Wheeling Gull Isle wet

Beneath him, the girl pushed against him and emitted a skating whine — he needed no further confirmation. But still he paused, taking a moment to preen the feathering on the nape of her neck, appreciating the freedom she was giving him; a man she had only just met. But, he understood… no one was immune to the gods, not even an angel such as she, and the manner in which she surrendered herself to them ignited the fire in his loins. He had to have her; had to consummate the ceremony with the ultimate of passions.

So the brute’s arms swept around her hips and found their place, pressing close into the silken pocket of her thigh. With deft movements he readjusted himself, laying his chest across her spine and further covering the fae with his own body. In that moment, he was her aegis; ready and willing to protect her from any harm, any hurt — hell, at that moment, anything but extreme pleasure would not do. 

A single movement brought the two together, though the earth stalker made his movements short and light to accommodate the lady’s pleasure. There was nothing beautiful or divine about taking all and giving nothing in return, and thus, had no place in their holy tryst. To think that Aria wanted and needed the gods — wanted and needed him — the thought reverberated within his mind and drove his movements; she was lithe and tiny and the earthstalker found he did not need to grasp the fur of her neck in order to find purchase. Instead he lay his neck against hers and pressed his nose against the feathering behind her ear, gifting their intimacy with a soundtrack of throaty, guttural and passionate sounds; punctuated with a staccato of ear nips and heated kisses along her beautiful, serene jawline.