[In the heat of the moment he has said all manner of things to her. Sweet things, obscene things. This is a little bit of both. Sweet at the first taste, but obscene the longer it lingers.]
I'm happy right now, Alinochka.
[With their bodies enmeshed, her head bent into his shoulder, her nails scraping his skin as if meaning to reach inside of him. This is where Nikolai finds happiness. In being chosen by her. In knowing that she will be there when he wakes up, when he comes home. For the present, he can't imagine finding this place with anyone else. Nor can he bring himself to be embarrassed by how dramatic that thought is as it settles in his heart. It's a child's stubbornness, a romantic sop's conviction. A king can ill afford to be either.
I want you to be happy too, he almost murmurs in return. But he already knows Alina finds her happiness. She will get to fade into quiet obscurity and devote her life to one man instead of to an entire nation. Just as she wanted.
Instead, in answer to her efforts to hoist herself into his grip, he hooks his arms around her thighs and lifts her off the wall. By pushing his hips forward and pulling her down onto him, he builds a powerful rhythm that reverberates through him.]
I want to make you happy... [The end of the sentence dissolves on a moan as he buries himself deep inside her.] I wish I could keep making you happy.
[A desire more selfish than hers. He isn't ready to let this go. All of her in his arms. All of them knotted up together. The desperate rush of it all — with his clothes hanging off of him, the edge of her pushed aside panties rubbing against his cock as he slides in and out — makes this pleasure more potent. Dizzying, intoxicating. He loves to think that she's trying to cling to this as fiercely as he is.]
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I'm happy right now, Alinochka.
[With their bodies enmeshed, her head bent into his shoulder, her nails scraping his skin as if meaning to reach inside of him. This is where Nikolai finds happiness. In being chosen by her. In knowing that she will be there when he wakes up, when he comes home. For the present, he can't imagine finding this place with anyone else. Nor can he bring himself to be embarrassed by how dramatic that thought is as it settles in his heart. It's a child's stubbornness, a romantic sop's conviction. A king can ill afford to be either.
I want you to be happy too, he almost murmurs in return. But he already knows Alina finds her happiness. She will get to fade into quiet obscurity and devote her life to one man instead of to an entire nation. Just as she wanted.
Instead, in answer to her efforts to hoist herself into his grip, he hooks his arms around her thighs and lifts her off the wall. By pushing his hips forward and pulling her down onto him, he builds a powerful rhythm that reverberates through him.]
I want to make you happy... [The end of the sentence dissolves on a moan as he buries himself deep inside her.] I wish I could keep making you happy.
[A desire more selfish than hers. He isn't ready to let this go. All of her in his arms. All of them knotted up together. The desperate rush of it all — with his clothes hanging off of him, the edge of her pushed aside panties rubbing against his cock as he slides in and out — makes this pleasure more potent. Dizzying, intoxicating. He loves to think that she's trying to cling to this as fiercely as he is.]