Behind her, he kneels naked. She turns to look at him- ravenous, excited, vulnerable, angry. Biting him on the shoulder, leaving a red mark. Stretching her neck to reach his mouth, they suck lips, his male youth, vitality thumping wildly on the small of her back. “Don’t move,” his voice is a throaty whisper in her ear, his hot breath hovering above her like the shadow of a great hawk just before sinking its talons into a rabbit.
Instinctively, she arches to receive him, the upper half of her surrendering to the lower, heart pounding, adrenaline rising. Don’t move, he says again, and it’s all she can do to hold still- to not flip him over beneath her and tear him limb from limb with her teeth. To breathe rather than act on impulse, turning her taste for blood into desire, making space in her body for even more pleasure.
Offering her neck and back to his kisses, Offering hips and buttocks to his strong hands. Offering her nectar to his finger as he touches her petals open to see if she is wet enough or if he will need to lick her more. He lets her sniff first before sucking the juice off because he knows how much she loves the smell of her pussy and because he loves that she loves her pussy as much as he does.
He is slow to enter her temple, coaxing her pearl with shallow thrusts, making her body beg for more, the mushroom cap of his cock bursting from its stem. Shaking with wanting, she wraps her lips around him like the jaws of a great tigress not letting go, feeling the ecstatic rush and terror of her own mortality, as each simultaneously bows to their death, him spearing her all the way to her heart, her swallowing his head whole.