Essek is barely holding onto time himself, and it is reportedly his specialty. That Immovable Object doesn't require concentration is a true blessing, because he'd have lost it immediately with his first orgasm. Somehow coming again, and again a third time since then hasn't left him tired and satisfied, but even more flustered with unslaked arousal. As his mate continues to move inside him, it has only built rather than dissipated.
Lightheaded with sustained pleasure, he clings to the creature pressing him down like he'd shatter if he let go. A ripple of tension goes through him, the sweet precursor to another orgasm, as he feels the wolf's hot breath on his skin, the affectionate nudge of his great head, and his husband's voice in his mind. Light, how could he not feel it? He's never been more full, and as much as he wants to hold all of his alpha's thick, warm spend inside him, he absolutely can't. The excess has been dripping freely from his cunt and off the edge of the table, onto the stone beneath them. If this doesn't breed him--
"Ah, ah--" He clings, presses his face again into the thick fur of the wolf's neck, as the partially swollen knot rubs through his sensitive folds, not quite pressing inside. He's a mess already. The wet sound of his husband's thick cock plunging into him over and over, steady and unhurried, is utterly lewd, and Essek keeps his legs spread obscenely because he needs it so badly he can barely think.
"My love," he whimpers, once in Undercommon before translating, "I can feel it. Give me more, keep me full, please. I don't want to be empty."
Essek barely recognizes this shameless, carnal creature as himself, but there is a strange sense of freedom in that. For now, he can escape those trappings and embrace the kind of instinct he's always denied himself. This knowing and sensing each other's needs, this communion of bodies, the desire and the effort to create something between them--it brings a kind of primal bliss he couldn't have imagined.
no subject
Lightheaded with sustained pleasure, he clings to the creature pressing him down like he'd shatter if he let go. A ripple of tension goes through him, the sweet precursor to another orgasm, as he feels the wolf's hot breath on his skin, the affectionate nudge of his great head, and his husband's voice in his mind. Light, how could he not feel it? He's never been more full, and as much as he wants to hold all of his alpha's thick, warm spend inside him, he absolutely can't. The excess has been dripping freely from his cunt and off the edge of the table, onto the stone beneath them. If this doesn't breed him--
"Ah, ah--" He clings, presses his face again into the thick fur of the wolf's neck, as the partially swollen knot rubs through his sensitive folds, not quite pressing inside. He's a mess already. The wet sound of his husband's thick cock plunging into him over and over, steady and unhurried, is utterly lewd, and Essek keeps his legs spread obscenely because he needs it so badly he can barely think.
"My love," he whimpers, once in Undercommon before translating, "I can feel it. Give me more, keep me full, please. I don't want to be empty."
Essek barely recognizes this shameless, carnal creature as himself, but there is a strange sense of freedom in that. For now, he can escape those trappings and embrace the kind of instinct he's always denied himself. This knowing and sensing each other's needs, this communion of bodies, the desire and the effort to create something between them--it brings a kind of primal bliss he couldn't have imagined.