2 comments/ 37365 views/ 10 favorites Gian & Mari By: ladyofthemasque A series of pools spilled down shallow ledges, one into another, from two springs that bubbled up from underground almost side-by-side. One spring steamed with heat, even in the already warm, humid air; the other had that silvery clarity only truly cold water could possess. The water that flowed down from both mixed and met in a rock-rimmed basin large enough for swimming, flowing past modest curves of stone that served as footbridges. Mesh screens were submerged at intervals along the streams curving from pool to pool, wicker weavings that glowed faintly to his magesight, suggesting they were there to cleanse away any impurities caused by bathing, as well as to catch leaves fallen from the plants growing around the edges of the springs, streams and pools. Certainly there was a tile-roofed shed at the back of the stone-paved grotto, beyond a hedge of deep pink, lavender and yellow roses in various stages of bloom. He could see shelves lined with towels, jars, bottles, soapbricks and sponges as he followed Mari that way. Benches were scattered here and there among the curving flowerbeds and grassy patches of lawn, some of smooth-worn stone, others of sanded wood. Two more stood within the shed-area, waist-high and made of padded leather with holes in one end, the kind used in Sundaran bathhouses for massaging purposes; one's face was settled into that hole, allowing the person to lie naturally and comfortably while the masseusse or masseur worked, yet still be able to breathe. "Gian? Would you, um…turn around?" Mari asked, blushing and biting her lip. Gian blinked, eyed her as she exhibited this show of maidenly embarrassment, and turned around. Smiling, he pulled his own tunic over his head. A soft, feminine sound of pleasure—much like the more masculine one he had made at the end of their meal—escaped Mari. A moment later, her hands ghosted gently over the scars on his back, then slid around his ribs to his chest, spreading and savoring the texture and heat of his skin. Gian let out a groan and leaned back into her body, enjoying the soft feel of her curves pressing into him through her tunic. Her fingertips traced the ridges of his abdomen, tickling him around his navel, then worked their way back up to explore the flatness of his male nipples. Sensations tingled through him, racing through his blood and pooling in his loins. "You feel…good. Very good," Mari murmured against his neck. She inhaled deeply, then stilled her caresses with a half-laugh. "—But you *reek* of horse sweat!" That made him laugh. Catching a hand, he turned around and faced her, kissing her imprisoned fingertips. His light brown eyes glowed with hazel promises. "That's because we've both been riding all day. Time to bathe in this little grotto, as you suggested." Releasing her, he picked up a sponge, a pot of softsoap that smelled like galingale-ginger of all things, if pleasantly so, and headed out of the shed for the nearest pool. A test of the water with his hand proved it on the cool side of lukewarm. Setting down his supplies, trying hard not to think about Mari watching him, about her stripping naked and lathering herself with some flower-scented soap, he stripped out of his remaining clothes and waded into the water. A few moments later, he heard more splashing than the pools alone could account for, and smiled again. It was a torment, not turning around, a sweet torment to guess just by sound what she was doing as he scrubbed himself with the spicy-scented soap he had picked. She wasn't in the same pool, though, and curiosity had him turning slightly, just enough that he could catch a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. Lathering her freckled body, he saw, slowing his own scrubbing motions. For the first time in his life, Gian actually wanted to be a sponge. He envied that lathered scrap of dead sea creature, for she was rubbing it over her full, freckled breasts, down over a stomach taut with the training exercises all Knights performed each morning, day in and day out. Hazel green eyes flashed his way, caught sight of him staring openly at her, and their owner froze. Gian could feel her gaze slide down his body, more tangible than the soapsuds doing the same thing here and there. That stare finally fixed on his groin, rampant and unable to hide under the water, which only reached up to mid-thigh on him. On her, he noticed, the water reached all the way to the apex of her thighs, and little waves lapped at the dark curls waiting there. Those curls were like a magnet for his gaze, making him envy the water in the other pool. Rational thought slunk out of his head. Wading through the water, he climbed out, crossed down into her pool as she stared, frozen like a deer caught in the gaze of a hungry lion—and he was hungry—and stepped into the somewhat warmer waters of her pool. She watched him approach, as still as an arrested statue, until he took the sponge out of her hand, tossing his somewhere out beyond the edge of the pool; his other arm slid around her back, slippery with lather, and pulled her up against him. A grunt, primal and needy, escaped his body as it met hers. Closing his eyes, Gian revelled in the slick slide of their skin, the rapid beating of her heart, the indeed rose-scented soap that mingled with his spice in heady combination. Her hair, damp from a dunking, smelled like dirt and wet horse sweat, but it also smelled of her. The soft, lathered skin of her belly trembled at the first touch of his rampant manhood, then slowly relaxed, melting into him; her nipples beaded, arousing his chest as they scraped softly against his skin. Hands that had at first splayed nervously on his chest, now slid up his throat and buried themselves in his hair. Gian opened his eyes as she guided his face to hers, then closed them again with a sigh as her mouth sought and found his. Tongues meshing, bodies gliding, they kissed. As much as he wanted to devour her, to just find the nearest ledge at the edge of the pool and take her, Gian dragged himself back from the depths of his lust. Gentling their embrace, he pulled back just far enough to meet her questioning eyes, smiled reassuringly, and scooped her up high against his chest with a muscled arm under her buttocks. Uncertain of her new, slippery perch, Mari clutched at his shoulders. This gave her better purchase, and brought her breasts tormentingly close to his face. Forcing himself to focus, Gian located a ledge of stone at the side of the lukewarm pool, but not to make her his. Instead, he used the sponge in his hand as soon as he set her down, gliding it over those breasts, making her draw in her breath as he circled her rosy nipples with the soft-rough texture of the sponge. Picking up an arm, he lathered it fully, from shoulder and armpit to fingernails and palm. Then he had to hunt for the softsoap pot she had used, since the lather was almost gone. Coming back, he found her watching him with her hazel green eyes, silent and uncertain of what he intended next. Giving her a reassuring smile, Gian soaped her other arm, then sat beside her and scrubbed her neck and back. Below her shoulders, her body wasn't very tanned, though she still had freckles scattered over her ribs and spine. He scrubbed each and every inch of her pale skin, enjoying the contrast of his naturally darker body against her pale flesh. Her sighs of pleasure encouraged him. Guiding her down onto her back, he lifted one of her legs out of the water and scrubbed her foot. It made her giggle, jerking her leg this way and that to try and escape the ticklish sensations. Gian firmed his grip on her ankle, imprisoning her leg so that he wouldn't lose it as she squirmed. One jerk out to the side revealed a flash of dark curls and pink flesh, drawing his gaze to her core. In an instant, his careful playfulness vanished, drowned in a wave of lust. Feminine flesh, flanked by dark curls and terraced in rose-pink, held him arrested for a long moment. A siren's song, that view, telling him he belonged there, needed to join with her. Now. Wrenching his gaze away, Gian reminded himself to go slow. Focusing on her leg, and only her leg, he scrubbed it gently, almost all the way up to the apex of her inner thigh, then switched his concentration to the soft curve of her hip. Trailing the sponge across her lower belly, he circled her navel, provoking another giggle, and coaxed her other leg up out of the water, into his thorough, attentive grasp. And discovered a thong strung around her ankle, with a rune-carved bead resting against her skin. He knew that sigil: a counter-charm against conception and pregnancy. Two things crossed his mind as he scrubbled her ticklish toes; he felt relief that she had thought about such a need, and a strange disappointment. Not that he wanted any bastard sons or daughters to follow him…but it was all too easy to picture a boy with his black hair and her scattering of freckles, of a little girl with his serious almond eyes lit with her mother's wry smile. It was an image that made his heart ache with the boundless but currently averted possibilities. Focusing on her leg, wielding his sponge in long, slow strokes, Gian reminded himself that now was not the time to think of such things. When she was limp and pliant, he set the sponge on the ledge, scooped up a double handful of water, and rinsed off one breast, making her blink and open her eyes at the sensation. With his hips wedged between her lowered thighs, he leaned over her lathered body and captured that cleansed, glistening tip in his lips. Water and warm flesh met his tongue, with that indescribable, sweet flavor of freshly bathed flesh. His action was greeted with a gasp, then with a breathy moan, encouraging him. Scooping up another handful, he rinsed off her other soft globe and licked it somewhat dry, then wet it with water again, and licked it once more. She squirmed, sliding his erection from where it rested against her thigh into a passing brush of her nethercurls. The texture scraping his manhood threatened his control, making him suck strongly for a moment on her breast, eliciting a strangled gasp from the strong new sensations he awoke in her. {Go slow, Gian!} he reminded himself forcefully as her fingers clutched uncertainly in his hair. Backing off, he eased her upright and off the ledge, snagging the sponge as he pulled her close. Smiling down at her, he teased her backside with the sponge, sliding it almost possessively over her buttocks, making her gasp and squirm. Bringing the sponge around to her front, he tickled her belly…then boldly slid the sponge between her water-slick thighs, bathing her very intimately. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan escaped her; Mari wilted with pleasure, relying on the arm he curved around her back to keep her afloat. Manipulating her body with the sponge was fine, for a little while. Long enough to get her thoroughly clean. The lust surging through his veins with each strong heartbeat demanded more, though. Tossing the sponge onto the stone ledge ringing the pool, he invaded her curls with his bare fingers, sucking in a breath of his own at the contrasts in texture, the crinkliness of her curls versus the soft slickness of the inner flesh they hid. Mari whimpered, clutching at his drying shoulders with her fingers while his own explored and played between her legs. Gian focused gently on the base of her pleasure-sentinel, knowing from her gasps and little cries how much she liked that. An inquisitive fingertip found her core and teased the tight folds as they both breathed unsteadily, both of them aroused by what he was doing to her. She was arched so far over in his grip now, her hair trailed damply across the surface of the water. Whimpers and moans escaped her throat at panted intervals, encouraging him to do more. Certainly her arched position thrust her breasts up in perfect, pebble-tipped teardrops. Stooping just a little, bracing his feet for balance, Gian tasted her nipple with tongue and lips, drawing on it rhythmically. A moment later, as he listened to her throaty gasps, he drove his finger into her virgin-tight depths, and used his thumb to gently caress her pleasure sentry. Mari went wild, hollering and stiffening her body, forcing him to shift his weight to compensate as her toes lost their last purchase on the bottom of the pool. It was all he could do to hold onto her writhing, slick body, to keep from dropping and accidentally drowning her. Gamely, Gian held on, drawing hard on her breast, pumping his index finger in and out, giving her a taste of what his body desperately wanted to do. Making damned sure she associated his touch, his presence, with her own pleasure. Moisture that was too thick and slick to be either soap or water warmed and coated his fingers as she shuddered; it made his manhood throb painfully with the proof of what he had just done to her. Switching breasts, he nibbled and suckled on her other one, making her gasp and jerk, writhing with new pleasure. Only when she was limp in his arms, panting and sated, did he withdraw his hand from her core. Easing her upright, Gian steadied her until her legs twitched, muscles tensing to support her own weight. Her dark lashes drifted open, revealing hazel eyes gone almost fully green with satiation. Her voice, when she finally found it again, was warm and husky, her fingers seeking his jaw in a caress. "Oh, Gian…" He didn't care if she decked him for feeling so damned smug; Gian gave her a grin overflowing with pure male satisfaction. He had just pleasured his woman thoroughly—and if he'd been a primate in some distant Mendhi jungle, he would have swung around the trees, hooting and thumping his chest, he felt that damned good about it. Mari didn't punch him; instead, she smiled back, though she arched a brow in uncertainty for the unfamiliar, fierce exuberance in his grin. Swooping her close, Gian kissed her quickly, then released her and stepped back. "Rinse off, Mari; I'll get some softsoap for your hair." Obedient, she sank into the water to her shoulders, eyes still following him, then ducked under the water. Gian waded over to the edge of the pool and scooped out a bit of the softsoap while she rinsed. Splashing to the side made him glance that way; she was getting out of the pool. Frowning slightly in confusion, he held his tongue, watching her dripping, clean body stroll up to the next pool, then stoop and pick up something. The sight of water dripping from one breast dried his mouth with the need for a sip. He didn't even realize until she set it down beside him that she'd fetched the little pot of scented soap Gian had picked out for himself. As soon as she climbed back into the water, he moved behind her and started washing her hair. Bathing with a woman was a new experience for him, but one he was determined to enjoy in full. Working the rose-scented suds through her long, damp locks, he didn't notice until she turned around that she had rinsed out her sponge and lathered it with galingale-ginger bubbles. The moment she started scrubbing his chest, the muscles under her touch contracted, defining themselves with anticipation. Determined to keep things light, he swiped the tip of her freckled nose with a soapy finger. Pausing, she narrowed her eyes. Gian smeared her jawline with a beardful of bubbles, then carefully added a mustache along her upper lip, even though she narrowed her eyes even more in warning. To top it off, he added just a little bit more to her brows, taking care to connect them across her brow in a solid, foamy line. He got a faceful of sponge. Spluttering, Gian fell back a step, raising his hands to defend himself. She squirmed the sponge in past his guard, scrubbing his face ruthlessly. Escaping with a turn and dive across the small pool, he rinsed off under the water, coming up with a wipe at his face to make sure both soap and water were gone. She attacked his back with the sponge, making him stagger, then she made him draw in a sharp breath as she shamelessly lingered while lathering his buttocks. Then, when she was done with that, Mari squeaked the sponge ruthelessly through the curves of his ears, including behind them. Gian turned around with a mock-glare for being treated like a little boy, and she gentled her touch, tickling his throat, his chest, teasing his nipples until he had to bite his lip against the urge to moan. In such shallow water, there was no way to hide his ultimate reaction to her touch, though. When her sponge slipped below his bellybutton, he caught her wrist and dragged it up to his other arm. Pointedly telling her without words not to play down there. She eyed his erection, his sober expression, then smiled and switched their stances by catching his own wrist. Hauling him with her back across the pool, she urged him up onto the same soap-smeared stone ledge she had been on with a few murmurs, then relathered the sponge and started bathing his arms. When she was done with his last fingernail, she nudged him back and lifted one of his legs. Gian didn't lie down, though he did lean back, bracing himself on soapy elbows. It was a ticklish, arousing torture to let her learn every inch of his body this way, feeling the gliding sponge scrape softly behind his knees, up the sensitive flesh on the insides of his thighs. Much like he had done, she avoided the apex of his own thighs. Gian didn't care. The journey she was making, exploring him, was more than pleasurable enough. Rather than having him stand up in the water when she was done with his toes, Mari scooped a couple handfuls of water over the top of his head, letting it drip onto the rock ledge, and scrubbed his almost chestlength hair. The feel of her fingertips massaging his scalp was a wonderfully soothing contrast to her more arousing ministrations. Groaning in pleasure, Gian let her manipulate his head this way and that, as content as a cat being petted. A sound much like a purr escaped his chest as she worked, massaging his nape, his shoulders and chest… His eyes snapped wide as her hands slipped all the way to his manhood and gently encircled it with her fingers. A strangled sound that should have been her name escaped him, making her giggle. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Mari, don't!" "Oh, come on; I know you men like this sort of thing. Sir Niel told me so," she drawled, glancing up at him from under her lashes. Gian blushed and caught her wrists. "—Sir Niel told you *that*?" "Among other things, when I asked him," she admitted casually. Since his hands were slippery, she freed them easily, returning them to his groin. Not that Gian really resisted, because he wanted to feel her hands on him. One gently cupped his manly sacks, the other circled his shaft, making his heart pound from both pleasure and apprehension. With smooth, slow, gentle strokes, she cleaned every inch of his most intimate parts, exploring the loose little cowl of skin at the tip with inquisitive fingers—which wasn't so loose right now, not with his manhood fully engorged and twitching with each pounding heartbeat. She stopped. Gian cracked open his eyelids warily; she had moved away from him, just for a moment. A heartbeat later, a handful of cool water trickled over his burning flesh, making him suck in a breath at the delicious contrast. She did it again, until the last soap bubble on his shaft was a memory…and then stopped his heart by crouching half in the water and taking him into her mouth. "—Mari!" He bolted upright and gripped her damp locks, but before he could push her away, she started exploring him. The questing lick of her tongue, the innocent scrape of her teeth, the suckling of her lips. The sensations were too startling, too good, for him to form a coherent protest. Fingers that had tensed to remove her now held her close, encouraging her ministration. Until it got to be too much; he wanted to be inside her, not in her mouth when he hit his climax. Which he was going to do very, very soon. Too soon! "Mari… Mari, stop—stop! Do you hear me?" Gian & Mari Without releasing him from what she was doing, she glanced up at him and said, "My'm noff fpfffd fu falff wiff mmy mouff ffuu!" Gian didn't even process what she said, muffled as it was; not past the third word. With an incredulous groan, he dropped back onto the stone ledge, beyond caring what she did. No—he cared, because he *didn't* want her to stop, not anymore. "Oh, gods!" She didn't stop. Well, she paused for a moment of disbelief, narrowed her eyes in speculation, and experimented with a nonsense sound. At least to his ears, it was nonsense—wonderful nonsense. The vibration of her voice, coupled with the ministrations of lips, teeth and tongue, drove twists of lighting straight into his groin from every point in his body. He thickened, hardened, and caught her head firmly in his hands, showing her how to move up and down on him, around him with the softness of her lips; Mari was an eager student, learning quickly how to suck on him in long, rhythmic strokes. When she swirled her tongue around his pulsing, searing tip, there was no hope of his holding back. With a drawn-out shout of her name, Gian exploded, bucking and shuddering and pulsing under her, arching his body off the smoothed rocks under his back. It went on and on, especially since she clung unsteadily with fingers and mouth, aggravating his climax with her hungry efforts to contain his seed, until he couldn't give anything more. Numb weakness spread through his limbs, making him vaguely grateful he was already lying on the rock, rather than relying on her lesser strength to support him in the water, as he had done for her. With a last lick and kiss of his relaxing flesh, she released him and leaned forward, bracing herself over his limp body. Gian blinked a couple of times at the cloudless sky overhead, then dragged his focus to her face. She was smiling; not quite grinning as he had when he'd had her in a very similar state just a little while before, but definitely smiling. With more than a hint of smugness, as she licked her lips. He barely had the strength to groan at that lascivious sight. Any residual limpness in his manhood vanished as it started hardening again, enjoying the sight of her naked body half curved over his. Shifting her weight to one hand, she lifted the other and trailed it through the soapsuds drying on his skin, writing something he couldn't quite see. "You need a bath, Gian…" Tucking an arm behind his head, he smiled slyly. "Mm… Want to bathe me again?" Mock-narrowing her eyes, she pulled back and splashed him with a big handful of water. Wincing from the droplets striking his face, Gian lunged upright, making her laugh and quickly retreat. Rather than splashing her in retaliation, he dunked himself under the water, swishing his hands to get all of the soap out of his hair. The tepid temperature of the water restored some of his strength at least, though it did nothing to quench his returning need. When he stood up again, wiping water from his eyes, he caught sight of something white in the shade of the shed. Mari had already climbed out and was now towelling herself dry. Following her, Gian left his discarded clothes, the sponges and the pots for the ssara air-servants to clean up. Snagging a cloth from the shelves, he rubbed his body more or less dry. A murmured cantrip ensured his jaw was smoothly shaved, so he wouldn't give her beard-burn in the next few hours. When he turned around, she had modestly wrapped her body in a towel. Slinging the damp cloth in his hands around his waist, Gian crossed to her and scooped her up in his arms, eliciting a squeal. "Gian! Put me down!" The protest was ruined by a laugh, however, as Mari kicked her bare feet and hooked her arms around his shoulders. "Why should I?" he countered with a grin, striding over the pavingstones back towards the bedchamber. "You're as light as a sword!" She wrinkled her nose in mock-disgust. "How unromantic." "Hey, you wanted to be treated like a Knight, from the day I first met you—did you want me to call you a featherweight?" "Ooh! Bad Gian!" She reprimanded him for the old Academy insult for an inferior fighter, waggling a finger at his face. He snapped at it, catching it carefully between just his lips, then gently bit her finger with his teeth and mock-growled. She tugged her digit free and tapped his nose with it. "Behave, or I won't bathe you again." "Don't threaten something that would simply deny you pleasure," he countered, shouldering open the wicker door to the bedchamber. "Confident, are you?" she retorted with a smile, removing the skeptical sting from her words. Gian used a flick of magic to whisk the bedcovers away and knelt on the mattress so he could place her in the exact center of the soft. "Where you are concerned? Never…and always." That earned him an arched brow. Pausing in the middle of unwrapping his towel, Gian dipped down and kissed it. She sighed and cupped his jaw, shifting his aim closer to her mouth. Their lips met, sipped, tasted, plundered. Gian removed his towel and flung it somewhere out of range, then, still kissing her, unwrapped her own covering. Even though he had just seen her, he pulled back from her mouth when she was bare so he could see all of her again. Her freckles were thickest on arms, face, and a swath of her chest just below her neck, like a definite dusting of cinnin-spice; elsewhere, they lightly sprinkled her skin here and there, everywhere, even down to the tops of her feet. Lying on her back had softened the shape of her full breasts, but her nipples were still taut with anticipation. Her dark, damp tresses curled over the pillow under her head, matching the dark, damp curls between her legs, and everything about her was ultra-feminine. She had come a long way from the chattering, gangly young girl he had first met, and had done so in just a few years. Unable to stop himself, Gian glided his hand along her thigh, over her hip and stomach, up to cup one warm breast, savoring the softness of her skin. "You are so beautiful. Mari…" Lowering his head, he kissed each and every freckle on that pale globe, then worked his way down her belly. There would be more time—he was determined there would be another time, later—for him to kiss the rest of her cinnin-dusted skin. Right now, with the edge taken off his desire, he had time to focus on her pleasure. So he spent some time gently kissing and licking the sensitive skin just above her mound, making her squirm and giggle, then teased her thighs with his tongue. Reflexively, her knees first twitched inward in uncertainty, then outward in welcome as she grew to like the ticklish sensation. Cautiously, expecting her to protest at the new touch, he brought his mouth to her mound and kissed it. Mari held her breath, but a glance from Gian proved it was merely a sign of her waiting for his next move, for her gaze held no fear or uncertainty, now. {I wonder if this was something Ora-and-Niel told her about, too,} he thought. It wasn't a time to feel jealous that he wasn't going to be the one to teach her all sorts of new things. And just as well, since he knew he didn't know everything about lovemaking, anyway. So long as he knew a few things she didn't—or could come up with them—and she knew a few things he didn't, it would probably balance out in a wonderful sharing of pleasure. {That's the real prize, isn't it? My driving her wild, and her reciprocating by driving me crazy…which she could do just by breathing.} Gently parting the folds of her labia with his thumbs, Gian leaned in and kissed her, breathing in the scent of soap, roses, and lingering hints of her previous pleasure. She gasped when his tongue came out to lick at her core. Moaned, when he flicked her pink pleasure sentry; Mari spread her legs wider for more, stroking her fingers through his hair. Moaned and even cried out when he managed to get his lips around her little sentry just enough to suckle her rhythmically. Easing a finger into her, he groaned softly at the feel of her depths turning sultry with pleasure once again; she groaned, too, as he carefully slipped in a second finger, easing her tightness so he could prepare her for him. The scent, taste and feel of her arousal increased his own, beyond the last, lingering shred of lethargy induced in him earlier. When he was ready—there was no doubt that she was ready, with the way she moaned and writhed, flexing her hips in time with the stroking of his fingers—Gian moved up over her, braced himself on arm and knees, and positioned his manhood against her womanhood. Looking into her trusting, hazel green eyes, he flexed against her, into her just a little bit. She winced a little at the size of the head of his manhood, and he dipped his head, kissing away her discomfort as he held himself carefully still, letting her body grow used to his. It wasn't easy, since the feel of her core clasping him so snugly was incredibly arousing, as was the heady, primal knowledge that he would be her first lover. Her only lover. Gian didn't question that possessive thought. She wanted him? She would get him, every last bit of him, and in more ways than one—so much of him, she wouldn't be able to go anywhere or do anything without thinking of him. Starting with the memory of this time, her first time with him. A little more of his weight leaned into her, pushing him deeper into her passion-slick depths. She panted against his mouth, squirming a little from the discomfort. Gian forced himself to still, barely an inch more into her. Distracting her with another kiss, he held himself still from the shoulders down, doing his best to ignore his pounding heart and the desire that burned through him, drugging his racing veins. Again, he kissed her, distracting her, then pushed in a little more. The tightness he encountered was accompanied by a little indrawn hiss from her, so he backed off a little, then kissed her once more, and surged forward. Marilan grunted, letting out the breath she'd been holding. Involuntarily, Gian's hips flexed once more in the need to bury all of him within all of her. Slick heat clasped his manhood, devouring most of his self-control. Clinging desperately to the thought of her discomfort, he held himself still, evern muscle in his body knotting with the effort to give her time to adjust. Sweat broke out on his skin when her womanhood contracted around him, squeezing his raging manhood with intoxicating pressure from her inner muscles. A sound that could have been a curse escaped him when she did it a more deliberate second time. She giggled at the expression that accompanied his strangled grunt, earning her a dirty look as he pried his eyes open. "You look so funny, Gian!" Strangely enough, rather than being annoyed, Gian relaxed at that, letting out a brief laugh. "I imagine I do. Gods, you feel like heaven," he muttered as she relaxed around him as well. He watched her eyes widen as soon as he spoke. She stared mutely up at him with an oddly vulnerable, openly curious expression in her eyes, making him unsure about what she was really thinking. "…What?" "Tell me what you feel, Gian. Right now," she murmured, curious as she searched his gaze. "Your softness," he replied promptly, gazing down at her as he did his best to hold most of his weight off of her, keeping his hips still. "Your heat, wet, moist…slick." His eyes drifted shut. "The scent of soap, roses, sex…and especially you." Lowering his head, he nuzzled her throat, breathing deeply, then her ear with a whisper. "The sounds you make when I please you. A burning in my blood, fire and lightning in my loins, an ache in my heart that never goes away," he murmured, lifting his head and looking down at her once again. "Until I look into your eyes, and then I drown. Because I'm… I'm…" "You're…?" she prompted softly as he trailed off, looking up at him with what he prayed was love as well as trust. He tried to find the words to express how he felt, then finally just fell back to the simplest thing he could say. "…I'm happy, Mari. Beyond happy," he breathed, drowing in her wide-eyed gaze. It was nothing but the truth, the whole truth, the pure truth, for he couldn't remember ever feeling this way before, in the whole of his previously miserable-to-mediocre life. "My Mari." A sound escaped her as she absorbed his honesty, somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Sultry heat enveloped him, increasing his pleasure when her body softened as only feminine flesh could, as her hips tilted up to meet his and her arms slid up around his shoulders. Sliding his hand down her side, he caught her leg and urged her to lift it, to wrap her calf around him. The new position gave them both greater contact, greater depth; a mutual sigh escaped both of them at the greater intimacy and pleasure. Dipping his head, Gian kissed her again and gently rocked his hips, determined to go slow, to give her plenty of time to reach her peak. It was just as well the first edge had been taken off his own hunger, for he knew he wouldn't have been able to last much longer otherwise. The last thing he wanted was for him to climax without her, to leave her 'scoured by the winds', as the Sundarans poetically put it whenever they spoke of moments of unfulfilled desire. Almost grimly, he kept to a steady slow pace, focusing on her breathy moans, her little gasps, the way she closed her eyes, arched her back, and flexed her body up into his, silently demanding more. He gave her more. He gave her longer, deeper, swifter strokes, breathing deep with each stroke, experimenting with different angles and careful gyrations, until she lifted her other thigh, hooking both up over his hips. Giving him full access, and tearing a groan of pleasure from his chest. Driving into her, he clung to her panting moans, staring into her unfocused eyes, destermined to make her come undone before he lost himself in her. It built in the whole of her body a tight, keening sound that clenched around him, from her core to her chest, to her arms and legs, to even the greedy flexing of her hips and back. Relieved he was doing everything right, Gian drove deeper, harder, just a little bit faster, and with a slight grind each time, since she seemed to really like that; certainly it did the trick after just a few strokes. Her groan became a shuddering wail, her body wracked with her second climax of pleasure. Groaning, Gian let his control slip, pounding into her hard and fast, gripping her hips to hold her still for his voracious thrusts. It swept down from his spine and up from his toes, arcing through his racing hips, and shot through his loins, a heavy, liquid heat that poured into her body. One long pulse that broke up into shorter and shorter ones, rolling through him like thunder, shuddering and jetting and pouring into her in a storm of pleasure. Her moans wrapped around him as surely as her arms clung to his shoulders, slipping from the wail of her climax down into little whimpering sounds of pure satisfaction. As his own passion dwindled, Gian retained just enough sanity to roll them onto their sides, slowing his thrusts, gentling his lust, until they finally came to a stop, save for the panting of their breaths. It was over, save for a permanent urge to start it all over again, as soon as they could catch their breath. With his Mari.