He doesn't suck her fingers clean, but the act leaves the taste of her on his lips. When she draws back, Sweeney happily brings his freed hand to her sex, allowing the tips of his two middle fingers to slide smoothly over her skin, slicking them without penetrating her deeper than the first knuckle.
She's fucking radiant, and he knows he can't leave her wanting. Bending to kiss her, he presses deeper into her, stroking slowly as he works his way in. Sweeney makes sure to cup her at an angle to keep his thumb over her clit so she can wriggle against it.
Warm and tight, the feel of her only reminds him of all that he's missed. The image that kept him company in his time away doesn't start to do her justice, any more than his hand does when it offers proxy to the clench of her cunt. There's nothing like the real thing.
She missed him, missed so much more than the direct action of his hands on her body, coaxing the heat between her thighs, the sighs from her lips. What she feared most, was losing that moment that he reached for her - she reached back, and how the connection turned bright and living. Finding his lips in the hungry open mouthed kisses he had taught to crave so much, her hands settling on his shoulders as he fingers rode up high and lovely inside of her. Grinding into his palm, the whimper bleeding in relief to chase the relief, the intimacy she desperately sought.
In a minute, in a minute she'd roll him over, but for now? She savoured being back in his arms, writhing below him. Alive and whole and in love.
She broke from him, eyes wet with the sting of that knowledge. "I love you," she breathed into him. "I love you, I couldn't bare this without you."
The profession of her love warms him, and his stroke slows long enough for him to tilt his head back and meet her eyes.
"My love fer you is what brings me home; puts my spurs in my mare's side; knowin' that every hoofbeat brings me a moment closer ta bein' in yer arms again. This is where I wanna be." Not sharing a bed with someone else. Sweeney leans to kiss her again, deep but not lingering, so he's able to whisper against her lips.
"With you, my love." He sneaks another kiss before he smiles, not straying from her skin.
"My beautiful, beautiful wife."
It had been one of the first words he'd learned, and even with all they've grown and shared since, he refuses to let it go. It keeps their love fresh in his heart and in his loins, and he has no plans to sacrifice that, just because the word is simple.
The ache in her breathes goes beyond just that immediate desire - for all she has and all she wants, this utterly shatters those fears that plagued her, he washes them away. Tends wounds that were so long left open she did not know could be stitched closed. Thought so often that she should be one of those women who loved and loved and loved and never a place to put it.
But he presses it into her skin, and it's more consuming than his kisses, his coaxing fingers, his scorching gaze. It shatters beyond just the hurt and jealousy of now - maybe not for always, but it feels like something mending than being broken. Of the times being mocked and laughed at and never taken seriously or being brushed off in her fears and desires.
It shatters her more utterly than just the fingers coaxing the hums from her lips. Yet it builds with inevitably, more intensely for each word he gives, reassures her. He loves her, he loves her. It's more intense, more demanding, for that utter revelation - shaking her apart like metal under forging hammers. She twists, grinding into his palm, onto his fingers, until it does break her to pieces, eyes stinging in love more than hurt, her back arching - her cry soundless yet deafening as it wrung her through. Taught around his fingers, finally sated beyond just his touch.
When she falls back, drunkenly, she reaches for him. Wanting to catch his mouth, and any other part she could. His neck, his shoulders, love-drunk as she felt only the lingering jealousy to fuel something new, yet utterly right. Biting between her kisses like he so often did her. Nipping and sucking, marking him with that raw heady contentment more potent than drink.
Sweeney hadn't been sure how hard it would be to get her off, in her current state, but there's relief and satisfaction that he's still properly armed for the task. He rides her though, slowing but not abandoning her.
Her kiss is met when open indulgence; he loves when she breathes the ripples of her ecstasy past his lips. The biting catches him off-guard, but it's only a moment before he's welcoming that, too, and he's ready to match the affections. But then she's pulling him down more insistently, and something starts to cut through his haze of lust.
"Luv..." He moans the words against her mouth.
"The baby."
Sweeney's worried about putting too much weight against her. That said, it doesn't seem to deter him from the rest of the activity, and between his teeth and tongue, it's obvious that his neglected cock is going to need some sort of attention in the near future.
It takes a good minute for his words to filter through. Too hungry, too ready for more, for what he so effortlessly sparks in her. Especially of late, in this state. At first there was just a frustrated moan into his mouth that he slows himself down, doesn't follow through on what they both want.
Then it finally gets the rest of the way through, and where words feel so sluggish and slow, she quickly makes up her mind on what will suit them best. He is worried, of course he is, why would he not be? Even when sometimes she knows he doesn't need to.
"Up, up -" she breathes into his mouth, pushing gently for just enough enough leverage.
To roll him flat onto his back with a hasty roll, going with him, to land herself squarely on top of him. Damn them, their rumours, he is hers, she thinks in triumph, as she pulls upright, raking her long braid back off her shoulder, adjusting her weight to get a hand below herself. To grasp his cock with warm, attentive fingers and align him against her slit, and smears the dripping mess from her release along his length.
"Better, now?" Her eyes are lowered, hazy in their shared heat.
It takes him a moment to match the word with the encouragement of her hands, but soon enough, Sweeney's following her direction onto his back. A wince heralds a hiss as the pain in his side flares; luckily, her balm is readily available. His hands find her hips, but it's only to anchor him; he doesn't make any attempt to steer her.
"Yes--yes--" he breathes, muscles taut in anticipation. The slick and the promise of warmth has his twitching in her hand.
Neither of them can stand the tease of it too long, her body aching for him, wanting him in equal amounts it felt, to the days without him. The burning fury of earlier that gives way to impatient desire. Her own sighs tumbling between his, as she lingers only enough to get him slippery, make it so that when she can't bare it any longer - a fumble, twisting herself to the angle just right -
Her hips can sink down on him in a single stroke. A happy, full cry tearing out of her that she doesn't hide for once. Let them hear, let them lean at the door and hear how her husband sates her. The babble in her own language where she forgets herself, praising him, missing him and having him when her hips fall flush and she begins to move, small circles of her hips in eagerness to finally have him again.
When she takes him in one go, he almost chokes on his tongue, and his grip tightens instinctively.
But it's her words than undo him. Over their time together, he's become far more fluent, especially when it comes to the current topics.
"Don't stop," he breathes, his eyes rolling as he squeezes them shut. Sweeney aches to thrust, but any attempt that direction sears fire in his ribs. He has to be patient. Let her do the work. It's torturous. And sublime. His eyes flash open again, seeking hers.
"Please...please...don't stop."
He's already starting to lose words to the baser sounds that are common in their liaisons. They just happen to be getting more primally eager at the moment.
It's perfect, breathless, demanding and perfect. Careful as she must be, even if not for herself, but not to jostle him too far on his injuries. But for a moment she drinks him in, watching him lose himself, feeling how he pulsed within her where he always made her so full. Taking those seconds and the adjusting movements to savour it.
But he needs more, and so does she, and she needs to balance herself. Cannot lean on him like she usually did. Instead she lent back, her hands bracing behind her as she tucked her knees better below her, and with it could take up a proper pace. An indulgence too, where he often had to coax her to he so open, she let herself sit so exposed to his view, her breasts heavy and full as she rocked with quick breathes, rising and falling to ride him, exposing him by only an inch to sink back down, snug and hot, as she felt herself clench around him readily when he's deep as he can be. Wanting every bit of him, a hitched moan each time that bleeds when she rises up again. A seamless haze that wants as much as it gives.
The relief palatable that washed through her. They were one again. It was all a lie, and this was where they both wanted to be.
Okay, so that's worth the pain. Every bounce of it. Sweeney's used to having her forward, which allows for her mouth against his skin and the beautiful friction of their bodies. But it's not an option, so he's committed to making do. He hadn't been prepared for the sight of her though, arched back and taking him.
Tits and belly swollen, symbols both of their love and how much he delights in being inside her, his hands dart up to her breasts. She's always too much, even for his large hands, but having them cradled now, they feel heavier still as they spill amply over the edges of his touch. Sweeney isn't thinking clearly enough to worry about the potential change in sensitivity; he just squeezes and massages as she rides, rolling and pinching her nipples as he does. He can't force himself to blink; he wants to remember every glorious moment of this encounter.
Oh, oh that is too much, in all the best way. Sensitive hardly covers the feeling, intense beyond what she could describe, painful and then sweet. The sob was louder than even she even expected, ragged and shark, as her head falling back to push into his hands eagerly. Rocking, shaking, selfishly sinking deep onto him all the way down, until she was as full as she could be, everything at once, after being away from him for too long, and all the furious feelings before.
Her release takes her by surprise, sharp and sudden that makes her have to catch herself only barely unless she fell from him, and louder than she let herself be from the sheer intensity. Her legs shaking as she squeezed his hips tightly to keep him close, until it finished with her.
Breathless, laughing in the aftermath as she got her balance back. Her eyes heavy lidded as she giggled, wetting her lips, her voice husky and rasping, as she tried to get it back. "Love you," her sated giggle tinging between her words.
Holy hell, the sounds she makes. Between those and the way her cunt clings to him, it's like being lost at sea. Sweeney struggles for focus, but the sensation keeps knocking him off-kilter. It doesn't help that he can't drive. On top of that, he can't even properly tug her hips without spikes of pain. So her orgasm is a gift, but also dumps him in an unfamiliar realm of vulnerability. She's giggling, and he's aching. Desperately.
"More--please--" Then he remembers what she's actually said.
"I love you--" he adds hastily, his touch sliding down from her breasts the swell of her hips. Sweeney's eyes plead, shortly before his tongue follows suit.
"Please--I need you--" He squirms beneath her, as if it will help.
To hear him so - how could she leave him wanting? Is this what he felt, when she pleaded for just a little more? It thrills up her back, as she gets her breathe back. But to give him what he needs, she rebalances herself, planting one hand squarely behind her, so the other can be free.
"Hold tightly," is the soft croon. Give her something to balance against, hold herself steady as she slips her fingers between her folds and parts herself, roughly swirling against her clit just to give her that echoing spasm around him.
That he liked to watch, that was clear, as she makes a show of it as thanks for all he gives her, a reason to come back every time. Lifting herself to let him slip half way up and then more slowly sink back down, inch by inch into her wet slit. She doesn't need to see that she's a mess, dripping around him from her releases, taught around him with how he always stretched her full. "Husband," she croons, all sea-song soft, "look how you fill me, filled me." As if there could be a doubt that he has, her belly growing every day. "I'm full of you, and I need more."
And she starts to roll her hips, not so forceful, smaller but quicker, short, sharp back and forth that picks up pace. But keeps herself open, that spectacle just for him. His wife, carrying his child, sinking onto him again and again. "Won't you come for me? It's tormented me while you were gone. You, filling me, claiming me, buried all the way deep inside of me, coming and flooding me, again and again, until I'm dripping below my skirts, saying my prayers, doing my stitches, with my husband leaking out from between my thighs. "
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thesunandthesea2025-06-09 03:32 am
no subject
She's fucking radiant, and he knows he can't leave her wanting. Bending to kiss her, he presses deeper into her, stroking slowly as he works his way in. Sweeney makes sure to cup her at an angle to keep his thumb over her clit so she can wriggle against it.
Warm and tight, the feel of her only reminds him of all that he's missed. The image that kept him company in his time away doesn't start to do her justice, any more than his hand does when it offers proxy to the clench of her cunt. There's nothing like the real thing.
no subject
In a minute, in a minute she'd roll him over, but for now? She savoured being back in his arms, writhing below him. Alive and whole and in love.
She broke from him, eyes wet with the sting of that knowledge. "I love you," she breathed into him. "I love you, I couldn't bare this without you."
no subject
"My love fer you is what brings me home; puts my spurs in my mare's side; knowin' that every hoofbeat brings me a moment closer ta bein' in yer arms again. This is where I wanna be." Not sharing a bed with someone else. Sweeney leans to kiss her again, deep but not lingering, so he's able to whisper against her lips.
"With you, my love." He sneaks another kiss before he smiles, not straying from her skin.
"My beautiful, beautiful wife."
It had been one of the first words he'd learned, and even with all they've grown and shared since, he refuses to let it go. It keeps their love fresh in his heart and in his loins, and he has no plans to sacrifice that, just because the word is simple.
no subject
But he presses it into her skin, and it's more consuming than his kisses, his coaxing fingers, his scorching gaze. It shatters beyond just the hurt and jealousy of now - maybe not for always, but it feels like something mending than being broken. Of the times being mocked and laughed at and never taken seriously or being brushed off in her fears and desires.
It shatters her more utterly than just the fingers coaxing the hums from her lips. Yet it builds with inevitably, more intensely for each word he gives, reassures her. He loves her, he loves her. It's more intense, more demanding, for that utter revelation - shaking her apart like metal under forging hammers. She twists, grinding into his palm, onto his fingers, until it does break her to pieces, eyes stinging in love more than hurt, her back arching - her cry soundless yet deafening as it wrung her through. Taught around his fingers, finally sated beyond just his touch.
When she falls back, drunkenly, she reaches for him. Wanting to catch his mouth, and any other part she could. His neck, his shoulders, love-drunk as she felt only the lingering jealousy to fuel something new, yet utterly right. Biting between her kisses like he so often did her. Nipping and sucking, marking him with that raw heady contentment more potent than drink.
no subject
Her kiss is met when open indulgence; he loves when she breathes the ripples of her ecstasy past his lips. The biting catches him off-guard, but it's only a moment before he's welcoming that, too, and he's ready to match the affections. But then she's pulling him down more insistently, and something starts to cut through his haze of lust.
"Luv..." He moans the words against her mouth.
"The baby."
Sweeney's worried about putting too much weight against her. That said, it doesn't seem to deter him from the rest of the activity, and between his teeth and tongue, it's obvious that his neglected cock is going to need some sort of attention in the near future.
no subject
Then it finally gets the rest of the way through, and where words feel so sluggish and slow, she quickly makes up her mind on what will suit them best. He is worried, of course he is, why would he not be? Even when sometimes she knows he doesn't need to.
"Up, up -" she breathes into his mouth, pushing gently for just enough enough leverage.
To roll him flat onto his back with a hasty roll, going with him, to land herself squarely on top of him. Damn them, their rumours, he is hers, she thinks in triumph, as she pulls upright, raking her long braid back off her shoulder, adjusting her weight to get a hand below herself. To grasp his cock with warm, attentive fingers and align him against her slit, and smears the dripping mess from her release along his length.
"Better, now?" Her eyes are lowered, hazy in their shared heat.
no subject
"Yes--yes--" he breathes, muscles taut in anticipation. The slick and the promise of warmth has his twitching in her hand.
"Fuck, yes."
no subject
Her hips can sink down on him in a single stroke. A happy, full cry tearing out of her that she doesn't hide for once. Let them hear, let them lean at the door and hear how her husband sates her. The babble in her own language where she forgets herself, praising him, missing him and having him when her hips fall flush and she begins to move, small circles of her hips in eagerness to finally have him again.
no subject
When she takes him in one go, he almost chokes on his tongue, and his grip tightens instinctively.
But it's her words than undo him. Over their time together, he's become far more fluent, especially when it comes to the current topics.
"Don't stop," he breathes, his eyes rolling as he squeezes them shut. Sweeney aches to thrust, but any attempt that direction sears fire in his ribs. He has to be patient. Let her do the work. It's torturous. And sublime. His eyes flash open again, seeking hers.
"Please...please...don't stop."
He's already starting to lose words to the baser sounds that are common in their liaisons. They just happen to be getting more primally eager at the moment.
no subject
But he needs more, and so does she, and she needs to balance herself. Cannot lean on him like she usually did. Instead she lent back, her hands bracing behind her as she tucked her knees better below her, and with it could take up a proper pace. An indulgence too, where he often had to coax her to he so open, she let herself sit so exposed to his view, her breasts heavy and full as she rocked with quick breathes, rising and falling to ride him, exposing him by only an inch to sink back down, snug and hot, as she felt herself clench around him readily when he's deep as he can be. Wanting every bit of him, a hitched moan each time that bleeds when she rises up again. A seamless haze that wants as much as it gives.
The relief palatable that washed through her. They were one again. It was all a lie, and this was where they both wanted to be.
no subject
Tits and belly swollen, symbols both of their love and how much he delights in being inside her, his hands dart up to her breasts. She's always too much, even for his large hands, but having them cradled now, they feel heavier still as they spill amply over the edges of his touch. Sweeney isn't thinking clearly enough to worry about the potential change in sensitivity; he just squeezes and massages as she rides, rolling and pinching her nipples as he does. He can't force himself to blink; he wants to remember every glorious moment of this encounter.
no subject
Her release takes her by surprise, sharp and sudden that makes her have to catch herself only barely unless she fell from him, and louder than she let herself be from the sheer intensity. Her legs shaking as she squeezed his hips tightly to keep him close, until it finished with her.
Breathless, laughing in the aftermath as she got her balance back. Her eyes heavy lidded as she giggled, wetting her lips, her voice husky and rasping, as she tried to get it back. "Love you," her sated giggle tinging between her words.
no subject
"More--please--" Then he remembers what she's actually said.
"I love you--" he adds hastily, his touch sliding down from her breasts the swell of her hips. Sweeney's eyes plead, shortly before his tongue follows suit.
"Please--I need you--" He squirms beneath her, as if it will help.
"--please."
no subject
"Hold tightly," is the soft croon. Give her something to balance against, hold herself steady as she slips her fingers between her folds and parts herself, roughly swirling against her clit just to give her that echoing spasm around him.
That he liked to watch, that was clear, as she makes a show of it as thanks for all he gives her, a reason to come back every time. Lifting herself to let him slip half way up and then more slowly sink back down, inch by inch into her wet slit. She doesn't need to see that she's a mess, dripping around him from her releases, taught around him with how he always stretched her full. "Husband," she croons, all sea-song soft, "look how you fill me, filled me." As if there could be a doubt that he has, her belly growing every day. "I'm full of you, and I need more."
And she starts to roll her hips, not so forceful, smaller but quicker, short, sharp back and forth that picks up pace. But keeps herself open, that spectacle just for him. His wife, carrying his child, sinking onto him again and again. "Won't you come for me? It's tormented me while you were gone. You, filling me, claiming me, buried all the way deep inside of me, coming and flooding me, again and again, until I'm dripping below my skirts, saying my prayers, doing my stitches, with my husband leaking out from between my thighs. "