She clenches and flutters around him, shivering as a rush of liquid soaks him, makes her impossibly, gloriously slick and wet around him. He shudders as he drives into her, as he works her though, and his strokes shift, gentling even though they don't slow. The angle of his cock is less severe, more idle, and he wonders if she will bat him away or suffer it until he can pull another peak from her.
"Wonderful, perfect, glorious," he murmurs, eyes closed and brow furrowed--between each word he kisses along her leg, along her calf, until her knees are at his shoulders once more.
The poetry he would write about this would be filthy and lilting--a hundred sonnets devoted to how she moves and feels and the clever twinkle in her eye and the glistening of the shining black phallus still mounted to her hips. He is tempted to stroke it, just to occupy his hand, but settles instead for resting his fingers around the base of it and smoothing over the leather straps.
"I would adore an encore, if you would be so kind," Jaskier requests, softly, teasing, against her knee. His teeth graze the skin there and he tries, so desperately tries, not to focus on the aching strain in his loins.
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"Wonderful, perfect, glorious," he murmurs, eyes closed and brow furrowed--between each word he kisses along her leg, along her calf, until her knees are at his shoulders once more.
The poetry he would write about this would be filthy and lilting--a hundred sonnets devoted to how she moves and feels and the clever twinkle in her eye and the glistening of the shining black phallus still mounted to her hips. He is tempted to stroke it, just to occupy his hand, but settles instead for resting his fingers around the base of it and smoothing over the leather straps.
"I would adore an encore, if you would be so kind," Jaskier requests, softly, teasing, against her knee. His teeth graze the skin there and he tries, so desperately tries, not to focus on the aching strain in his loins.