Inside, there was a bed, and upon the bed there was a woman. More beautiful was she even than the damask rose while her scent, drifting through the open window, was that of the night dew. Her hair was silken as the raven's wing. Quite naked, she lay, so still upon the bed, her eyes closed in reverie.The young man looked first upon her breasts, where her hand rested. And upon each breast, there was a rosebud nipple. Upon each nipple there was a tip most tender. Upon each tip there was a milky drop. Chin lifted, lips parted, she milked her maiden breast.'What I would give to suckle at that teat,' thought he. from 'Against Faithlessness' in Cautionary Tales
I moaned then, tilting my head back to give him better access. His hands clamped on my waist, then moved__ne going to cup my rear, the other sliding between us.This__his moment, when it was him and me and nothing between our bodies _His tongue scraped the roof of my mouth as he dragged a finger down the center of me, and I gasped, my back arching. __eyre,_ he said against my lips, my name like a prayer more devout than any Ianthe had offered up to the Cauldron on that dark solstice morning.His tongue swept my mouth again, in time to the finger that he slipped inside of me. My hips undulated, demanding more, craving the fullness of him, and his growl reverberated in my chest as he added another finger.I moved on him. Lightning lashed through my veins, and my focus narrowed to his fingers, his mouth, his body on mine. His palm pushed against the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs, and I groaned his name as I shattered
A Court of Mist and Fury
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I moaned then, tilting my head back to give him better access. His hands clamped on my waist, then moved__ne going to cup my rear, the other sliding between us.This__his moment, when it was him and me and nothing between our bodies _His tongue scraped the roof of my mouth as he dragged a finger down the center of me, and I gasped, my back arching. __eyre,_ he said against my lips, my name like a prayer more devout than any Ianthe had offered up to the Cauldron on that dark solstice morning.His tongue swept my mouth again, in time to the finger that he slipped inside of me. My hips undulated, demanding more, craving the fullness of him, and his growl reverberated in my chest as he added another finger.I moved on him. Lightning lashed through my veins, and my focus narrowed to his fingers, his mouth, his body on mine. His palm pushed against the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs, and I groaned his name as I shattered
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The feel of her skin as she struggled beneath, the life inside, the death without. The breaching of life and death, of survival uncaged inside him: a dark beast with violence and sex in its soul. In his soul.
The mist covered the ground like the white veil over a new bride's face. The air was thick with smoke - smelling of death and decay. The birds were no longer singing their sweet songs, nor were there any immediate signs of life in the area. The charred ground crunched under my feet and I realized it was the only sound I could hear in the eerie silence. I looked up at the once milky moon and cringed at its new bright crimson color. What could've possibly caused the moon to turn blood red? I thought to myself as I continued to walk cautiously through the unrecognizable forest.
and the wind gathered the leaves as a mother gathers her children and blew them irrevocably, lovingly, into the haunted wildness
Clearly, you don't know much about horror, he said. Horror is premised on the experience of what we do not and cannot understand, whereas what you're talking about is mere low-class smut, which every schoolboy has encountered before he's in long pants.
He stood there tall and dashing, peering down at her with a set of mesmerizing sapphire eyes. It wasn__ the eyes that had her sex-drive squealing into overdrive; it was that_hair. Now, Tarrah had never really been into redheads before, but damn, she sure as hell would be willing to convert.