distractly | CC: INBOX.

( she watches the way his tongue struggles for the proper words, for something to say, and she wants to tell him he doesn't have to, to just feel her, instead—but she's learned baby. the need to fit a sentiment to moments, to tell her exactly what this means to him, all reflexive and whole hearted. but they've talked enough, they've shared so much, she wants him to give himself that freedom of letting go, letting himself give in, even if just for the night.

the moment that second kiss breaks her breath catches, hand left cradling his jaw swiping a thumb beneath the full swell of his lower lip, shaking her head to dismiss his worries. ) Please don't apologize. ( not here, not with her. the mere graze of his skin, hot to the touch, against her chest causing her to give a soft hum in delight. he's still wearing far too much compared to the lace panties hugged to her frame, but she's not intention to rush.

a slow, blooming kiss pressed to his mouth, crown lifted from the comforter in order to meet his lips properly, assuringly, tongue giving a full sweep inside warm cavern to greet his own. it's sweet, even with the hint of hunger in it's depths, aching to feel him move with her. to feel more of his flesh bare on hers. ) Baby.

( it's not more than a breath, toneless. a swallow, lashes batting open and searching his own, entirety of her figure teeming in anticipation. )

[ Baby's always considered himself a romantic. Ever since understanding the notion of romance, anyway; he's wanted it. The full thing, flowers and chocolates and dates with dinner and a movie, and offering his jacket and holding hands in the cold and kissing a girl at her doorstep. Later on, as the years passed, the romance bled into thoughts of a more mature nature - rose petals on bedsheets and fire crackling in a fireplace, soft music in the background and Baby taking his time.

There are no rose petals, no music - no ringing in his ears, either - and no fire but the one raging inside his stomach when Isabelle kisses him, taking him by storm with every words she lets out. One of his hands move, down along her side, flirting with the curve of her breast, down along her stomach. He is still nervous, fingers just a touch unsure, but he pushes through, and touches Isabelle like he's wanted to touch her for what feels like years.

He pushes back on his knees, raising himself up to be able to look at her some more, to be able to put both hands on her body, framing her hips, thumbs just sliding under the elastic of her underwear. He looks into her eyes, tacit permission being asked in his look. ]

( never has there been so much emphasis on simply touching her, like she were something to explore rather than solely something to have, more than just a body but a swollen heart of a girl buried within. that's who he's reaching for, looking for with the way he pulls back, keeping his gaze intact with hers all the while hands peruse her figure, no longer hidden in layers that both accentuate and keep it hidden.

it's endlessly endearing to her, everything he is, the things he stands for that she's never experienced—looking at her in a longing for permission, an impatience hidden around consent's edges that he soon won't need. but it's the first time they've gotten here, gotten this far, and it only adds all the more passion that he wants her to be sure. entirely here with him and nowhere else.

so she nods, a gesture where words don't seem to hold, again, as much as she'd like them to. where actions can, in the most tender regard, precede them. a shaky breath drawn inward, matching the fire dancing within his hues as hips give the tiniest lift upward to assist, another means of showing him it's okay, that she wants this. )

[ Baby's lips part on a shaky exhale when Isabelle nods, lifts her hips just a fraction, and he follows through with pulling her underwear down along her legs, having to move up and off the bed to be able to slide it all the way off of her. This is how he finds himself on his knees on the floor, right against the mattress' edge, his fingertips slowly moving back up along her legs, up the back of her calves, the inside of her knees, and then the side of her thighs.

He leans in to kiss her knee, his eyes closing as he does, mouth moving up along with his hands, only he keeps his kisses to the inside of her thigh, dragging his lips as he moves up. He feels his cheeks burning up - knowing what he wants to do and how he wants to do it, but unsure how to put it into words, or if he even has to. Hands hold onto her thighs a little tighter when he forces himself to look up and at Isabelle, puller her legs further apart, leaning in closer, tongue against his top lip as he looks straight at her.

He doesn't waver, forces himself to keep his eyes open as he moves his head down between her legs, breathing hotly over her skin. He's slow and measured with every move, careful, not wanting to miss her reaction the moment he puts his lips around her clit, licking experimentally. ]

( limbs move softly, carefully to aid him in slipping that last, lacy layer of hers down past the hook of knees, the catch of ankles and lastly to the floor behind him. it's difficult to prepare herself for the sight that follows, unsure she could've even if it'd been something to expect—far fewer were the men that sought to please a woman with their mouth before taking for themselves. a means of selfless pleasure even before the mutuality of being in bed with another.

it isn't that it's unthought of, baby far too curious to see the way she comes unraveled just as she did in that bedouin tent merely at the attention of a denim-coated thigh hitched between her legs. now's no different, he's got that same look in his eye, a drive potent and glazing enough that there's already that sweet coil of heat beginning to wind beneath her navel merely in anticipation.

the moment kisses begin their delivery to the inner of her knee, there's a moment where she can't help but to close her eyes on a sigh as head rests back against the bed, rather than straining to watch him as desperately as she wishes too. mouth draws closer, and closer, and it's only when she manages to reach deft fingers into familiar, brunet strands of his that she's fluttering hues open again. it's electric, a consuming swarm of her abdomen the second his mouth closes around her clit, hot and impossibly soft, and she's drawing in a sharp inhale if only for it to give body to an appreciative moan, quieted but full.

fingers tighten, figure tensing, and the only thing that comprehends with her tongue is his name, whispered and taken. )

[ This - this is what he lives for. He'd started his evening with dread in his stomach, heavy and worrying as he thought of the multitude of ways tomorrow evening could go wrong when he takes his place behind the piano at Mahogany. But now all worries are out of his mind, his focus completely on Isabelle, the look on her face, the exhale on the tip of her tongue, the way she sounds when she says his name.

Baby doesn't come with a lot of experience, when it comes to sex, but one things he's quickly learned and very much retained was that sex shouldn't be selfish. Sometimes, it is, and that is acceptable, but most times - and especially at a time like this one now - getting to pleasure someone is as important as finding your own pleasure. And Baby also quickly learned that he enjoys making people come. The other night, in the tent, getting Isabelle off had led to him getting hard again, wanting all over again, just by looking at her, helping her get there.

So when he licks at her, he's taken by the way she reacts, and he smiles against her, flicking his tongue down against her folds, tasting her. He lets out a soft moan, feeling his erection, straining in the jeans he's still wearing. ]

( more than anything, it's that she knows he enjoys being selfless just as he's gotten her, thighs aching to close comfortably around each side of his jaw, a promising hug to keep him right where he is, devilishly plump lips she's found marvel in more than once now put to a far more pleasurable use. she can feel the pillow of them along with his tongue, adding extra nudges of sensation as he dips down to sample her, chest drawn from the bed in a slow, pronounced arch, once more letting lashes fall to cheeks to savor him how she knows best.

nails gently graze along his scalp, a silent means of praise if the tiny sounds and hitched breaths weren't enough to speak for her. she can feel that smile if nothing else, how he (deservedly so) blooms with a certain pride for getting her here, revealing just how vulnerable she is to his touch, his mouth, everything they were. hips give a subtle writhe upward against him, again, only now it's to counter his motions with those of her own, add all the more to her experiencing that mouth.

a single thumb swipes down along his temple, pleading with her body to stay still, to let him treat her, not to fight for any small nook of control like she often would. )

[ Possibly because he came first, last time, he is even more determined now to get here there first, to be able to make her shake and tremble for him before his brain completely gives up and in. He drinks her in - literally and figuratively - moving between sucking at her clit and licking down inside her, all the while watching her, the way her back arches, her stomach tense when he slides a hand over it. He moves up all the way to her breast, thumb flicking against it.

His other hand moves as well, down his own body, pressing the heel of his hand against his erection, needing the slight pressure. He groans, his eyes closing now as he breathes Isabelle in, as a part of his brain reminds him that he is, in this very moment, getting to see Isabelle in the most intimate setting there is. That he's getting to bring her pleasure, make her gasp and hold on to his hair and arch into his touch, roll her hips against him.

He pulls away, just a tiny bit, only to not just be mumbling against her skin. ] You can - move more, if you want. And pull my hair.

( for isabelle it's never been a matter of who came first, undoubtedly there will be times when she gets on her knees for him, when she takes him into the heat of a ruby-rimmed mouth and waits for him to weep his own finish just like he is now with her—it only shows how tightly wound she is with the need to hold some sort of power, how difficult it is to truly allow herself to lie there against his mouth and accept every praising swipe of his tongue. it's clear indication of all the stress she's swallowed, all she's carried around with her, how she slowly, breath by stumbling breath gives in to him, as if she'd ever had a choice.

his words register slowly, drawing teeth at her own lower lip, and it's the hand cupping at a single, full breast that leaves brows furrowing to a whimper. it's all the more encouragement to let go, let herself exist only as the climb of heat that burrows betwixt her hips, the way he effortlessly builds her with his dedication alone. a pant of an exhale, temple pressing to the side to glance down at him, mouth wet and gleaming with her as he moves. )

Keep touching me, Baby. ( a plea, solidified all the more by a single hand retreating from his hair, running fingertips up along the span of bicep, forearm, and gradually she begins to allow hips to give slight, rhythmic little waves up against his mouth, following the pace of a delving tongue, suckling lips, wherever he travels. opposite hand grasps with all the more fervor into his locks-not enough to steer him, for once all too content to follow. )

[ He is all too willing to keep touching her. There's nothing he wants more, than to keep touching her. He pushes up on his knees a little, changing the angle slightly, the hand that was over his own crotch moving to wrap one of her thighs over his shoulder before it returns to staving off coming in his pants once more before he gets to discover the feeling of being inside her. His other hand stays on her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers as he dives back between her legs, louder now, wetter, a little more frantic.

He doesn't want to ever have to stop touching her. Now that he knows, what she looks like, smells like, tastes like, what she feels like in his arms, it's hard to even think of having to get out of her bed at some point, go to work and live his life like he doesn't want to live and breathe Isabelle.

If only making her come could be a full-time job.

But as it is, he just dedicates himself to the task, right now, feeling her move more intently, get louder, and pulling on that thread of her control, wanting her to let go of it entirely. He moans against her again, louder this time, panting hard as she rolls her hips, and he drags his lips against her, sucking and licking and kissing.]

( it isn't hard to guess where that twin palm of his has fled to, even with the burning touch he leaves behind along her thigh, heel pressing into the broad, upper-span of his back—body moving of it's own volition, now, just as he'd asked. for her to move unforgivingly with and against him, to seek out her own little angles while he simultaneously finds them, rewarding him with a bit harsher of tugs every time he licks to one of those favored spots, every time he finds a rhythm against her clit that sends her whirling all the closer to her end.

it's difficult, keeping herself together when he dines on her so enthusiastically, when she can hear how wet he's made her, how he takes care to lap up every single drop of her, to make a mess of her only for him to enjoy. she's not as finessed, ridden in need rather than composure, want rather than an unwavering control, and it shows in the stutter of her hips, how they chase his tongue and how they seize when he sweeps it inside of hot walls.

it's that—his eagerness, the unison of lips and tongue and the faintest hint of teeth, fingers toying at the pink rise of her nipple, the image of him staving off his own end that builds merely by tasting her. dizzied, all she can do now is keep eyes tightly fastened to a close, grasps telling against her arm, within his hair, and it's once he finds her clit again, moans against it to send a delightful vibration against the hood of her that she's entirely unaware of how loudly she moans, how desperate she sounds—a fire taking to the pyre beneath her navel instantly as she builds. )

Fuck— Baby, right there. ( a shiver trembling through her body, pulling rather harshly at his hair, keeping him buried against her as if unwilling to lose that maddening rise of white heat that takes her over. )

[ Relentlessly, he stays right where he is as he feels her whole body row tenser, the air around them growing electric, the urgency increasing tenfold as her thighs clench around him and she tugs on his hair more and more, as her hips rise off from the bed in tiny movements.

He stays right against her and keeps doing exactly what he was doing, and breathes hard as he slips his hand inside his jeans, only to circle the base of his dick with his fingers, holding on tight as the mere feeling of Isabelle like this is sending lightning straight down his body.

She might be the death of him, but he'd take it. What a way to go it'd be. ]

( he knows he has her, she can feel the surety in how he only doubles the effort put forth at that particular spot, the hunger while he practically feasts at the sweetness between her thighs; she's helpless to him, the perfect tandem of his tongue against her clit, working her just how she needs it, mouth locked yet sliding given how wet she is, how she still can't keep still against him, but it's enough to edge her closer. closer, yet, to a point where mind spins almost in begging to break, to release the pocket of heat that rings even to fingertips, to the curl of toes at his back.

there's a moment when the noises between them—the crisp sound of pants meeting one another, groans muffled against silken lips and her own melodiously filling the room unashamedly—where everything hushes to a deafening static, where she seems to suspend in a tantalizing limbo that sets each of her nerves on fire. it holds her for a second, two, three before her inners contract, and that orgasm shatters over her with a gasp.

it takes her with it, rippling slow, pressure-filled rocks against his mouth to draw out every numbing wave, crying out in sync with every motion, every pull that draws down along her abdomen, knuckles gone white in his hair and opposite clasping to the sheets beside her. sharply yanking at both, tiny curses along with bits and pieces of his name breathlessly calling from her. )

[ As Isabelle clings to him, as she comes against his mouth, Baby just presses closer, fingers digging into her thigh as he holds her through it, not so much moving anymore but letting Isabelle take the lead. He stays right between her legs as she rides her orgasm, looking at her with hunger. ]

I've never seen anything this beautiful before.

[ He straightens out just to be able to look at her more, his heart thundering in his chest as he takes Isabelle in, hands moving up and down her thighs, mouth open and shiny with Isabelle. He doesn't think he will ever get bored of watching this - it seems impossible that there would be a time where he doesn't find her to be the most amazing person he's ever got to hold. ]

Fuck, Isabelle, I'm - [ Absolutely dying right now. ]

( it takes her a moment once that last, pulsing wrung tugs through her to gather herself, to bring herself back to the present, to baby still kneeled between softly-trembling thighs. it isn't long til mind's threading back through how he'd taken her, when one hand had disappeared off to likely stave himself, provide some sort of relief to keep from finishing without truly having her. she's almost in a daze, but it's difficult to keep that hunger at bay for long with him, what with how his lips gleam proudly and he struggles to keep himself together.

she doesn't want him to. )

Come here. ( spoken around a faint whimper, body none to willing to go to far other than sitting up to encourage him closer, getting him to stand while she props herself at the end of that bed upright. small fingers take to the fastening of his jeans, black hair spilling down her back as she looks up at him, watches him—she doesn't move slow purposefully, entranced still by the state of his mouth and the need that's grown boldly in his hues.

button pops, zipper soon to follow and she's tugging that denim layer to his thighs, unabashed in the way she finds the length of him, hard and wanting, with her own palm, shaky exhale leaving her. it's only then that eyes leave his in favor of leaning in, brushing her lips just above the waistband of his briefs. )

[ He's all too eager to follow her softly worded command, pulling up towards her when she sits up, her hands going immediately to his jeans. He helps as he can, pushing them down to his knees once she's had them open, but his thoughts and movements falter when she wraps her hand around him, his head tilting back with a loud gasp, echoing in the otherwise silent room. He shivers, swallowing when he looks back down and Isabelle is leaning in, kissing him.

He swallows with difficulty again, his whole body on fire as he attempts to find his words. ]

If you - do that, I'm not going to last.

[ It's earnest and truthful - if she wants to give back in the same way, he's going to come in seconds and he won't have a chance to feel how it is to be inside her, which - he does, God, he so does. His muscles contract under her mouth, his hands flexing into her thighs, goosebumps rising along his arms.]

Oh my God, I want you so much.

( she revels in his gasp, and while she hadn't intended to return his favor entirely in kind (tonight, anyway) she couldn't help herself from planting kisses between his hips. it's rare that solely haste finds her, and maybe it's because of that dazed lull he'd left awash across her figure, how she's still left clasping thighs together—but she recognizes the desperation in his tone. one that pleas with her not to take her time, not now, to let him bury within her and save the heat of her mouth for another night.

a small hum left against his skin. fingertips hook within elastic, tugging that last layer keeping them apart down to thighs, knees, leaving them then for him to step out of. )

You have me, Baby. ( the thought arises then that she should leave that bed and dig for a condom, but she's on the necessary means of protection, and there's a need settled deep in the pit of her chest to feel nothing but him—she's tired of things keeping them apart, wants nothing between them, and she's prepared to reassure him should he find any worry toward it.

she could lay back, let him find home between her thighs again, but she's intent to give back for how he'd treated her, and so rather than get comfortable once more she's standing on shaky limbs, reversing their positions so he's left sitting against the edge of that bed, left to scoot back with the guidance of her body crawling over him hand and knee. )

[ It's not worry, just habit. When Isabelle reverses their positions, Baby kicks off the rest of his clothes and looks up at her, awe and hunger having taken the biggest spots in his eyes, in his brain, not giving him much place for anything else. But he still thinks of it - he's never had sex without a condom and it's never been something he's forgotten, but he sits there for a moment, his legs shaking and words difficult to come out when his tongue feels huge and unwieldy in his mouth. ]

Condom?

[ It's the best he can manage, as he starts to lie back when Isabelle crawls over him, her knees to his sides and her hands on his chest and her breasts against his skin, nipples dragging against him and making him gasp, his eyes closing even though he wants to look, look, look. He doesn't have the wherewithal for it, has to tilt back and press himself to the mattress and let his hands find her hips, flexing into muscles. His lips feel dry, his own pelvis rolling up unconsciously at the thought of Isabelle so close, yet still so far, making him keen, noises high-pitched in the back of his throat. He's never felt like a needy kind of guy, before, but there is nothing else right now than how much he needs Isabelle. ]

( the last thing she wants him to take her as is irresponsible, she has what she needs in terms of protection, and maybe it's naive of her, maybe a little to trusting to go forth with the comfort that if there was any sort of risk, he'd of told her by now. his comfort would come far above a mere preference, and any other man she'd gotten into bed with, she'd been the on insisting. regardless of impatience, of need thrumming between them. )

It's okay.

( a whisper, a promise. it'd never been like this. no one had ever so much as a touched on what baby made her feel, so she doesn't let that confidence waver, all the more tempted to just melt against him when those large hands of his bracket her hips, steadying her in their clasp. she can feel him rut up against her, single hand twining into the sheets beside him as she ducks in to graze her mouth along his jaw, keeping pressed to her knees just enough to drift free hand between their figures, finding the base of him with her digits and wrapping around his width in order to guide him.

the moment plush head teases against her lips, a ragged little exhale stumbles free, finding herself nose to nose with him once more as she aligns his cock at her entrance. she's thoughtful in the way she takes him, both hands sliding up into the sheets once she's pressed him in an inch, mouth slowly parting around a pant when hips give a smooth, single grind to press him fully inside, his name falling from her tongue like a prayer. )

[ She says it's okay, and Baby believes her. He doesn't trust anyone the way he trusts Isabelle - no one, bar Debbie, has ever given him reason to trust in this way. But his faith in her is as steady as his heartbeat is wild, right now, and when she sits herself on top of him, he reaches out, hand clasping hers as he bucks, his whole body tensing as he pushes up inside her.

He lets out a strangled noise, fingers tight around hers when she's seated atop him, his cock as deep as it will go inside her, the two of them on her bed, quiet if not for their labored breathing, for the sounds of skin against skin, of hands skidding against the sheets. Baby opens his eyes, looks up at Isabelle above him, looking powerful and amazing and feeling like nothing he's ever felt before - tighter and wetter and more welcoming. He opens his mouth, wanting to have the words to describe her, to tell her how he makes her feel, but not managing them. All he can do is hold on to her, looking at her like she is the sun itself, moving his hips in fractions. ]

( she's eager to take the seeking clasp of his hand with hers, folding their palms together, pressing them to the cushion of the mattress as she nearly falls forward over him. it takes a great deal of discipline not to lay completely against his figure, still too intoxicated by the way his skin feels on hers, heady and warm and all too welcoming. it's a moment before she adjusts, velveteen walls fluttering appreciatively around him, and it's when piercing gaze of his aligns with her own that she's given a bout of fire to move.

isabelle keeps herself propped using that single hand, laced with his, the other cupping at the column of his neck, thumb pressed to the line of his pulse, savoring the way it thrums so lively, so full of reverence. and it's with a second, hearty moan hidden against the pout of his lips that hips withdraw, leaving only the plush of his tip buried inside, before she takes him again.

fully, hips slotting perfectly together as they greet once more, and it's such rhythm she sets—something steady, breath pressed from the bed of her lungs every time he stretches her apart, black sweep of her hair falling messily along a single temple. for what she can, she keeps her gaze alight with his, attempting to fight off that urge to close and lose herself to him, but the way he looks at her... the way he's always looked at her, keeps her from giving in just yet. )

[ His stomach swoops with every move of her hips, the feelings taking over him way too much to deal with, and he just lets them overwhelm him, lips parted as he looks at her with glazed-over eyes, each breath feeling like it's about to be his last. His fingers squeeze hers, their eyes meeting for a split second, his world feeling shattered by how she looks at him, by the look on her face as they move together, pleasure making her skin flush in the most beautiful sight.

He would stay exactly where he is, like this, forever, if he could, but - the need to touch her, to feel her skin against his, is overtaking everything else, and Baby finds himself sitting up, changing the angle as he buries his face in Isabelle's neck, strands of her hair sticking to his lips. He wraps both his arms around her, fingers digging into her shoulderblade and her hip, pulls her to him like he wants to fuse them together, wants to be unable to tell where she starts, and where he ends. His world entirely reduces to this, this moment now, Isabelle against him and his cock buried deep inside her, the sensations setting his nerve endings alight, playing a symphony in his head. ]

( she moves easily with him as she always has, fingers finding one another blindly in the dark, limbs moving together even within sleep to leave them intertwined through the late and morning hours. it does, however, allow him deeper into the hot clasp of her walls, causes them to flutter again and pull a gasp from her chest, letting go of his hand in favor of raveling both arms around him. there's no part of her willing to cease the roll of her hips, adjusting again to the way she needs to move, with him now rather than against him, heels tucked at the lower of his back.

everything's a daze, the way lips stumble against his temple, fingers fist up into his hair to keep a steady clutch of him while she moves, while hips grow a little more greedy in their pursuit. ) God, Baby- ( a tremble of a moan, tipping head to the side to give him the proper room to explore her neck, the rapid thrum of her pulse and the thin sheen of sweat coating sun-kissed flesh.

she doesn't need it to be messy, full of haste, but there is an underlying need that blooms and demands all the more of her attention. encourages pace to climb that littlest bit faster, nails scoring along the broad plane of his back as she rocks into his lap. )

[ When he's been thinking of sex with Isabelle, it's been a whole mix of images and ideas and dreams moving around in his head, without much head or tail to it, but one thing was for sure - no thought or dream could ever come close to the real thing. No dream could ever attempt to reach the level of feeling Isabelle against him, her lips dragging against his skin, her hair brushing his fingertips, her nails digging into his back, her hips moving into his, her heat setting him alight.

Unconsciously, he bites at her neck - gently still, as much as he can, his tongue running up along the rune there, as he clings to her tightly and moans desperately at the feelings every single rocking of her hips brings, fireworks exploding through his brain with every noise she makes. The two of them are pulling and pushing against each other, the bed creaking slightly under them, and Baby knows he's not going to last,
not when she feels so good he can't breathe, in the very best way he's ever felt in his life.

He runs a hand through her hair, grabbing a fistful of it as his lips drag up her chin for a breathless kiss, the two of them swallowing each other's noises. ]

( she's never been able to put the entirety of a night with him together, not in her mind—it's always a splintering of interrupted images, the thought of his hands brushing over her hips translating then to how they'd feel brushing between her thighs, how they'd feel gripping her versus merely grazing. it's that fist in her hair that grounds her again from the spiral of heat that begins a second climb within her abdomen, slow and almost tantalizing.

a soft whine is hidden into the cave of his mouth, brushing distractedly through as she keeps him clasped there, open to catch the stumbling of her breaths, the pieces that are laced with his name, a slip of her accent, mierda, thoughts a blur of multiple languages of profanities and prayers. it's tell tale, just as she imagined it'd be, when he's reaching his end, just as she'd inch by inch seemed to lose control of her figure when his mouth was buried between her thighs.

it's that same desperation, now with much more hearty a control, that drives her faster in his lap—and faster still. all she has is the sounds that tumble from her tongue to tell to let him know, the angle causing him again to brush against swollen clit with every fluent grind. an unintentional bite to his upper lip, cries flushed and cheeks just as so, a mere moment from toppling over the edge. ) Baby, I'm gonna— ( broken against his mouth, rushed, thighs and arms encircled impossibly tight around him. )

Edited 2017-10-09 17:01 (UTC)

CC: INBOX.

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