fist into the fabric over his chest.
They continue like that for what seems like ages, just enjoying the contact and the slow, tender, hungry kiss.
When the Wanderer opens her mouth against his, he doesn't even think about it, obliging her all too happily. She tastes like whiskey-laced black coffee - bad girl's been sneaking some of her chemical dependence past his watchful eye.
There's an animal whimper somewhere that draws his attention briefly, and he flicks his eyes past the tangle of soft hair in his view to his bedroom door. It's closed, and the noise is coming from the other side.
Poor mutt.
His master's more devious than either of them gave her credit for.
Making a mental note to shower the animal with treats and affection later to try to mend that bridge - the mutt's smart, protective, and from what he hears can hold grudges like no one's business - he shifts his attention all-too-easily back to the girl in his lap, whose warm, smooth legs have moved to straddle his thighs on the chair. This might be alarming if he weren't well past the point of listening to those alarms. Instead the realization just draws a groan out of him, and almost of their own volition, his hands find their way under that shirt.
The skin he finds there is maddeningly soft; he slides a calloused palm from her knee to her hip, then up her side, up and up, twisting around to trail fingertips down the line of her spine. She shivers, and it's just another thrill, just another layer to the haze filling his head. That hand slides up her back again, the other locked onto her right hip, and he's hiking the shirt up. He leans her back over the desk, still pressed chest-to-chest and exploring her mouth, then finally draws back to get a better look at her and the skin usually hidden by her normally modest clothes, much of which he saw for the first time last night but... He opts not to think about the slave outfit, lest it piss him off and ruin the moment, or worse, manage to stoke the flames higher and make him sick with himself for that fact.
As it is, Three Dog's having difficulty reconciling the vicious bruises he finds on her hips, her side, her breast, but even with them she's gorgeous, and for all that she was shy once, maybe sometimes still is, the look he glimpses on her face as he leans down to kiss lightly at those marks says she definitely knows what she wants from him and even better--
Maybe she's just grown up this much since last he saw her, or maybe - and this is a unique turn-on - maybe it's just because it's him but her face speaks volumes of confidence, arousal, and not a single iota of fear or self-doubt. She looks like for right now at least she feels every bit as beautiful as he thinks she is, feeding off his obvious adoration, and the whole scenario is doing awful, wonderful things to him. It's been entirely too long since he's had a girl, a woman, anyone straddling him, making those pleading little sounds and soft-spoken words of praise. Three Dog leans up, attaching his mouth to the column of her throat.
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timeasmymeasure
Since When, 3e/3
Date: 2012-06-18 07:23 pm (UTC)They continue like that for what seems like ages, just enjoying the contact and the slow, tender, hungry kiss.
When the Wanderer opens her mouth against his, he doesn't even think about it, obliging her all too happily. She tastes like whiskey-laced black coffee - bad girl's been sneaking some of her chemical dependence past his watchful eye.
There's an animal whimper somewhere that draws his attention briefly, and he flicks his eyes past the tangle of soft hair in his view to his bedroom door. It's closed, and the noise is coming from the other side.
Poor mutt.
His master's more devious than either of them gave her credit for.
Making a mental note to shower the animal with treats and affection later to try to mend that bridge - the mutt's smart, protective, and from what he hears can hold grudges like no one's business - he shifts his attention all-too-easily back to the girl in his lap, whose warm, smooth legs have moved to straddle his thighs on the chair. This might be alarming if he weren't well past the point of listening to those alarms. Instead the realization just draws a groan out of him, and almost of their own volition, his hands find their way under that shirt.
The skin he finds there is maddeningly soft; he slides a calloused palm from her knee to her hip, then up her side, up and up, twisting around to trail fingertips down the line of her spine. She shivers, and it's just another thrill, just another layer to the haze filling his head. That hand slides up her back again, the other locked onto her right hip, and he's hiking the shirt up. He leans her back over the desk, still pressed chest-to-chest and exploring her mouth, then finally draws back to get a better look at her and the skin usually hidden by her normally modest clothes, much of which he saw for the first time last night but... He opts not to think about the slave outfit, lest it piss him off and ruin the moment, or worse, manage to stoke the flames higher and make him sick with himself for that fact.
As it is, Three Dog's having difficulty reconciling the vicious bruises he finds on her hips, her side, her breast, but even with them she's gorgeous, and for all that she was shy once, maybe sometimes still is, the look he glimpses on her face as he leans down to kiss lightly at those marks says she definitely knows what she wants from him and even better--
Maybe she's just grown up this much since last he saw her, or maybe - and this is a unique turn-on - maybe it's just because it's him but her face speaks volumes of confidence, arousal, and not a single iota of fear or self-doubt. She looks like for right now at least she feels every bit as beautiful as he thinks she is, feeding off his obvious adoration, and the whole scenario is doing awful, wonderful things to him.
It's been entirely too long since he's had a girl, a woman, anyone straddling him, making those pleading little sounds and soft-spoken words of praise. Three Dog leans up, attaching his mouth to the column of her throat.