❛ i want to fuck you so badly. ❜ -helsuru
there's something different in his voice, something that might have been indiscernible had she not become so attuned to his every move, every word. weeks, months of endlessly reading into his behavior in all her longing, her desperation to find any sign of reciprocation, now became second nature, and for the better. his voice is not softer, never softer, but there's a tenderness, something almost sweet, despite the vulgarity of his words. it's fevered, low, all in a shared intoxication, impossibility close — blood rushing, heart beating. she answers simply, " please. "
they haven't yet left the doorway to her bedroom, her back pressed to the wall beside the door, his hands insistent, but not harsh. it's mirrored in her, fingers quick upon the buttons of his shirt until it's finally shoved off. her hands run over lean muscle, the familiar feeling of scarred and inked skin beneath her touch, and she urges him back until his legs hit the side of the bed. " sit. " in a rare occurrence, he obeys.
no matter how far she was now from her previous life of acclaim and admiration, hélène could not deny her love of attention, of praise. she likes to show off for him, knows he won't disappoint her, won't fail to give her that which she desires so much from him. she is slow in the way she undresses, skirt shed but shirt left merely unbuttoned — a last step for him to complete for her as she climbs atop his lap. he follows suit, rough hands sliding fabric down slow, leaving goosebumps in their wake. he's telling her that she's beautiful in a ragged voice, a voice that has her hips moving in impatience, an impatience he would typically reprimand her for, but doesn't now.
she appreciates the shift, the tenderness not uncommon, but certainly not the most typical for them. she liked him like this, when feeling shone through most palpably. in all things, there remained a level of vulnerability, loyalty, the ever - present knowledge and assurance that there was no one else they loved like this, no one else they had loved like this. she knew this well, but could not help particularly enjoying when he allowed this truth to take prevalence, to make her feel that care and safety she had never once experienced before him. he looks up at her and she can see it, can feel it all, the love, the depth, no longer frightening, no longer foreign to her.
the way she kisses him could almost be considered chaste, if not for the way she pants at even the lightest of touches. the friction between them is miniscule, his hands still only resting upon the dip of her waist, but the anticipation overwhelms. he is there, warm and wanting beneath her, and he is all hers.
a whimper of need leaves her and she is scrambling from his lap to lean against the pillows, with him close behind. she pulls him to his place above her and revels in the familiar blur of movement — her hand sliding into already undone pants, his haphazardly shoving lace worn for his benefit away from where he wants her. she swallows his groan when her hand moves against him, answers with one of her own as fingers find their place between parted legs. they slide inside her easily, without resistance, and her head falls back. " mitsuru... " it's slurred, breathless. " fuck... "
patience has never been her strong suit and this shows plainly in the way she splays herself for him, thick thighs already wrapping around his waist, pulling him down against her. " not enough, " she whines, the hand not occupied with his length pawing desperately at his waistband. he laughs low, calls her pretty girl in that fond, teasing drawl so typical of him, but follows her wishes. despite him moving at her insistence, she still whines unhappily when he parts to rid himself of his remaining clothing, producing yet another chuckle from him, a sly comment on her lack of patience before he's pressed once again against her plush body.
i'll take care of you. it's a promise murmured against the column of her throat, his lips moving against sensitive skin as he slides himself teasingly where she's wet and wanting — a promise she knows he will fulfill.
he pushes inside and she nearly sobs, fingers digging hard into his shoulder, his hip, anywhere she can grab onto. a hand presses her waist to the bed, another cradling her head, fingers tangled tight in her hair, keeping her neck outstretched for him to kiss and suck and bite as he pleases. his thrusts are evenly paced, controlled, a stark contrast to bygone hookups, each of them chasing only their own pleasure. this is for her, every movement tailored to what she wants, what she needs then, tender and deep.
" more — faster, " she whispers, a rasped sound against the shell of his ear and he obeys once more, something she's sure is indicative of his own desire, the pleasure to be found inside her. she grabs hold of his hair and tugs, pulling him up to face her so she can kiss him — uncoordinated, ravenous, open. he shoves his hand between them to press his thumb against her clit and she gasps into his mouth, the sound fading to a prolonged whine as he rubs in circles against her.
when she comes, it's on his command, that endlessly enticing voice urging her to do whatever he wishes of her, as it always did. he had always been so difficult to deny. she's reduced to whimpers, eyes watering and body trembling as he keeps going, chasing his own high through her sensitivity. she wouldn't dream of stopping him. she falls limp beneath him when he eventually stills, and she can feel the heavy throb of him inside her, the way he fills her. she begs breathlessly for him to stay inside as she pulls him down against her, burying her face in his neck. her heart pounds and her head spins, his comforting weight on top of her anchoring her.
she laughs when she finally manages to return to reality, hands covering her face as she grins — so stupidly happy, so ridiculously in love. she can feel his smile matching hers when he kisses her again, feel the soft breath of his own laughter. she finally moves her hands, only to rest them upon either side of his face, thumbs caressing against flushed cheeks. god, he's beautiful. still - weakened arms shove at him until he flops beside her, only for her to climb on top of him, quick to press quick kisses everywhere her lips can reach. she is vaguely aware of the drip of him from between her legs and, if the butterflies in her stomach and the remaining fuzziness in her head are anything to go by, she knows the night is long from over — but she resists for now.
" i love you, " she says more than once between kisses, and even as she moves to lay beside him, she cannot stop smiling, cannot help the press of her lips to his skin. it still surprises her, often, that such joy was even possible. she had had a vague idea before, of what happiness would look like, would feel like. it was nothing like this: a cold, concrete room made warm by a loving hand at her waist. how strange, that she should only be afforded such comfort after having everything else taken from her. here, beside him, it didn't seem like such a terrible trade.
![۶۟ৎ Princess Hélène was smiling [ ... ]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4dcf63f3e804f4dd167d329a1632b230/7f29467de299d8e1-3e/s250x400/a154a0d11a9aa712c114763f854575dbf30477e5.png)
