hellorhighwater | [GENESSIA] Inbox

Neil's hand was shaking as he managed to set his plate aside, the world narrowing again to Regina's breath puffing against his face, the sound of her voice--that single word making him want with her fingers still wrapped around his wrist, to be possessed, to be claimed, to be owned, more than she already did...

She was so close all he had to do was lean forward and tip his head, and his mouth was on hers, hard and hungry and desperate as his free hand tangled in her hair to keep her close. It felt like he could breathe again while he was kissing her, there wasn't enough air if he couldn't...

Pressing her back onto the couch, Neil covered her body with his with a low moan, hips already rocking against her as he settled his body between her legs.

She let him have her, let him ride out the first wave of that huge swell of wanting, pushing her back and rutting against her with that same animal heat that took them both in the shower. But she never let go of his wrist, and the hand that found his hair yanked hard with a well-timed push of her foot and a bit of magic to roll him over and another bit of magic to cushion their drop to the floor.

Then she straddled him, fierce and triumphant, like a she-dragon surveying her prize. Her hips did roll against his, but only once, hard and demanding before she held herself off him again. If he imagined for a heartbeat it was easy for her, he had only to look at the full-black lust in her eyes or the tips of her breasts beaded clearly visible through her blouse. That, if he couldn't feel the ravenous heat between her thighs.

Voice thick and velvety, she murmured his name and flipped the wrist she held down to the floor by his head. Then she tilted her head until it hit the limit of movement from his hand in it and glanced pointedly to the other side of his head--where she very clearly wanted him to put his hand. They might need something a little 'lighter' than him kneeling for her, but she wanted to 'welcome him home' properly, and apparently properly had teeth.

Whatever rational thought he'd been capable of vanished the moment her hand slid into his hair, and reason only flew further away when she pushed him to the floor and straddled him with a roll of her hips that had him growling at the way she looked the way she felt--he thought he'd known hunger before, but in that moment he felt like he would die if he didn't...

Neil.

She said his name and pushed his wrist down--and impossibly, everything else in his head shut completely down as the air left his lungs again.

He couldn't have made himself look away from her eyes if his life depended on it, his own going wide and pitch black with raw need, tongue snaking out to lick lips gone dry as every breath came heavy into his lungs. It felt less intense, but still a lot like kneeling again, no thought needed for his fingers to loosen in her hair, his arm to drop, leaving his hands resting at either side of his head.

And he knew he wasn't going to move them for anything--not as long as there was a chance she'd say his name like that again and keep looking at him like her gaze had the strength her hands didn't to physically pin him to the spot.

"Good boy," she murmured at him thickly, body starving suddenly to have him a dozen different ways and heart thudding powerfully against her ribs, so powerfully she thought it might explode or suddenly stop.

A quick flicker of magic stripped him bare, while her gaze stayed locked to his and then she bent close so he could feel her breath over his mouth again. "Don't move. If you move, I'll stop and go eat dinner."

Somehow she knew she would, too, even if the ache in her cunt would make her miserable while she did it. She was serious about him being still and being hers, and she punctuated the point by moving off him. She didn't go anywhere, just to his side, but sat there, not touching him, except the very tips of her fingers which stroked delicately over the stretch of skin between his hipbone and his abdomen where she would shortly suck a deep purple bruise.

Neil's eyes slid shut for a moment at those two words, momentarily caught in a strange place between painful arousal and something almost serene that had his breath rushing out of his lungs again in a rough, shaky sigh. The sudden touch of air against previously clothed skin had his eyes snapping open again--and she was right there, filling his vision, her breath filling his lungs.

He nodded slowly, again without thinking--not because it was easy to stop, but because he couldn't. He couldn't think around how badly he wanted her to keep going, how badly he wanted her to touch him...how badly he wanted to keep his hands where they were and not move because she didn't want him to.

Feeling the weight of her body, the heat of her pressed against him suddenly gone had his body tensing, hands clenching into fists, fighting the urge to reach for her--and fighting harder to keep still when her fingertips teased over that one tiny patch of stomach, nowhere near where he really wanted her hand...or her mouth, or the wet heat of her cunt wrapped around his aching cock...

His eyes slid shut again, stomach fluttering under the touch of her hand, his own still curled into fists, everything narrowing to those two words running through his head like a mantra, that too soft touch setting every nerve on fire, don't move don't move don't move--

With his eyes shut, the touch of her lips on his skin caught him off guard, body jerking reflexively again but remaining otherwise still. It was a twisted sort of relief to have that contact, soft wet heat of lips and tongue before the press of teeth and the pressure of her sucking a mark onto his skin. Everything in him went hot and liquid again, a familiar feeling of yielding that came whenever she branded herself onto his body.

Somewhere in the room, a low, breathless moan was hitching, humming through the air. It took Neil a moment to realize that he was the one making that sweet, desperate sound.

In the short time they'd been together, she'd already become used to having his touch. Whether they were being intimate or walking in public, talking or eating, always his hands were on her body or his lips, or she was in his embrace.

This, touching him without being touched, felt so strange as to almost feel illicit. The strangeness of it, of flicking her tongue against the fevered bruise her mouth had left without his hands in her hair, gave it power. Recognizing it, she turned her head, dragged the length of her hair against his hip, a deliberate temptation, a playful petty torment. Then she lifted her head, shifted her body and drew the curtain of her hair along his rampant shaft--once, and then again, touching him without her hands, but still touching him, when he couldn't touch her.

Her mind besieged her with myriad possibilities for this play, but she had no interest in toying with him, not tonight, when she could still hear him murmuring 'welcome home' between his breathless moans. So she spent a few more minutes at this, set her lips to the inside of his thigh, just above his knee, and sucked at that nerve bundle until his moans sounded more like cries of need.

Then she couldn't stand it any longer, the way his sounds seemed to drum against her skin and echo in her cunt, and she sat up abruptly, tugged her panties aside, and held herself poised over him. "Don't touch," she commanded, voice rough with wanting him, and then sank down the length of his cock.

Where the press of her mouth was a relief, a hot and solid point of contact that eased a little of that burning need to touch, rooted him in the moment with that familiar lightning pleasure of being marked, the butterfly kiss of her hair brushing over his skin was pure torture. Air hissed between his teeth as he sucked in a breath, hips canting up just a little in reflex, seeking more contact that would never come.

It was worse when that feather light caress slid over his cock, when every nerve felt raw from that touch that wasn't, when every inch of skin burned with a fever that had nothing to do with the fire in his veins and everything to do with the heavy weight of her presence beside him and over him. Neil had never been more aware of her, of her nearness and the anticipation of feeling her touch him--of the weight of her desire all but pinning his hands, arms trembling beneath the effort it took to keep them still, of the hungry looks he spied when he could see her face with a lift of his head.

He could barely keep still by the time her lips touched skin again, no longer in control of the moans and growls that rolled out of him in a nearly constant stream of sound. When he felt that pressure again, that wet heat of her mouth sucking, drawing at skin and nerves, it was just that: a hoarse sound of raw need rasping out of him, one he didn't have sense enough to shape into the please that wanted to escape him in that moment.

Then she was there, straddling him and rising up over his cock...he nodded immediately, would have done more than simply keep his hands to himself, would have done anything she asked of him in that moment just to feel her...

Neil's shoulders arched off the ground along with his neck as he threw his head back, tortured and relieved by the feel of her body engulfing him, inch by sweet inch. He became nothing but the feel of her as she sank onto him, that heightened awareness of her body, her presence, her touch magnifying everything until having her wrapped around him felt like having her everywhere, inside and out, taking him over until there was nothing left of him but feeling.

By the time she took him completely, he was trembling, hands still balled into fists on either side of his head, his eyes riveted to the sight of her over him.

In that instant, she owned him. He felt it, in his marrow, that complete and overpowering claim--and in that relief of her weight on his hips, of being inside her, he could almost think clearly enough to wonder if this was how she felt when he took her over in the shower...and understood exactly why she loved it so much.

Skirt hitched around her waist, panties nagging at tender skin, body still encased in far too much fabric, Regina still felt more sexual power radiating off them than she could remember ever experiencing. Not even when she'd been at her dungeon queen worst had she felt this... full. And it wasn't her power, nothing she used or took, but everything he gave her.

His complete and willing submission to her slightest desire--it rushed to her head, ran along her arms and her spine, careened down her legs, and even though nothing of him touched her but his cock and his hips between her thighs, sensation ran rampant, electrified her with every slight shift of her weight over him. He might as well have been touching her everywhere for how she felt him.

Which made it hard to take this slow, to savor the fullness, emotional and physical of riding him--for her own pleasure, yes, but somehow even though he gave himself up to her and she took everything he gave, it was for him. Every time she tightened around him, every time she rocked her hips to take him that much deeper, every time she paused, hands on his chest to tip her head back and just enjoy--it was about him, too, about giving him the freedom to just be and feel and not need to do a damned thing but be hers.

Which was why she forced herself to wait, to hang onto her orgasm for as long as she could, because those moments, the ones in the shower when he'd finally given himself over to his own pleasure but he wasn't there yet, they were the ones where she felt completely free--and if she could give that to him, she desperately wanted to.

There was barely a moment of tension when she sank onto him fully, when she didn't move and all he could do was feel her, all he could do was want--but then she was moving, and as he watched her, felt her, was conquered by her, it was the most perfect release he'd ever known. Not physical, but in every other way that mattered as she set the pace she wanted, took him as deep as she needed, paused now and again with her head thrown back just to feel him filling her--the easy weight of her hands on his chest, supporting herself as she rode him.

There was such absolute certainty in that careless way she touched him, soul-deep satisfaction in becoming no more than a means to her pleasure, perfect freedom in those moments when she was so lost in passion she seemed to forget everything that wasn't his cock inside her.

Because there was such perfect awareness in the confident way she used him for herself--for all her fears about abusing any control he gave her, any true and meaningful ownership she might have of his actions or his desires, he felt like the center of her world while she satisfied herself with his body. He could just watch her move over him, feel her cunt tighten around his cock, hear her breathe and vocalize her pleasure--he could give himself over to her completely, just fucking belong to her and let her have all of him without being afraid of it.

And when he saw it in the lines of her body, felt it in the eager way she rode him, had it burned into him with the sure, confident, knowing way her hands slid over his skin--that he was nothing and no one save for being hers, he found all the freedom he ever needed in being able to give her everything.

"Regina...please...please..."

He wanted, needed more--needed her to not hold back, needed to be the reason she came, needed to see her come undone over him--needed things he couldn't even give voice or thought. He simply needed, became need, fighting to keep his eyes open so he could watch her instead of sinking into the way she fucked herself on him and losing the moment to his own release.

At the beautiful need in his voice, at seeing him laid bare with it, Regina slowed her pace and smiled down at him--assuring him, she saw him, she felt him, she knew him, and he was hers. She balanced on one hand to kiss her fingertips and then press them to his lips, and after slid her hand over to cup his check.

It didn't matter, then, that her balance was off, that the altered position meant building her orgasm back up--she wanted it like this, her hand on his face, channeling her love while she rode his ever-stiffer cock.

They were different, he and she. She found her freedom in being nothing at all but a body, any body, and his role in that was to be the only person she could trust to put her in that place. He found his freedom in being hers, however she wanted him.

Images of him bound or otherwise waiting on her pleasure spilled through her mind. Brief overlap with memories of Graham made her stutter in her ride, but she only needed the feel of his beard against her palm to steady her again.

"Neil..." She moaned, pitch of her voice rising as her hips rocked and rotated her around his shaft, her slick spilling over him, painting him hers. "Good... so good.... fuck." Abruptly, she tensed from her abdomen to her toes, and then splashed into orgasm like wine over the rim of a crystal glass--messy, tart, and unrestrained.

"Oh. gods. Yes!"

Neil moaned softly as she kissed her fingers and pressed them to his lips, another release in that loving, possessive touch that was very nearly physical--not an orgasm, but something breaking, yielding, cutting a tether he hadn't realized left him bound or restrained. Kissing her fingertips as they fell against his mouth, lips parting to catch the pad of one with a barely there dart of his tongue to taste skin, he nuzzled into the palm of her hand as she cradled his cheek and finally started to let himself fall.

Twisting his head up to watch her as she rode him, he followed her as she started to chase her own release in earnest, heat spilling through him as she rocked and rolled her hips, found that right angle and speed to get herself off.

It was so good she could barely form a coherent thought, and for Neil it was perfect. He nearly came just to hear those words fall from her lips, good, so good, but he fought to hold on, to hold himself still...wanted this, needed this for himself, to be for her...

It was sudden and wild and beautiful as she tensed and fucking shattered over him, around him, piercing the air with her sharp, abrupt cry of pleasure. She was fucking hypnotic as she came undone, her pleasure so perfect, so wanton that he nearly lost himself in it, in holding himself in check to please her, damn near forgot how badly he wanted, needed to come.

Her pleasure washed over her in waves, flowing outward to the tips of her fingers, which curled involuntarily into his cheek and chest, leaving crescent imprints behind. Only a sudden quickened consciousness of Neil, triggered by the scent of his sweat and the springy hair of his beard beneath her hand, spared his face the same welted streaks that his chest came to bear. And even so, she knew, if she hadn't stopped herself, he'd have worn those scratches as a badge of honor, as proof that he'd served her well.

Which was almost certainly why she didn't allow herself to mark his face. He wouldn't look out for himself when she used him like this, so she had to.

Not that, in this moment, she was thinking about either leaving stripes or not doing it. She'd flowed well past any possibility of higher thought as soon as she'd realized how much he was getting off on belonging to her like this. And now rode, nursing the end of her orgasm and feeling the promise of another, in the 'just right' sensation in her cunt and the tingle of her clit.

On instinct, she lifted herself off his cock as the spasms ended and rasped, "Just your mouth," as she crawled toward his head. "Don't come." Then she straddled his face (careful not to smother him entirely), nipples pulling tighter and labia slicking with fresh desire while she anticipated the first swipes of his tongue.

When her nails scored his chest, there was a moment he nearly fell over the edge, when that tidal wave of liquid heat pouring from the rake of her nails into his blood nearly bowled him over—but he was bound by the sight of her over him, the clench of her cunt around his cock as she coaxed every drop of pleasure from her release, the hand still curled against his cheek. It drew him away from orgasm without dimming his arousal, seduced him back into the moment...

A desperate sound tore out of him as she pulled herself off of him, but when she ordered him to use his mouth, not to come, he moaned with fresh pleasure as he eagerly swept his tongue along her slit, greedy for the taste of her. He lifted his head as much as he could, eagerly pressing closer to her sex so he could push his tongue inside—he didn’t care if she rode his face too hard, wanted to fucking drown in the heat and scent of her arousal bathing his face when she came again.

And holding back his own release as he pleasured her with lips closing around her clit, fucking his tongue into her...it was the purest form of surrender he’d ever known as he gave her control of when and how he would come. He was a raw, aching, open nerve unable to do anything but feel and feel and feel because she wanted him to—because everything he was and would he belonged to her alone.

He belonged to her, and more importantly she owned him in return. She commanded him, she used him, she cared for him when he was too far gone to...she owned him so totally she couldn’t be afraid of losing him or hurting him. Nothing was an abuse of power or trust, because he was nothing more than hers, and everything was allowed.

And as he held himself in check and used lips and tongue to get her off a second time, the notion of giving her that freedom from fear and loss and the strain of controlling her love of power—it was the greatest threat to his self control with the perfect pleasure it brought him.

If she'd known what he was thinking and feeling, if she'd known how very well he knew her and understood both her fear and love of her power, she'd have been weeping in pure relief for being seen and known and loved for who she was instead of bearing down on his mouth to take everything he was willing to give her.

Reaching back, she grabbed first one of his hands and then the other, pressed them over his head and pinned them with her weight while she rode his face with nearly the same abandon as she'd ridden his cock moments before. Every upward thrust of his tongue had her crying out in sharp, high-pitched pleasure and when he took her clit between her lips, she let out a low, long whine as the first wave of her orgasm took her.

For a few brief moments, she let herself down over him not holding herself away at all, and found herself thinking Mine mine mine as she came.

Just like her first orgasm, taking her without warning as she rode his cock with wanton abandon, the moment she forgot everything but her own pleasure was perfect, it was everything as she rode his face the same way. He was grateful for that touch, that grip of her hands holding his pinned over his head to keep him grounded--he was so lost in her orgasm he could have come himself, but held on, let her hold onto him, waited as he fucked her through her release with his tongue.

There was no thought as he drank her down, struggling beneath her weight only to shift his head so he could lap away her slick, catch every last taste of her. He couldn't even think of himself as hers, he simply was. His mind, his mouth, his body, his pleasure--in that moment she lost control again, he was nothing else save for hers.

And in that maelstrom of arousal and the sweet obliteration of complete surrender, he knew a contentment, a serenity that he didn't think was possible before he'd given her his heart.

Conscious of very little but his head between her thighs and his mouth against her cunt, Regina nevertheless was very conscious of him, of the way he'd shifted beneath her--not to get free but to get more, and of the quiet, calm way he lapped at her now when she was so sensitive every stroke of his tongue made her writhe from the too much of it all.

"Enough...oh god. Enough, sweetheart," she panted as she lifted off his mouth.

Fingers threading now with his, she shifted back as far as his chest before her jellied thighs gave out and she pulled his hands to her, kissed each palm tenderly and then let them down to rest on her hips. As strong as he was, it would hardly have strained his arms to be pinned as they were for a few minutes, but while she sorted out her head and remembered how to breath, she kneaded his forearms and the tendons of his wrists.

When she moved again, this time to tend to his needs, she backed into his rock-hard erection. Teasing now, she braceleted his wrists again (as much as she could with her smaller hands) and rubbed her ass against his shaft. "Liked that, did you?" She leaned down to take a very quick kiss (she wanted longer and would have that soon, but now it was just a position to tease him with) and told him, "You're gorgeous when you serve." He was gorgeous all the time, but she had the feeling he might enjoy the praise now.

The sudden loss of her weight, letting him breathe freely again, was both relief and a loss, even as she told him to stop. She didn’t leave him, though, merely moved down his body. His captive hands, she linked through his, and he made a soft sound of pleasure to be able to touch her as she kissed each palm and l drew them to her hips. His fingers gripped them eagerly, relishing the familiar feel of her body under his hands, but resisted the urge to take more—she hadn’t given him permission, and it felt so good to please her...

It was a strange sort of viciously possessive passion he felt in that moment—not of ownership, but further yielding. He alone belonged to her, could make her this powerful, could have her body and soul by giving her everything. Being hers made her all his—perfectly, completely, irrevocably.

It was a single moment of wild, disjointed thought that bled away as her hands moved over his forearms and his wrists, massaging away tension...and as she wrapped her hands around his wrists completely, ground herself against him and told him he was gorgeous in serving, everything went beautifully, blissfully blank in his head again as his eyes fell shut with a moan that vibrated through his body.

“Thank you.” He breathed, not even sure what he was thanking her for: her praise, her touch, the pleasure of serving, or just the teasing promise of friction as she rubbed her ass against his cock. Possibly all of it at once.

Later she would thank him for his service, but in his current state--the full-blown black lust in his eyes, the completely relaxed state of his body except the hard shaft nestled in the crack of her ass, and the blissful obedience--it wasn't really what he needed. At least, she didn't think it was.

Admittedly, his reactions were new to her. Others had served, but not like this, and what she knew about what he was experiencing was limited to anecdotal knowledge. She wanted it to be good for him, to make this the welcome home he most needed...but what was that?

She reached forward to stroke his hair while she considered it, and pressed kisses to his mouth and cheeks and eyelids. Somewhere in it, she stretched her legs out straight to relieve the strain on her hips and had to take him in hand to flex him safely forward between their bodies. The heat of him against the curve of her belly and off toward her hip gave her an answer she hadn't anticipated.

"Come here, love," she murmured and drew him with her when she rolled to her side. One arm around his shoulders and bent up to stroke his hair, she took that kiss she'd been wanting, claiming his mouth and offering him hers, and then hooked her leg over him as well to hold him as close as the floor would let her. "Like this. Bring yourself off against me while I hold you."

A low sound very close to a purr rolled out of his chest when her fingers ran through his hair, the gentle brushes of her mouth over his face, pressed softly against his--it was a bliss he couldn't define, didn't want to define. He just wanted it to go on, wanted to keep pleasing her...he just wanted.

He was so focused on it, on serving, on the endless, endless feeling that he almost didn't understand for a split second, that she was giving him permission to let go. She kissed him and he yielded, shifted to follow when she rolled off his body and guided him with her, wrapped herself around him...

Neil's hips moved on their own, and then it all hit him in a dizzying rush: her arms around him, the beautiful friction that came when he finally began to move, fingers digging into her hip to draw her closer with every thrust as he rutted against her with his mouth still sealed to hers--just like this, perfect just like this, so he could come for her, got to come for her.

It didn't take long before his big body tensed, his mouth leaving hers so he could press his face against her neck when his orgasm hit him and hit hard. The pleasure was soul-deep as he shuddered in her arms with the force of it, felt endless as heat ran through his limbs and back into him in a seemingly infinite loop of sensation and satisfaction and the briefest glimpse of something that felt borderline divine in letting her have every single part of him.

Things not even his king could touch.

"...thank you...thank you..."

He didn't realize he was whispering it over and over against her neck, not until he twisted his head without thinking so he could whisper them against her shoulder, her jaw, right into her ear as the hand at her hip slid around her waist to just hold on while he drifted in that fading, blinding pleasure, wrapped himself in a glowing, unshakable serenity that left him feeling strangely powerful for how vulnerable he was in the moment.

It was strangely erotic, the way he rutted against her hip, his cock pushing and slipping over soft, taut skin, while their tongues tangled in his mouth. And when he pulled his mouth away, it was even more so, being a surface instead of a hole. As she carded her fingers through his hair, encouraging him with filthy, silken whispers, she wondered if it would be as pleasing to him to have her using his body this way.

The thought fled as his back stiffened under her hand and his hips stuttered in motion. "Just like that. Come on. Come for me," she urged, knowing it was unnecessary for anything but maybe his brain, and then immediately murmured, "That's good, so good," when jets of heated semen painted a streak across her hip and then stripe her lower back.

And then somehow he was thanking her. Over and over, and even if she didn't know precisely what he thanked her for, she knew he needed to. Like he had, she twisted her head to press kisses to his cheekbone and temple. "Love you, my dragon knight."

"...love you, too."

The mindless litany faded to heavy breath as his heartbeat slowly calmed, and in the brief silence that followed he managed to find words again, a coherent sentiment he could string together because in the moment it was everything. That soul deep feeling of possession still had hold of him, the pleasure that came from being hers and pleasing her as intense as his orgasm had been.

He felt well and truly drunk on everything Regina was, and as he lay there, her lips feathering over his face with gentle kisses, her body warm and pliant in his arms, the first tiniest trickles of reality started to slide back in as the touch of her mouth on his skin caught him, held him in the moment, and brought hints of things to come: stiffness in his muscles courtesy of how long he'd been still, aches and pains in places he'd taxed his body with the tension of holding himself so rigidly in check.

While he came back to himself, she soothed him with soft words and tender kisses, stroked his shoulders, and tried to remember what she'd heard, experienced, read about this kind of submission. She didn't know anything and she knew she was going to have to learn--discreetly, because it seemed right for him.

After a few quiet moments, her fingers curled in the back of his hair, she murmured to him, "Are you all right? How do you feel?" a little worriedly. He's been tense and still a long time.

For just a moment it felt like too much being asked of him: to give an answer, to think and focus, to do more than simply giving himself up to her—but it was fleeting as her fingers found a home in his hair. Usually it had the power to steal his reason, but in the moment it was strangely grounding, a solid link between the perfect bliss of possession and his sense of self, of being the man who found beautiful and myriad complexity of feeling in the feel of Regina’s fingers curled into his hair.

“Good.” He replied on a sigh, face still tucked against her neck. That was a solid place to start...

“Stiff.” That came as his sense of reality sharpened a little more, along with a subtle roll of his shoulder to ease some of the tension built up there. That was probably good, too. There was more, though, an underlying, glorious stillness tangled up in the hard floor just starting to feel uncomfortable and the feel of Regina’s arms around him and every magnificent ache and pain promising him memories of this later...

Neil finally lifted his head, looking into her eyes with a smile.

“Right at home.” He concluded with a greater sense of slipping back into his own skin—enough to lean in and take a kiss for himself, slow and warm and filled with more silent gratitude for the perfect way he felt in the moment.

While he kissed her, she drew warmth to her hands and massaged the muscles beneath his arms and up to his shoulders. He didn't like baths much, so she'd get him into a hot shower soon. But for now, her touch would help and soothe.

"Welcome home, my love."

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