Agoraphilia ( come aT ME )
MEME accepting: ship, thread + plotting partners( Agoraphilia: I’ll write our characters having sex in a public place )
Legs wrapped around his body; tighter than he had expected for one so,lithe her mouth tasted of honeyed wine and want and more likely than not,anger. Not at him, misplaced, but still there, bubbling underneath thesurface.
There was a moment of breath draw between them, the cold air swirling around them did nothing to combat the heat c a u g h t between their bodies.
He was about to question her motives, ask why, of all places, a tavern in the village, far removed from the castle in the darkness of night with people milling about. They, of course, paid them no mind, but a look form her silenced him and broke his last shred of resolve. He’d missed the taste of her lips and the warmth of her thighs pressed against him as he hands pulled at the lacings of his breeches and they fell away. His hands cupped at her waist, holding her firm against the wall as they struggled against the folds of her skirt. Now that she’d donned the warmer dress of French- woman it was more difficult, but worth it as he felt her cool hand circle his hardness; a teasing squeeze; a bitten off moan vibrating against her mouth.
He could have cared less for the people who whistled at the two lovers pressed against the wall, the stretch of leg barely visible in the waning light flickering from torches and partially shrouded moonlight. Bash could have cared less at the calls that floated their way. Not when Meg’s teeth bit at his lip, rasping a slightly drunken & shared moan as he slipped inside her. He could taste the bite of blood from where she’d nipped at his lip, and it only served to enhance his lust.
His hands moulded at her thighs, her nails sharp points on both his exposed and hidden flesh. So far removed from the castle, it was as though they didn’t exist; he not a kings deputy, not a bastard, and she not a princess, not an all but exile from her own country. It mattered not; because Meg quivered against him, back arched while breathing the softest, but harshest sounds of pleasure into his ear. A hand cupped the curve of her ass, holding her closer, his lips sliding down the curve of her throat & he longed to mark her tanned skin with evidence of this night.
( and more nights to come, he could not have a simple taste and then live without. )
“I do not plan to sleep this night, Princess,” he breathed against her lip, to the tune of a soft grin and the sinful roll of her hips that had his throat crack in a rough cry. Grip tightening on her hip, pressing bruises into her flesh && teeth scraping lightly on her skin; her nails biting at his; and when they had finally stolen back into the castle, sun cracking across the horizon; they both bore the marks of each other’s lust.
