[Nikolai understands that he isn't meant to answer her thanks. It's simply meant to patter in the space between them like their heartbeats.
As Konoha pulls him in for another kiss, he continues his exploration of her body, learning its unique landscape. His hand slides around her waist to pet the bit of mane bridging her lower spine with her equine half. His fingers trace her surprising muscles. He grins as their kiss concludes.]
I will come back eventually... [Ducking his head, he presses a kiss to Konoha's neck, grazes his teeth against her skin. His words reverberate through her throat.] Not too soon, of course.
[He squeezes her breasts again to leave her something to savor, watching raptly as another splash of milk spills from each dusky nipple and runs in twin rivulets over her skin.
For all the power of his brilliant mind, if asked, he could not explain the poignant appeal of her mother's milk. It's a reminder of her loneliness, the things she has left behind, which he cannot possibly comprehend as a bachelor — but Nikolai understands loneliness, even if hers is a different shape from the loneliness he has inhabited all his life. And now, with the instincts of a dragon coiled around him — her milk, hinting at the soft parts cradled within her resilient heart, becomes a reminder of why he needs to protect her. Why she needs him.
His hands fall away from her front, his mouth leaves her neck. He reaches behind his neck to pop open the last buttons holding his shirt together. Impatient with the added complications of dragon-appendage-friendly clothing, he yanks his shirt off and flings it somewhere off the bed. Now with nothing decorating his body but the shimmering teal scales scattered in patches over his scarred skin, he peels himself away and shifts on the bed to position himself behind her.
She looks good like this, ready to receive him. His cock throbs with want. As he finds the ties of her skirt, his eyes flick up the length of Konoha's body to pin her with a mischievous smile. Teasing her, Nikolai presses his length against her so that she can feel his hard heat through the last stretch of fabric defending (in vain) her modesty. He loosens her skirt with a determined tug, pulling it aside. Her tail pops free, tickling his chest with silky hairs. Next, he removes the little sachet of potpourri fastened to the dock of her tail. There's no need for her to disguise the sharp scent of her desire.
He pauses a moment, poised on his knees like a penitent with his hands placed on either side of her rump, to observe, ah, what he has to work with. He swipes his knuckles — mindful of his dragon's claws — over her entrance to feel her slickness, to test the soft give of her folds.]
Are you ready for me?
[He knows she is, but he wants to hear her say it.]
no subject
As Konoha pulls him in for another kiss, he continues his exploration of her body, learning its unique landscape. His hand slides around her waist to pet the bit of mane bridging her lower spine with her equine half. His fingers trace her surprising muscles. He grins as their kiss concludes.]
I will come back eventually... [Ducking his head, he presses a kiss to Konoha's neck, grazes his teeth against her skin. His words reverberate through her throat.] Not too soon, of course.
[He squeezes her breasts again to leave her something to savor, watching raptly as another splash of milk spills from each dusky nipple and runs in twin rivulets over her skin.
For all the power of his brilliant mind, if asked, he could not explain the poignant appeal of her mother's milk. It's a reminder of her loneliness, the things she has left behind, which he cannot possibly comprehend as a bachelor — but Nikolai understands loneliness, even if hers is a different shape from the loneliness he has inhabited all his life. And now, with the instincts of a dragon coiled around him — her milk, hinting at the soft parts cradled within her resilient heart, becomes a reminder of why he needs to protect her. Why she needs him.
His hands fall away from her front, his mouth leaves her neck. He reaches behind his neck to pop open the last buttons holding his shirt together. Impatient with the added complications of dragon-appendage-friendly clothing, he yanks his shirt off and flings it somewhere off the bed. Now with nothing decorating his body but the shimmering teal scales scattered in patches over his scarred skin, he peels himself away and shifts on the bed to position himself behind her.
She looks good like this, ready to receive him. His cock throbs with want. As he finds the ties of her skirt, his eyes flick up the length of Konoha's body to pin her with a mischievous smile. Teasing her, Nikolai presses his length against her so that she can feel his hard heat through the last stretch of fabric defending (in vain) her modesty. He loosens her skirt with a determined tug, pulling it aside. Her tail pops free, tickling his chest with silky hairs. Next, he removes the little sachet of potpourri fastened to the dock of her tail. There's no need for her to disguise the sharp scent of her desire.
He pauses a moment, poised on his knees like a penitent with his hands placed on either side of her rump, to observe, ah, what he has to work with. He swipes his knuckles — mindful of his dragon's claws — over her entrance to feel her slickness, to test the soft give of her folds.]
Are you ready for me?
[He knows she is, but he wants to hear her say it.]