In the evening, it gets incredibly warm. Especially when the both of you settle in each other's arms, warmth spreading from the embrace, all over your skins. He voices sweet nothings to your ear, and his breath tickles a few strands of hair away from your rosing lobe. The giggle escapes you unconditioned, and your arms tighten.
He kisses it, his fingers sliding through your hair and bringing you even closer to his chest. Your nose at the nape of his neck now, and small breaths leave his soft lips. They travel down to your jaw, tickling all of the way back to your lobe.
One soft, little moan in your ear. And you were gone. It didn't take long for you both to reach the need of physical touch, ever. This was indeed very normal for the both of you. Every one late night, where sleep just wouldn't come. His room is dark, outside the light filtering through the window, and the shine it brought upon your skin. His room, your secluded haven. Only the two of you, alone, no gaze to judge or see. It was only the light of the moon, white and pure and innocent. Pretty lines made of stardust, the silence of the night just much more louder when Jean nosed at your hair. You were restless, and so was he.
"Mmmh, can I . . .?" words like velvet brush with an air of calmness over you, and a hand grips at your night gown with a little bit of force.
"Please?" he begged you so nicely too, how could you ever refuse. Voice hoarse, hands eager to feel your supple flesh underneath your clothes. They were in the way, it annoyed him, an instinctual urge pulling the both of you together, closer. Amorous need dripped from his eye when he looked at you. A need, unfiltered, free to appreciate down your body.
You didn't reject it, your own lashes fluttering closed at the persistence of his breath against your cheek. The solider hummed at your willingness, appreciating it with a gentle peck on your eyelid. And when his arms circled your waist, you were warm, then, again. His heat enveloped you, his nose so close, it traced lines up and down your cheek, memorizing the structure, and appreciating it. Jean was a thorough man, and he liked to make it very clear that everything that you are, to him, is irreplaceable.
How softly he pressed a kiss to your lips, then. Slowly conquering your conscious, taking apart your very thoughts, nothing but a hooded gaze from beneath you when he kneeled.
Ohh, when he kneeled. It was a slow process for Jean, how he loved to tease you. He took care to leave his kisses upon your body like you're precious. Nothing has ever made you feel like this, this loved and appreciated. To think, that your existence has brightened, even if just a little bit, the life of this man, is a thought enough to warm your chest with compassion. From the tips of his midnight hair, to his fingers, to the limit of his existence, he is everything to you now, and so are you to him. And then, love has never been so exhilarating to breathe.
And when he parted your legs, mm. When he finally settled in, the tips of his fingers so careful in their travels upon your body, like he was loving the very essence underneath his skin. They dipped at your ribs, caressed your sides and followed the delicate curve they created, and then stopped at your hips. He undressed you with the utmost patience, with delicate fingers, undoing knots, tracing invisible lines all across your calves and feet first, his lips busy with your knees and thighs. You were a mess before he could even reach your heat, your ragged breath and iron grip on his hair, the only indication of your patience running thin.
He undid his own clothes in the meantime, careful hands unbuttoning and pushing away garment after garment of clothing. In no hurry, his skin revealed itself to your eyes, memories of the past you never dared to ask of him, to tell you their stories. Invisible scars you knew rested there, your naked eye never able to see the horrid burned skin that must have adorned his lithe frame. A man like him, to endure such pains, a soul as loyal and honorable as his. It stung your eyes.
But he noticed.
Jean's gaze never left yours.
How important it was for him to see you watch him. He could never tire of your beautiful expressions. They are the epitome of emotion, everything so naked and open on your features. Your eyes the most expressive gems, your lips parting and pursing, all that he needs to know is even in the tremble of your body under his hands. But then, his pupil trained on the bit of sorrow marring your beautiful face and his hands stilled in their pursuit of your bodily heat.
What's the matter?
A kiss on your thigh, a soft sigh warming the flesh against his lips.
Why do you look so sad?
You opened your eyes again, a gloss one would think it was crystal, covering your eyes. It was immensely pretty, how it shined the color of your eye to him. He looked and looked, entranced, the only bodily temptation he could ever let himself succumb to. You were here, with him, close to him. You loved him. The hand cradling through his locks, as he pressed one apologetic kiss to your leg, told him so. For what was he apologizing? Even he doesn't know anymore.
You didn't dare blink, your mouth watering and tongue wetting your lips in anticipation. The rush of emotions, you need to leave it behind. The thoughts, of sleepless nights, that Jean had to endure on his own, in his cold bed, had to be left in the past. You weren't there. You had no way of helping him. You cannot think of those right now. The man himself is kneeling at the foot of the bed, leaving all of the love he can muster onto your body. You need to pay attention. More important matters are at hand, right now.
And, unsurprisingly, it affects you rather quickly.
With how skilled he has become since the two of you started getting intimate, the exitement could be visible on his own features.
Jean loves your legs. It's like he cannot get enough of them. During the days, or around anyone else for that matter, he doesn't dare touch you. Even your hand, so small and fragile, into his bigger one has him hiding his face into his free palm. But in private, his hands cannot be kept to his sides.
He squeezes them. Kisses them. Lays his head in your lap, and most importantly, when he eats you out and has you screaming his name to the ceiling at the apex of pleasure, he doesn't let them go. He's enamored by them, every lick and kiss so practiced against them it has become perfection when he does it.
With every bit of skin conquered, he complimented you, adored you with sweetest of words, everything nothing but worship when he undid, finally, the last piece of your skirt.
Oh God, when he parted your legs, more. Wider than before.
His eyes were trained at your center, where your wetness glistened, where the place you needed him the most was in front of him, unhidden.
Violet, darker than ever before, slid up to your flushed face, admiring the frown etched between your brows. The angry bites on your lip, the messy hair, as if you ran your hand multiple times through it. Ever so beautiful. A gorgeous woman in front of him, her urges for him the most powerful weapon against him now.
"Can I, . . ." he tempted, his palms tight on your thighs as he came closer, slowly, so agonizingly slowly.
Your legs parted more voluntarily, your eyes already blurring with need. Nothing, but only him you could see. Nothing else mattered, as the room you were in, faded and morphed together. The creaks of the bed, the shift of the blankets, of the pillows, unimportant. The alight desperation in his own eyes, as he looked at you. Every centimeter he made to come closer and closer to you, as if he was testing you. The grip you had on his hair had to have been painful, as you knew yourself, your restraint was held in the strength of it. Jean didn't utter one complaint, if anything he looked to be enjoying it.
"Can you what?" You gasp, trembling a little at the shadow of a breath against your sensitive entrance. What was he waiting for, you'd think.
"Can I get a taste of you. . ." with his words, deep and grave against you, his hands dip under your thighs. They drag you closer to his face, and you shiver. ". . .mademoiselle?" he finally adds, with a smile stretched across his lips.
Oh. Oh the little punk.
You could not help yourself.
The temptation did nothing but stir exitement in your body.
Letting go of his hair, you threw your legs over his shoulders. You swiftly leaned back, pushing your hair back and past your shoulders. With the movement came a wave of arousal over you, beckoning to give you into your own greedy little wish. And Jean's wish, no wonder. The exited glint in his eye was the definition of dangerous and sharp, his visible eye widening a little at your sudden action.
The vampire shuddered, his shoulders rolling under the weight of your legs, as if adjusting to it. You would have been worried, but, considering the way he is looking up at you, now, so lewdly, so openly, so ready, puts all of it to sleep.
His nose presses against your belly, his lips tentatively pressing a kiss, right above your folds.
You have to squirm, your grip on his hair dangerous at this point. Your nails dug into his scalp, and the little whined exhale he couldn't keep in brushed against your hip. It was so cold against your heated skin. It drove you mad.
"Are you going to tease me all night, Jea-aah-!" your words fall on deaf ears, interrupted.
The second he got the chance, Jean pressed you flat against the bed, hands groping and feeling you up, their touch unforgiving and just so wild you're going mad.
His mouth finally meets your arousal, eyes blissfully closed and a low groan of appreciation falling from his mouth. His tongue slides out, his hands blind in their search as they go further up onto your stomach, the tender rise and fall of your ribs a delight of a feeling under his fingers. His nails drag across the skin, barely, eliciting a sound of your breath just so loud and so symphonic for him.
Sharp sparks of pleasure erupt up your spine, his name on your lips as you gasp. Oh, how deliciously he eats you out. Merciless upon your heat, tongue lapping and licking at everything that you are, with abandon. His hands grab and mold over anything that you have to give to him, fingers digging into curves, leaving bruises and scratches all over your back, legs and stomach. All the while his tongue takes up your very essence, a soft and satisfied hum deep in his throat after every lick.
A bit more. How his mouth just salivates after your slick, the taste lingering on his tongue, the softness of your legs around his head, how they just cage him in, beg him to come closer. He cannot call this place anything else other than heaven.
You have no energy to fight him on it, or no power whatsoever. His tongue, so skilled against your core, drinks up everything that you have to give, like it's a sacred offering. He pushes his face against you more, as if even the smallest of distance is unacceptable.
The moans he lets out, the long sighs against you, the way he flicks his tongue over the top of your slit. He engrosses himself between your legs so easily, his mouth working literal magic onto you, and all you can do is beg and moan to the ceiling his name, breathless calls of it and desperate mewls that can only be described as desire.
"Jeeean, oh my-" your sentences are never finished. They shorten more and more, until only his name you can pronounce.
He secures a grip on your waist, one palm so tight against your side it must bruise. His short nails dig with urgency into your skin, his lips wet with his saliva and your juices. It is electrifying, every lick of his tongue, when the tip circles your clit, so slowly you feel like you're going insane.
But then, it travels lower, parting your weeping folds so easily and pleasurable. It enters inside of you then, your whole muscles tensing at the sudden push.
You shiver and whine, seemingly the only thing you can do when Jean gets ahold of your body, man handling you to his pleasure with barely any strength. That shouldn't make you moan so loud or tighten your legs around him so hard. The grip you have on his hair is near numbing, a certain icy sensation crawling up your forearms.
Heat is crawling up your legs, like electricity into your core. It tightens and tightens, your legs trembling with the stimulation and barely letting the tension go. It numbs your mind, your voice soaring higher and higher.
You're getting closer, your body now shifting from side to side as you teeth grit together, your whines and cries urging Jean on. Your grip on his hair, your legs around his head, what else could he do but pleasure you to the ends of the world? Hearing your moans, your cries of his name, it spurs him, makes him want to hear you more.
Your grip on him to be tighter, more aggressive.
Let it all out.
He hums against you, devoted to your body and utterly at your command. You just didn't have the energy to tell him into words, how badly you needed to come, right now. But he understands, because the tell tale tremble of your legs, the high intonation of your voice, his name on your lips so desperately, is enough.
You're close. You're so close.
"Yes, yes, keep going-"
He lets himself moan against you, your taste numbing to him throughout the thick haze of pleasure. More, just a bit more. Almost there, come on-
"Yes, yES, JEAN, FUCK- mmmhffuckk-"
You gasp, no oxygen in your lungs, as your knot of pleasure finally snaps.
With the aftershocks, your grip turns harsh and unforgiving onto his hair as you choke on your moans. His grip on you insistent, it keeps your hips to the matress as he laps up your release, soft groans of appreciation with every gulp he takes of you.
How could he ever tire of this?
A sweet yet salty taste, thick as honey dripping down and past his lips when his tongue cannot lick it all.
It travels down his chin and onto his neck, a transparent white and warm thick liquid. He quietly parts from your body, the bit of distance he put between you two tied by the string of saliva connecting his lip to your cunt, still twitching and relaxing. After how easily he ate you up, like the last meal of his life, it's no surprise you still can't think.
"Mmmmph. . ." you sigh, gasping right as the aftershocks have passed, your hands a consistent grip on his hair before they soften and caress his messy tresses.
Jean softly kisses the insides of your thighs, his hands caressing the softness of your legs with a dreamy shine in his eye, a soft smile on his lips as he nuzzles your skin.
"What a beautiful sight you can be, . . ." he whispers into your trembling thigh, admiration and love so naked in his gaze when it raises up to look. Warmth caresses over your very body when he looks just so at you, your breath unstable and loud in your ears, for more than one reason now.
You sigh longingly, and caress your cheek with a hand, the one left in his hair going under his chin, to raise him up from between your legs. Need him closer, right now. It is cold on the bed without him.
Your lashes, shadows against your rosy cheeks as they blink up at the vampire. Eyes catching the way his teeth elongate into his mouth, biting down onto it, sharp little knives against the moist skin of his lips. Your cheeks are so hot to your touch, the warmth, it seeps into your palm.
He leans over your body, his own slowly pressing down against yours. His hands parting your legs so slowly, his touch alight on your skin when his fingers dig into the plush of your thighs. Now chest to chest, his face is so close to yours, you feel a wave of shivers overflowing you, your ankles locking on their own around his waist when he nestles in. Jean is so much bigger, stronger than you. You don't say it aloud, but when his shoulders come close enough to your lips you could taste the skin, you eagerly hid your nose and made yourself smaller into his embrace. Arms quick to wrap around him, and the security he envelops you into simply divine to relish in.
"What's wrong. Are you all right. . .?" still a sweetheart, as he kisses your cheek, one hand in your hair to caress it.
"Yes, love. . . .perfect." you smile, nudging your nose with his, smiling shyly as he laughs with you.
"I know I must have told you thousands of times until now, but you're so beautiful, ma dame. . . ." he says against your lips before drowning you into a kiss, his arms tight around you. He cherishes the sounds you make under him, your little compliments for him whispered just as softly, back to him.
"Mmm? Only for you-"
And you laugh again, kissing his lips again, your arms around his neck. Happiness never tasted so sweet. So calm and so beautiful. No hurry in any movement, no adrenaline. All of it, washing over you both. You secure him into your soft hold, his body only leaning into your embrace, no retreat, his skin molding with yours. You're so close. . . If you concentrated enough, through all of your laboured breaths, you could heart the sound of his heart, meeting and slowly synching with yours.
He sighs into the press of your lips, little words shushed between parting breaths. His hands are dragging your hips back up into his, his own arousal hard and already leaking against your thighs. A bit of desperation is evident in his erratic and uncontrolled twitches of his fingers though, his hurried breaths fanning your cheek as he deepens your kiss, tongue searching yours inside your mouth. It licks teeth, the roof of your mouth, it dances slowly against your own, craving the closeness only you could give.
And you gasp, rearing your head back, into the pillow, welcoming his hurried need with a pleased hum. Teeth drag across your lips, appreciating and memorising again and again the soft give they have when he thugs onto them. The sharpness of his canines, little two points of needles against your skin when they lower, to your chin. They drag, a shiver onto both of your spines when he exhales.
Shakily, breathily, still losing himself in the taste of your saliva. He licks his teeth clean, a tempered hum in his chest when his arms leave the secure grip they had on your hips, to wind around your stomach. A stronger hold onto you, more secure.
Hands so large and so warm against the back of your ribs, you tremble again, a loose sigh on your lips, and your eyes close.
"Jean?" a small sound escapes out of you. A breath following right after when he noses at your neck, his inhales a bit more louder than before. You can feel him, the sighs and moans reverberate against your chest when he catches your scent.
His mouth presses one shy kiss on your shoulder then, his every limb of his body as if shaking with immense control he has put himself under. His hips grind against yours, slow, but barely controlled when his length brushes against your thigh, so, so close to your arousal.
It has you squirming under him, your eyes a bit fearful to fall prey and close to the sensual grind he pushes against your hips. Your lashes flutter, and another breath, shaky and unsteady leaves your body.
"J-Jean, it's fine, really. . . " you whisper, voice unsure of itself as you cradle your fingers through his hair. The sluggish movements of your bodies, aligned together yet lost in their advance to connect with each other.
It's like he loses himself at the sound of your voice, a little call of one angel, he could describe it. His lips press another kiss to your shoulder, and his hips slow against yours again, this time shifting, to align correctly against your entrance.
"Sorry, lost my self a little. . ." he assures, a soft breath against your skin before his half lidded eyes rise up to meet yours. Just as angelic as always, amethyst blinks in a haze at your face. His hair a mussed mess, the bangs over his eye somewhere behind his ear or pushed back by your insistent grip from before. He bites the side of his lip, a tempted glance down at your neck telling you everything you need to know. Insistent fingers into your back, and a temptation to break the still and heavy air for the both of you, claws at both of your insides. Need. So sharp, yet so hot, pleasing and simply animal. It knots into your bellies, and it crawls like liquid fire over your bodies. How could you resist against it, when Jean himself stops his ministrations against you, so unsure and even daresay scared.
"Hey. . . .Hey, Jean, you okay?"
"Uh.. . ." a small sound escapes him, shy in its behavior when his gaze as if widens, before quickly hiding itself away into your neck, his cheek pressing against your pulse. Oh, what warm skin he has. It must be burning with the intent of embarrassment, and you can only giggle. What must be coursing through his mind there, to offer you that reaction too?
"It's allright now." he replies back, a tone of childishness as he huffs against you, his hands travelling up to the back of your neck to hold onto it. His only anchor of reality, before he loses it with himself inside of you.
"Now? Well, why wasn't it before and it is now, hmm?" you tease, a rose tint to your cheeks as well when your legs go higher, ever so slowly around his middle, to have him closer, more solid against you.
It's all right.
Press yourself against me, my brave solider, you won't wound me.
"Because, when I look at you, ma lumière. . ." Jean sighs, rising up from his forever place in your neck, a curious frown upon his gentle features. He is too far away from you, you notice. Your palm reaches his chest, calling him back, already. You hum in question, a hand of yours tracing a line from his burned eye to his jaw, your thumb pressing slightly into it. The other urges him back to you and forward, your hot body trembling at the cold distance between your skin and his.
No, no. Come back to me.
But, he doesn't let you shiver for long. He just swears under his breath and leans back against you, his hands marveling over your body like it's precious. Fingers glide over your soft stomach, his eyes lighting up with so much emotion when it looks down at everything they reach. Then, the come back up to look at you, as if there's nothing else like you into this whole universe.
And oh, how it is making you feel. That touch of his, forever careful and never forcing upon you, his lips when he downs them to your collarbone, and you tremble.
Oh, God, when one hand grabs onto your thigh, to hold it still against his side, you thought you'd melt. When his face lowers past your chest, to the sternum between your ribs. Where he presses one soft kiss that tells you more than any jumbled words his poor mind could create right now.
It is Purgatory.
It is Hell.
How impure of him, a saint for the people of France, to treasure you like you're blessed. A contradiction he is, as he bites into your skin, close to tasting blood. Unorthodox in its nature, Jean eases the pain of the bite with a lick of his tongue, his hands trailing like never before over your whole body, his own desires mingling with yours.
You moan, utterly tortured. Nothing more than a bite, than a tease of his palm. His fingers grasping onto your breast, his chest pressed to your stomach, while his hips just shy of thrusting with uncontrollable hunger and need inside of you. You feel his control dissolve at the hear of your moan, his gaze, lust and liquid hot as it looks over you, ravenous.
"Jean, please-" you shudder, your hand closing over his on your breast, your fingers intertwining with his. His tongue hovers over the valley between, his nose at the rapid rise and fall of your chest. He doesn't move or breathe, his canines so long they pass the line of his lips. How sharp, how long, the memory of what these instruments of pleasure and pain can give you is torturous into your head. Your desire only heightens your senses, it loosens the last threads of your sanity.
You bring his hand up to your lips, a shy kiss on his knuckles as you press your heels into his back, urging him forward. Oh sweet torture, when the tip of his length teases you again, a slick sound so loud it should be embarrassing as it drags against your entrance, wet with your and his arousal.
"Inside me. . ."
And you both let go.
Your words broke an invisible line.
One that neither of you knew was there, before your words cut them with the ease of a polished sword.
He breaks, a wild, almost unleashed haze in his eye as he growls, so low in his throat and barely audible it travels through his chest against yours. An unheard of ever sound coming from him until now, and it destroys you. His forehead pressing into your chest tight, a grind of his teeth even you can hear as he pushes inside, finally,. . . finally.
You have to tense, the pain of finally having him inside, one you welcome with a relieved smile on your face. Inhaling sharply at the feeling, your grip on his back tightens.
"Oh mon Dieu-" he grunts, shivering and tensing up as well, his teeth dragging across your skin and biting feverishly into it, but never breaking it as you moan yourself to the ceiling, your neck bared and chest arched into his mouth. How beautiful of you, presented like this, so weak to his whims as he lets his tongue lick up to your neck, his hand in yours now quick to go back to your chest.
"Soooo tight. . ." he marvels, losing himself into your body, his hips so deliciously hard pushed against yours, you can feel them into your bones. How he stretches you, it is indescribable how good it feels. How animal, you should think. How utterly dirty and carnal, you should say.
Jean glides up your body, his pressed so close to yours so that the two of you can never be detached. Desperate wet breaths and groans against your shoulder and collar and neck, his tongue, teeth and lips marking everything they can reach, in a haze of desperation and unadulterated need. Uncontrollable, even as you grind just like him against his body, your hands to his back for a support only he can offer you.
You feel so good. It is another experience, when you cannot hear anything else, but the sound of your lover's voice. It whispers the deepest thoughts within himself, erotic promises and sinful pleas tattooed into your skin with every bite he can give. When his body speaks louder against you than any language spoken on this Earth. When it grips you, like you're his last dream come true. His last reason to live.
His last everything.
How dare people call this animalistic. How dare they call it instinct, when it is a poem of everything the two of you combined are. The mistakes of his past life, all of them you accept with a kiss to his eye, to the cheek that is nothing but ugly meat. The pain he lives with in this life. Your arms secure his nightmares away when they wrap around his shoulders. Every time you do it, to bring him back to you, welcoming him into your neck, into his only satiable place for blood. Jean may never say it out loud, but he drinks from you, with such pleasure, such adoration, and he holds you through it, every time, afraid of everything outside of your embrace. It is sacred the way he holds you then, his most precious love, giving him her source of life. Jean could never drink from another. It will never taste as sweet as you, as perfect dare he say.
He loves you.
And you, him.
"Si chaud aussi. . ." he purrs, now into your neck, his voice warm and loving and devoted to your every moan and gasp you have to offer. Jean listens intently, little groans and hums of pleasure as he licks a small spot between your shoulder and neck, eyes half opened but pupils dilated to a length where the violet of his eyes is nothing but a ring around it. His hips push you forward onto the bed, more and more aggressive and loud and harder, chasing both of your pleasures, both of your edges.
Yes, yesss. Let go, give me your all.
"Jean. . .Jeannn-" you can only cry for his presence, even more closer than it already is, your eyes clenched shut, afraid to be opened. Afraid to lose all of this sensation. All of this pleasure, your body so hot, and his even more so as it glides against yours, the muscles in his back so hard under your nails as you drag uncontrollable red lines of pleasure across.
His thrusts don't relent, stifled moans against your shoulder as he teases a part of your skin with his teeth. Oh, he will bite. He will bite, his teeth will sink in, and blood will flow out.
The momentary panic passes though, as one last, unforgettable kiss to the sacred place is pressed onto. With the utmost care, as if no matter the situation, Jean will cherish it. Not only your skin, your sweetest blood, but your body, soul and mind as well. His promise of unwavering love and devotion. He thanks you for giving him everything you had. That you are.
It is enough for you, the gesture speaking for itself.
And then, he bit.
The sensation never changes, it is always pain at the beginning. It always hurts, but just as well as it hurts, it morphs into undeniable pleasure. It is heavy into your veins, feels like the pit of a flame, the spark that bursts a magnificent fire inside of you.
Jean moaned as he greedily lapped up your blood, tongue licking and slurping on your open wound, his hips desperately grinding into yours.
The keen that seethes through your clenched teeth is pressed into his shoulder. Your arms tighten their embrace on his body, hands and chests and stomachs meeting one another in the middle. Your ears ring, and you have to gasp. It is painfully pleasurable. It heightens all of your senses, your thigh shaking under his hand, when the sensation reaches your lower half. And how it tightens your belly. Mmm, it feels so good. Your legs on each side of his hips, heat in your cheeks. His hands mementos across your naked body, delicate touches, yet the most sinful that had the grace to caress you. Still, yet so careful and delicate, you'd think yourself you're made of glass.
He gave under your touch easily. He drowned in your warmth, your body, your everything. His body curled around yours, as if it could protect from anything ever daring to look at you. How precious this man has become to you. A wounded soul, with nothing left in his life.
"Haaah. . . ." he releases your neck and you exhale as well, trembling in his hold with the softest of moans on your lips. How unhinged, his eyes the most vivid colors. You catch a glimpse of them, glazed over, the shine of a predator, blood at the corner of his lips, how he licks them clean.
Your teeth clench and the exhilirating pleasure from the bite, still courses in your veins with so much life. It stimulates you, it raises your back with a delicious arch.
More, more. Give me so much more, love.
He brings you back against him, hip to hip, and you both groan, satisfied, but not for long.
How handsome he was. Blood dripping in red down his face, your warmth and part of yourself, he drunk on it, thirsted for it. Temptation runs you thin, and with every forceful thrust, you lose yourself more and more. Oh, such high, you think you're drugged.
"Jean, oh Jean-" you muse, delirious, eyes falling closed and body responding to his. Wet, heat. He groans his pleasures to you as well, teeth gritted together, forceful breaths seethed against your skin, and you've never thought how a tempered, animalistic sound like this could ever tighten your core just so.
"Ma dame,. . ." Jean loses his train of thought, eyes dilated as they drink up your image, his ears registering the beautiful sounds you release. His hips stutter against yours, and you sigh, trembling. A shiver wrecks you, pleased, impure, sensuous.
He's so deep inside. His breath is so hot against your face, he's impossibly close to you. You gasp on his scent, your nails leaving their own territorial marks across his back, your own claws as you drown into thorns of pleasure, deeper and deeper, where the only light you can ever reach is the one in his gaze. How many times have you wounded his back? It's like your palms are obsessed with it. The shift of the muscles, the heat of his skin, slowly morphing into sweat right beneath your fingertips. How enticing it is to you, to feel it all. To feel his heartbeat thunder against your touch as well. You're drunk on the sensation.
His pace picks up, and the slight shake of his shoulders has you shivering in anticipation.
"You're close, aren't you, love?" you whisper in his ear, breath hot and eyes unfocused. Your fingers caress his head, your lips just a tease across his shoulders. He sighs, nose deep in your shoulder and breath searing hot, tongue greedy as he tastes the soft layer of your skin, the soft give, the delicateness of it all.
"Come on, Jean, it's okay-" you shush, moaning into his ear your desires of his teeth, the ache and pleasure it pushes into your veins. Have him lose himself as well. Again. Do it again.
Make me feel alive.
Your blood the only thing he would rather beg for at your feet. His nourishment, his own ecstasy to drink.
I'll give it to you all.
He moans as well, eyes falling closed as he sighs then into your shoulder, nose protruding at your neck, his head caressed by the gentle touch of your hand.
Just a bit more. Have you endure a little bit more. He pushes himself harder, his hips erratic against yours now, his own desperation in the slight growl he lets out. Small and wet kisses against your skin leave his lips as he breathes in your scent, the last threads of his reality and logic thinning out with every reassurance you tell him. You promise him, you kiss with such love and devotion into his skin he might crumble.
"Mmmmh . . .please-" he chokes out, his arms crushing the oxygen out of you. He's so deep inside, you break his sanity. You're so tight, so hot and wet and all of everything he has ever craved for. One more push, another moan from the both of you. He's so close.
One more push.
One more thrust.
"Ohh, s'il vous plaît. . ."His teeth ache, the urge to bite again, his need unsatisfied as he licks his lips in preparation. Come on, he's so close.
"Yesss, Jean- aahhn, do it-"
You're clinging to him so sweetly, your cries his own when the pleasure peaks, and peaks and peaks. Your nails, your own marks across his neck and back, he realizes. Long drags of carnal desire, of your insatiable need, as well as his. The bite you wear on the juncture of your shoulder and neck, angry red skin, wound already closing and bruising a little blue.
He pecks it softly, cradling your head in his hand as he thrusts inside one more time.
And then finally.
Finally, a wretched groan leaves his mouth, his forehead pushed tight into your shoulder. He numbs the sound against your skin as he bites it, fierce and wild and craving.
You scream as well, cries and moans sensitive against his ears as you iron your grip onto him. Desperate to hold onto something, teeth clenched together. Jean sucks and breaks your skin, warm blood flooding his tongue, again, and he shudders. Your taste, heaven on earth, once again.
You trash against him and bite him back this time, another scream of pleasure as you tremble in his hold. Your walls clenching down onto him as well, as if sucking him in deeper, taking everything he has to give.
Oh God, you're delirious. Pleasure erupts against your very skin, your muscles tight and mind lost within another universe. Jean cradles you close to him, his own grip on you not loosening for one second as he sucks another portion of blood from your shoulder. His hips push in a few more times, slowed but heavy movements against your trembling body.
He kisses your wounds, the bite marks he has left and licks them clean, whispering beautiful nothings for you to hear, to calm you down and bring you back to him. Caresses your face with a gentle care, his own ragged breath against your heated skin closure to the both of you. The high is slowly coming down, the white noise inside your ears subduing into nothingness.
"MC?" he asks, nuzzling his nose into your cheek. He kisses your jaw too, a hand cradling the other side of your face as he rolls the both of you to the side.
You tremble for a little bit more, a soft sigh on your lips as you weakly hold onto his back, your legs now jelly around his waist.
But then, a dopey smile stretches your cheeks, a little giggle on your lips as well. You drag his questioning gaze closer to your blushing face, to kiss him easily, serenely, utterly mindless with happiness and exhaustion.
"Hi. . ."you finally say, detaching your mouth from his for a breath. Your gaze follows his, that color of amethyst you fell in love with looking and watching over you with the same amount of love, if not even more so.
"Hello." he laughs softly as well, pecking you on the forehead. Before you can do anything else, as you had planned to drag him down into a series of longer and amazing after sex kissies, Jean pushes himself up and out of your embrace.
"Wha- Jean-" you whine, acting offended and looking up at him with a pout.
"No worries, mon ange," he smiles, whispering against your forehead. " I'm just going to get a clean cloth from the bathroom. I'll be back."
"Mph. I hold you onto that."
Jean laughs and shakes his head a little at your silliness, his hand appreciative and soft on your thigh.
And then, with the promise of being back in a matter of seconds, he enters the bathroom, leaving you alone on the bed.
Despite your façade of angry and pouty little child, once the door to the bathroom shut, your face broke into a stupid smile, your cheeks still alight with warmth, and breath still ragged from the earlier activities.
"Oh, wow. . ." you giggle, your hands on your cheeks as you hide your face into the pillow, a soft scream of yours into it that you couldn't keep in any more longer.