It may be a little cruel to have initiated such a display of it, but Yennefer doesn't possess any regrets, especially not once she sees the look on Sweeney's face, the subtle bobbing of his throat as she rubs more of the oil over her skin. She does like how it looks, her darker complexion rendered closer to bronzed and glowing, making her feel ethereal — like a goddess, having gone to a pond to bathe, only to be discovered by a hunter the likes of which she desires to claim.
As Sweeney's hand moves over her, stroking her, between her legs, beyond, she tilts her hips up, inviting, encouraging, only to find his gaze with a growing smile on her lips. And then he reaches for her, dragging an arm around her waist and hoisting her back into the water, and she goes with an excited laugh, a rich sound of giddiness that provokes an even wider grin as she tosses her head back.
That sound turns into a sigh, and then a moan, when she drapes her arms atop his shoulders, winding them around his neck, and kisses him soundly, her legs simultaneously going around his waist. Some of the oil she'd coated herself with is rubbing off on him when she presses their bare chests together, her nipples dragging over his firmer muscles, and she has to repress the temptation to work herself against him like a cat in heat.
God, that laugh. So rare and treasured; it warms his heart as well as his prick, and he's left grinning unapologetically in answer. Sweeney delights in the extra slide between their skin, and the way it urges her breasts against him.
For a few seconds, he's just pulling at her, as if it's an urgent game to catch her on the tip of his cock while only gripping a hip while the other arm doesn't sacrifice the embrace. It's torturous, with several misses that came close enough to make him suck in his breath. Finally, he cuts his losses and works his hand down between them to align things more readily.
That makes it simple to just ease her down onto him, impaling her slowly to savor any squirming she might do as he is further wrapped in her warmth. He's only halfway when his hand moves again, loosening his grip around her waist so his hand can lay against the small of her back before traversing downwards.
His slicked middle finger scouts ahead, pressing in to the second knuckle much easier with proper lubrication. The rest of his hand cups her buttocks, holding her close so they can both take a moment to adjust to the new sensation.
It doesn't need to be perfect, and in fact, she almost prefers that there's fumbling, that they don't align themselves well on the first attempt, because even the catch, the brush of his cock between her folds conjures a soft moan from her throat.
She's less surprised, though, by his efforts to bring them together, his decision to shove his hand between their bodies so he can manually put himself inside her, but she's in the right position to witness the look on his face once he does, when the slickness of the oil makes it impossibly easy for her to sink down on his length. Her lashes flutter, lips parting for another sound; that initial penetration will never fail to earn a reaction from her, as thick as he is, as long. Even as many times as she's taken him, it'll always be a sensation to absorb, at first, to bask in.
With his hand dropping down over the round of her backside, his finger similarly easing inside her with the advantage of the oil, it feels like he's cradling her between the two, his touch is easily in a position to eventually guide her movements, to rock her back and forth between his cock and his fingers. For now, though, she savors where she is, carefully shifting her hips, rocking forward and then back while her eyes, unflinchingly, gaze into his.
"That feels..." She almost doesn't have the words to describe it, that added fullness — and he hasn't even added a second finger yet, hasn't even stretched her more. Regardless of where they are, she isn't eager to rush things, moving on him in slow increments, deliberately rubbing her chest against his.
"It feels--?" His brow arches as he reins in his smirk. Sweeney's other slicked finger grazes in a lazy line around the ring, as if ready to be tapped in wherever she allows it.
She feels so deliciously tight, and his cock twitches instinctively at the sympathetic sensation. For the moment, neither it nor his finger is sliding, simply providing stimulation for her to squirm on. The time will come where he won't be able to resist fucking her more properly, but for now, he's managing well enough.
Their skin contact only makes it more obvious that his breaths are shortening, and in all likelihood, it wouldn't be hard for her to get him panting into her hair as he yearns for every stroke she'd take from him.
"Don't ask me to summon more words right now," Yennefer murmurs, though even that leaves her closer to a moan too.
Sweeney holding her still between where he's pressing into her feels especially torturous, keeping her balanced between those two points of penetration without initiating any movement, and before she can think twice about it she's the one starting to ride him, slowly establishing a grind forward with her hips to sheath more of his cock inside her and then rocking back, into his hand.
She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said she wanted more of him there, where his finger is opening her up without much movement at all, but given where they are, in the baths, anything more purposeful will have to wait until they have more time and privacy to their advantage.
"More," she finally urges, grinning a bit when she feels his other finger teasing at her. "I want it."
Fuck, to feel her rock between the two is such an indulgence. It brings to mind the idea of holding still while she takes him, wriggling and writhing, using him as little more than a warm toy.
The thought gets tucked away when she makes her request, and Sweeney's all too ready to fulfill it. His finger draws back, just so it can join its partner and press back in. The constriction is a bit more intense, and he takes the time to push in slowly, feeling each ring as he passes it.
He can't help but think of getting three fingers in her; how much further it had pushed her over the edge of her climax. Sweeney hopes he can manage that again, some day in the future. But now, there's barely enough space as it is, and he knows that eventually, she's going to want his cock in her instead. The thought makes it throb in her.
When he hits the last knuckle and there's nothing else to give, he flexes his fingers to feel out how she's doing. And just to enjoy the feel of her.
Sweeney's thought briefly forms in her head — or perhaps she's just opened enough to him that she can skim the surface of his mind. Few walls exist between them now, fewer still whenever he's inside her, and the idea of forcing him to stay still as she takes her pleasure from him, unable to move while she directs them herself, has increasing appeal.
But she isn't able to dwell on that overlong, or at least not once he carefully inserts a second finger alongside the one already inside her. The pressure is something to savor, creating an added tightness where she's already full of him elsewhere, and she groans, deep and desiring, the same way she had when she'd had so many lingering energies inside her that she needed him to make her come again and again.
Even then, once the full length of his fingers are buried inside her, she needs a moment, tipping forward until her forehead is nudged against his jaw, her eyes closed, her breath leaving her in soft, quickening pants. She's not even certain, in the moment itself, if she could come just like this, but she's half-convinced she could with barely any movement required from him at all. Even the next testing roll of her hips prompts a sound like a whine docking in her throat, a full-body shudder wracking her frame.
Her shudder ripples down into him, continuing without apology and forcing him to suck a quick breath. She smells so fucking good. They have places to be soon enough, but in this moment, it's only the two of them, and that's all he wants it to be.
Sweeney turns his head enough to kiss her temple, an act of tenderness that proceeds a firm squeeze of her buttock and curl of his fingers. He uses the grip to rock her hips again without him thrusting up. The buoyancy of the water serves as a boon, allowing him to keep acute control of the way she slides down his length, only to slowly be pulled back up.
He lives for the details, the trembling of her lashes and her breath and knowing how much she wants it.
There are other pursuits to keep in mind — the real reason for their being here, the efforts she'll make to assert her perceived loyalty to their hostess — but in the moment, Yennefer isn't dwelling on any of them. In the past, she might have been more motivated to seize control herself, to dictate the progress of her own pleasure, but here she allows him to move her, relies on his strength in the establishment of that slow, gentle rhythm.
Their faces are nudged close together, so he won't see it until she pulls back — the naked longing on her face, clear and unrepressed, the desire that floods her expression even though they're both well on their way to sating it. He moves her, guides her, and she permits it, her encouragement repeated across the mental tether they share, again and again — yes, yes, yes.
As heavy as her want has been before, this is a wholly new degree of it, one that's entirely conjured from deeper feeling and implicit trust, as she lets him into places that she's rarely allowed anyone else to touch.
Sweet fuck, that look on her face. It'd find his hand wrapped around his cock if she wasn't already, but he's grateful that it's not required. His pleasure is entwined with hers, and the more he gives, the more he has. The more he wants.
The more he aims for focus, the harder it is for him to find it, and it's not long before his grip loosens. The heel of his palm still presses in time against the small of her back, but the fingers inside her start a slow stroke instead. The pattern is smooth, but full, and it's hard for him not to superimpose what it would be like to have his prick in their place.
The sensation is only compounded by the tight warmth it's already in, and his eyes roll beneath their lids as he's lost in the murkiness of that moment. It doesn't matter where he finds himself in her, he's still in her, and that's increasingly the only thing he really needs. The closeness of it. The intimacy, even in something that's a far cry from sweetness.
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no subject
As Sweeney's hand moves over her, stroking her, between her legs, beyond, she tilts her hips up, inviting, encouraging, only to find his gaze with a growing smile on her lips. And then he reaches for her, dragging an arm around her waist and hoisting her back into the water, and she goes with an excited laugh, a rich sound of giddiness that provokes an even wider grin as she tosses her head back.
That sound turns into a sigh, and then a moan, when she drapes her arms atop his shoulders, winding them around his neck, and kisses him soundly, her legs simultaneously going around his waist. Some of the oil she'd coated herself with is rubbing off on him when she presses their bare chests together, her nipples dragging over his firmer muscles, and she has to repress the temptation to work herself against him like a cat in heat.
no subject
For a few seconds, he's just pulling at her, as if it's an urgent game to catch her on the tip of his cock while only gripping a hip while the other arm doesn't sacrifice the embrace. It's torturous, with several misses that came close enough to make him suck in his breath. Finally, he cuts his losses and works his hand down between them to align things more readily.
That makes it simple to just ease her down onto him, impaling her slowly to savor any squirming she might do as he is further wrapped in her warmth. He's only halfway when his hand moves again, loosening his grip around her waist so his hand can lay against the small of her back before traversing downwards.
His slicked middle finger scouts ahead, pressing in to the second knuckle much easier with proper lubrication. The rest of his hand cups her buttocks, holding her close so they can both take a moment to adjust to the new sensation.
no subject
She's less surprised, though, by his efforts to bring them together, his decision to shove his hand between their bodies so he can manually put himself inside her, but she's in the right position to witness the look on his face once he does, when the slickness of the oil makes it impossibly easy for her to sink down on his length. Her lashes flutter, lips parting for another sound; that initial penetration will never fail to earn a reaction from her, as thick as he is, as long. Even as many times as she's taken him, it'll always be a sensation to absorb, at first, to bask in.
With his hand dropping down over the round of her backside, his finger similarly easing inside her with the advantage of the oil, it feels like he's cradling her between the two, his touch is easily in a position to eventually guide her movements, to rock her back and forth between his cock and his fingers. For now, though, she savors where she is, carefully shifting her hips, rocking forward and then back while her eyes, unflinchingly, gaze into his.
"That feels..." She almost doesn't have the words to describe it, that added fullness — and he hasn't even added a second finger yet, hasn't even stretched her more. Regardless of where they are, she isn't eager to rush things, moving on him in slow increments, deliberately rubbing her chest against his.
no subject
She feels so deliciously tight, and his cock twitches instinctively at the sympathetic sensation. For the moment, neither it nor his finger is sliding, simply providing stimulation for her to squirm on. The time will come where he won't be able to resist fucking her more properly, but for now, he's managing well enough.
Their skin contact only makes it more obvious that his breaths are shortening, and in all likelihood, it wouldn't be hard for her to get him panting into her hair as he yearns for every stroke she'd take from him.
no subject
Sweeney holding her still between where he's pressing into her feels especially torturous, keeping her balanced between those two points of penetration without initiating any movement, and before she can think twice about it she's the one starting to ride him, slowly establishing a grind forward with her hips to sheath more of his cock inside her and then rocking back, into his hand.
She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said she wanted more of him there, where his finger is opening her up without much movement at all, but given where they are, in the baths, anything more purposeful will have to wait until they have more time and privacy to their advantage.
"More," she finally urges, grinning a bit when she feels his other finger teasing at her. "I want it."
no subject
The thought gets tucked away when she makes her request, and Sweeney's all too ready to fulfill it. His finger draws back, just so it can join its partner and press back in. The constriction is a bit more intense, and he takes the time to push in slowly, feeling each ring as he passes it.
He can't help but think of getting three fingers in her; how much further it had pushed her over the edge of her climax. Sweeney hopes he can manage that again, some day in the future. But now, there's barely enough space as it is, and he knows that eventually, she's going to want his cock in her instead. The thought makes it throb in her.
When he hits the last knuckle and there's nothing else to give, he flexes his fingers to feel out how she's doing. And just to enjoy the feel of her.
no subject
But she isn't able to dwell on that overlong, or at least not once he carefully inserts a second finger alongside the one already inside her. The pressure is something to savor, creating an added tightness where she's already full of him elsewhere, and she groans, deep and desiring, the same way she had when she'd had so many lingering energies inside her that she needed him to make her come again and again.
Even then, once the full length of his fingers are buried inside her, she needs a moment, tipping forward until her forehead is nudged against his jaw, her eyes closed, her breath leaving her in soft, quickening pants. She's not even certain, in the moment itself, if she could come just like this, but she's half-convinced she could with barely any movement required from him at all. Even the next testing roll of her hips prompts a sound like a whine docking in her throat, a full-body shudder wracking her frame.
no subject
Sweeney turns his head enough to kiss her temple, an act of tenderness that proceeds a firm squeeze of her buttock and curl of his fingers. He uses the grip to rock her hips again without him thrusting up. The buoyancy of the water serves as a boon, allowing him to keep acute control of the way she slides down his length, only to slowly be pulled back up.
He lives for the details, the trembling of her lashes and her breath and knowing how much she wants it.
no subject
Their faces are nudged close together, so he won't see it until she pulls back — the naked longing on her face, clear and unrepressed, the desire that floods her expression even though they're both well on their way to sating it. He moves her, guides her, and she permits it, her encouragement repeated across the mental tether they share, again and again — yes, yes, yes.
As heavy as her want has been before, this is a wholly new degree of it, one that's entirely conjured from deeper feeling and implicit trust, as she lets him into places that she's rarely allowed anyone else to touch.
no subject
The more he aims for focus, the harder it is for him to find it, and it's not long before his grip loosens. The heel of his palm still presses in time against the small of her back, but the fingers inside her start a slow stroke instead. The pattern is smooth, but full, and it's hard for him not to superimpose what it would be like to have his prick in their place.
The sensation is only compounded by the tight warmth it's already in, and his eyes roll beneath their lids as he's lost in the murkiness of that moment. It doesn't matter where he finds himself in her, he's still in her, and that's increasingly the only thing he really needs. The closeness of it. The intimacy, even in something that's a far cry from sweetness.