[ from x with @lumenfall ]
Her hand clasps his tighter to the rise of her; he feels her hips rock back against him, notched on the ridge, as his hand works more eagerly still. The sound of her pleasure causes his breath to catch. Presented with the gentle incline of her head - and the subsequent, monumental trust in baring the expanse of her pale throat - he trails kisses, rough and claiming, along the side of her neck, catching the lobe of her ear between his teeth for an instant. Ah, there she is, he murmurs, jagged affection delivered via serrated breath, just past her ear. There you are, Maria.
He still can't place the moment where he realized the want: where it had blossomed from idle appreciation of her work and a growing trust in her allegiance to something hot and hungry in his belly. There must have been a moment - a shift from respect to need - but the transition had been so slow and subtle as to defy identification.
It is not subtle now; as two fingers push deeper into her heat, seeking out the fullness of her pleasure, his thumb still stroking eagerly at her clit, encouraged by the arch and the song and the way she's so Church-damned soaked for him. He can feel her clench around his exploring touch, as though trying to guide him deeper still. Some part of him aches to remove his hand, tug down his trousers - but no, there's other part that finds it sweeter still to remain focused solely on teasing out every note of that song that he can.
Let me be foolish, he breathes, against her skin, letting the words shape a kiss as though he might brand his newfound reverence there by way of teeth and tongue. Let me ask again. For more - for more, Maria.
The slow and steady repetition of her name becomes a chant, a hymn in time with her sounds of pleasure.
That's it - just for me. Just for me...