Lion Head Mesa the [m]arble hall

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Heavily suggestive + Suggestive potty mouth

Oh, how he'd now long gone, the caller. No longer so bold and royal. He'd gone timid, for a time. Far more quiet. Had it been he to second guess himself? She did not hope that! She never second guessed herself. Never thought twice when she wanted something. Did he? Or did he want more. She wondered how much he wanted. How much he wanted her. How much this fed him. If he knew how much it fed her, then she wondered if there'd come a point that he'd lack the restraint he had now and put her on the floor. If he commanded, she would lay him; though, she did not want that at all. She wanted to watch his frame grow, and see him come to her.

But if he did not want to, and if he had other plans, they did not have to. It had not been just lust that drove her back to his chambers. They did not need to. She would not argue. Hours of pacing and minutes of quietly sitting before him with legs that had now been told they'd needily part if he pushed them to. Every moment spent staring into the souls of his eyes was far more riveting, intoxicating, and numbingly suffocating than any drowning thought of his bed or wine; though she wanted both. The remaining fragments of his sultry, she starved to taste again, and yet she would lap up silence. And she would lap up doing nothing but conversing in pure. He could lead it where he wanted. She would follow.

Then he stood.

Seth left her.

He called her his raven, and he left her. Alone.

Immediately, it was Senmut's eyes that cleansed her own of all thought. It was his eyes that she followed, staying firmly in a sit as her limbs begged to break out of it. A slow, soft beat of her tail as her head came around to follow his, and a gentle voice that asked filthy, filthy things. It had not even been a whisper. It had been a question that she ensured he heard, and one that released from her mouth long before she thought it. "Will you have me?" A true, genuine question, as if his answer would be God and a blessing she wished he'd give her. He was a priest. He could give that to her. A smile, coy as it was and yet nothing but enchanted, excited, sat on her lips, and it was soon his mouth against her cheek that brought her tail into a puppish, rapid beat that would exhaust itself from how he made it behave. Her own lips brushed softly into his cheek, her nose gently inhaling his scent before she came to a stand and her head trailed down his throat. It was there on him that she licked, running her tongue up his neck, forcing them to walk in a tight circle simply because there was an instinct to make him chase. A chase she had no intention of making hard, and she did not, because it would give her the gentle embrace of him.