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
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.