thesunandthesea | morning after.

"Yes," her back lifted to his touch as he finds the other side of her body after the brief respite. She pulled her hands away at last, instead knotting up tightly in the pillow below her head. The answer is all too enthusiastic to have anything to do with his actual question.

"- A - recurve -" her uncle had made it for her, taught her how to aim. But the details hardly mattered as she furrowed her brow, peering down her body shamefully as if to see what he was doing was really happening, that something so little was making her stutter her words. "I could not - bring it."

Fuck, it's so hard not to purr at the first word on her lips. It echoes as his 'hunting' and 'riding' had, things to be enjoyed indoors. Instead, he murmurs softly as his kisses start to divert down her collar bone.

Sweeney pauses and hovers. "I'll have a new one fashioned fer you."

That's the only reprieve she's offered before his mouth continues in a similar path as his hand had. By the time it's traversing the swell of her breast, his affections are wet, sucking things, like she's a sun-kissed fruit to be savored.

When he finally reaches its apex, he sucks her nipple softly, grazing it with his tongue behind his lips. The grip on her other pulls a bit more firmly in unison.

Her eyes shut, trying her absolute best to remember what he was saying and answer him, really, truly. Her hands twist, her knees pushing together tightly to do something with herself. What was she supposed to do? Last night had been hurried, for better or worse, to get the thing over with. But now he seemed to be taking his time.

At least reaction took over the rest of her confusion about what to do when his mouth found her breast. She curved, straining into his mouth as she reached for him at last, her body jolting. Her hands finding the base of his neck to pull him into her. She wanted to say stop, it was like - nothing else, she couldn't handle it. She wanted him to never stop, for him to go on and on. The hands that intend to tug him free end up clutching him close as it wins over. It spiked so hot between her legs , so suddenly, it made no sense, he was not touching her there, but it was like a ripple down her body.

The feel of her hands is like the song of a sharp scythe making the first swing in the ripe field; every bit of effort is worth it. Both fruition and promise, he's all the hungrier for it. Her and her Up-bread.

Sweeney sucks a touch harder, but can't maintain it when his smile cracks. Instinctively, he catches her nipple between his teeth, just long enough for him to think better of it as he tilts his head back to look up at her. It leaves the skin taut for a moment before release, like the bow string he'd promised her. His other hand eases the tension, but doesn't let go.

"You want I stop?"

He suspects that she doesn't; he just wants to hear her admit it. Of course, if she wants to cut things short, he'll abandon this course.

If only to regroup and try a different approach.

Pushing up on her elbow, she stares transfixed as he teases her skin. His mouth hungry like she was a meal he wanted every bite of. Let alone how he tenderly plucked at sensitive skin, and she whimpered to watch it, her heels pushing into the bed below, her eyes wide.

She shakes her head furiously when he pulls up, her chest rising and falling with her deep bracing breathes. The marks his kisses sucked on her skin blooming a deeper blush to the otherwise pink that flared down. Her flush staining from her cheeks to the tops of her breasts. Awash in the sensations, and that now more familiar way her body answered him. Embarrassing as it was, that she could feel that trickle of warmth fresh again, when she woke, before, she felt tacky and sore.

"Don't stop." It's panted between them, vulnerable as the night before, but more understanding now the wonderful things that could come from his attention.

How radiant she is, her skin flush. It makes him ache to be inside her. Not that such is concealed beyond the layer of blanket draped over them; his hard cock rested against her knee.

Sweeney sets back to his efforts, his touching and tasting more confident in the wake of her request. Eventually, his hand moves to brace on the bed so he can lean over her to get his lips and tongue on her other breast, the moist skin left to be tickled by a sliding veil of red hair and warm skin, clattering gold bringing the occasional speckle of cool metal.

The smell and taste of her are quite the encouragement, and though he fights to keep his restraint, his kisses seem to have more tongue and teeth, and the suck of his lips more firm.

She has more time to notice, more time to think about each thing, and there is no pretending in the light of day. If she would even want to. She had no idea he would want to play with her so much, lavish her so much. Granted her expectations were set in firm duty and gritty reality. Set up as gently as could be by her ladies, working with the rumours of the brutish warriors, they said it might all be quick and over, and she may not like it, but he would undoubtedly lose interest once it was done.

Not that he would devote himself to just burrowing into her chest, his mouth a brand everywhere it roamed, as if he could never have enough. If someone had told her that a man, let alone her husband, would want to play so much with what was usually just an irritation, or spend so much time doing nothing but kissing her all over, she might have not believed them. She certainly would not have thought it would feel like this, either, her skin on fire, somehow overwhelmed and yet in desperate need of more. All for what - playing kisses?

But sense clearly left, and it's not long until she's writhing below him, her hands alternating between pulling at his hair, or yanking at she sheets under her. Her knees falling open of their own accord, and that wet hot build more obvious now. Her voice a constant stream of little gasps, cries and pants, between each shallow inhale, the lap of his tongue earned the long longer moans, the graze of teeth shocked whines. It had hurt the night before, that she would not think to want it again so quickly. But the touch makes her forget what it had been, she craved him closer, to lie between her legs again, to chase that strange something from the night before that came with the pressure of his body on hers.

Edited 2024-08-29 07:40 (UTC)

Sweeney's prepared to split the difference. Unfortunately, it means abandoning her far breast for the sake of balance, but he tries to console both of them with a long lap of his tongue up her chest to the crook of her neck. He nuzzles her with Want, some small compromise to being up on her. Even so, she can feel his shortened breath on her skin where he sucks and nips her neck.

He rocks his weight back as it was to he free his hand again. The same two fingertips swirl briefly around her breast, then start their journey down over her abdomen. The pace is purposeful, neither rushed nor dawdling; he wants her to have the time for her senses to hone on the sensation and build anticipation for where they're going.

At last, they arrive, lifting enough to tickle the tips of her soft curls before grazing the very edges of the lips she's so kindly exposed for him. There's no pressure to suggest he's looking to push anything into her. Hell, there's not even enough to grind against.

She watches his hand move down her at a lazy pace. Just long enough to feel the anticipation work up her limbs as his hand disappears below the low sling of the blankets over her hips.

Her legs twitch, wanting to close them around his hand, and at the same time, fall open. A confused mix of sensations as she strains to arch into his fingers and have him touch more.

Embarrassment follows after, as she gets it, and realises it might have been the night before, but there is no mistaking that she is a warm, slicked mess between her legs for his attention. The touches he'd paid her made her already so aroused, sticky between her thighs even as he only grazes her. Her face burning with the realisation. "It - I - I'm messy, we - I should..."

The anxiety returns, worried and unsure. They should have a bath, something so she wasn't so - so - whatever this state was.

Her sweet fluster is good for the soul. Sweeney lifts his head to meet her eyes, and a devious curl in his lips cuts a dimple in his cheek.

"I want."

He shifts his finger back to the start, but this time, he slides in to part her, running the length without seeking a way inside. Sweeney does, however, make sure that his calloused skin spends the whole course rubbing along her clit. His gasp is soft, but noticeable, when he can feel how slick she is; how she coats his finger so readily.

"Yes. Mess."

Sweeney sucks his lip as his gaze darts to hers for only a moment before returning to her eyes.

"I want."

Edited (Spelling correction) 2024-08-29 09:39 (UTC)

She could not look away, not even if she tried, her eyes fixed on his - and she could see it now, so much better. He was so wonderfully handsome, mischief and brightness in his gaze, dappled in the morning light.

So there is no hiding how her eyes widened with sensation, then half close with a gasp, lips parted with the inhale and exhale as he began to touch her. Told her so certain that this was all to whatever plan he had, he wanted the mess? If he was sure then.

There she paws to his shoulder, wanting to hook him for another kiss. She could not handle him watching the pleasure that spilled across her, as he began to touch her more thoroughly, more like the night before. Openly lacking control.

He'd been ready for her to stop him, or to at least resign herself to the thing, frozen and not participating. Sweeney certainly hadn't prepared for her eagerness. Her kisses are welcome and answered in kind, though he has to be mindful to not twist too far over her, so he doesn't lose his balance. He has every intention to keep his hand where it is for a while longer.

Long strokes continue, reined tightly in control, lest he run off too roughly. That said, eventually, he parts from her just enough to get her in focus. His hand stills long enough for him to dip the tip of his finger into her. Not much, just so he can trace the ring of flesh while he studies her face for signs of discomfort. Or pleasure. Sweeney's guessing the former is more likely.

"Hurt? Still?"

Sweeney would like to fuck her, but if his finger is unpleasant, there's no way he's fitting his cock in without more tears.

It's not that it feels bad, necessarily. It's not the pain of the night before, sharp and tearing. But there was a pang, like a bruise.

Only now, she better understands just what he is testing. That he's being slow and cautious to her, to not make it do so again. So her hands brace to let herself adjust. Her eyes falling shut and slowly her breathe to try and will the tension out of her body, relax and let his fingers slip easier into her.

That compared to last night, it does hurt less. Sliding into her body with far more ease, not quite the ache and shove.

So she can open her eyes again and give an encouraging nod. "No hurt." The ache she could deal with, and she did not want to discourage his affection and interest so soon into their marriage as the second day. Especially when he was being so caring and taking his time.

At her assurance, he slips in to the second knuckle, but he's wary of her tension and breath. Again, there's no stroking, just a slow flexing, seeing if it's any better or worse. His hand stills and brow lifts.

"You not want?" He does, but he figures waiting now might be better for the long game. He can wait.

"Not have to."

Sweeney does his best to make her believe it. He even pulls back out, so she's not obligated to choose with him inside her. He leaves his hand rested over, cupping her with warmth so she doesn't have to equivocate a no with abandonment.

There is a little hitch as he slides deeper. To her surprise, it is not unwelcome, her body tightening pleasantly as he slowly tests her. Lets her get her bearing, and then, oh so politely, pulls out, and her eyes open up to look up at him again.

"Want," she supplies, but not all at once. This is nice, this slow touching, building and testing, it's not so overwhelming. "We go... slow?"

And with it, she tests herself, the feeling, with the memory of the night before. Her hips roll, a slow, careful press into his palm to feel the way the grind makes those pleasant spasms work up her body.

Slow.

Right. Of course. He can do this, he assures himself. That said, it doesn't help when she starts grinding. Ugh. Okay. Sweeney lets her go for a few moments before he shifts again. He gently slides his middle finger back in to the second knuckle, keeping unblinking eyes honed on her face for any hint as to her feeling.

Instead of leaving his palm for her to squirm on, Sweeney opens his hand to position his thumb over her clit. He doesn't rub or push, he just leaves his hand still enough for her to writhe on as she wishes, same as his finger. The angle is straighter, so she can sink down on it if she wants to, but he's not shoving in himself. Fuck, this slow thing is hard.

And so is he.

"Say if bad," he whispers.

"We stop." Sweeney tilts his head, his gaze fixed on hers, as if to will her understanding of his sincerity.

"Slow." His lips part and shut. "I not know. What makes that."

She nodded, and then let her eyes fall half closed with a soft sigh of enjoyment has his fingers find her again. Though compared to the rest of him, this finger was hardly as much, and for that easier to brush against. Turned to face him that little as she hooked an arm over his shoulder.

"This - this is good." She does her best to reassure him, with a fond squeeze of his shoulder.

Then she began to move again, it was just that. Slow. Her hips taking their time to learn to move. To figure out what felt best, how she could move fluidly. A little fix of concentration on her brow as she began to find it easier, better, a wonderful mix of both kinds of stimulation as she got it timed better and the first little soft sounds crawled out of her again, less concentration and a slow unfurling pleasure across her features as she relaxed into it.

It's what he wanted. Well, maybe not wanted, but what he'd hoped for. Sweeney swallows, trying to keep his focus. He wishes he could see the act; savor every shift of her hips and admire the glisten of her arousal left between. But the blanket keeps such things a secret, so he tries to keep his attention elsewhere.

First, her eyes and face, the flutters and twitches are something he craves, but the longer it goes, the more he wants to thrust into her, eager for at least some proxy for his prick. He's forced to close his eyes for a breath to rein himself back in.

When they open again, they seek hers, and his lips part to dare an unsure whisper.

"...another?"

The neighboring finger traces softly along her sensitive skin, not making any effort to push in; just hopeful to get the opportunity. If he's going to get his cock inside her, he needs to know where her tolerance level is. This would be one step closer, even though it's still not enough to stretch her the same way.

It's not so much longer it seems to become more fluid, more like it had been towards the end, last night. Her little puffs of air go faster, her lips parted in an unfixed enjoyment of his touch, the movement, until his voice calls her out of it.

Her eyes look up, heavy lidded with desire, cheeks pink still, and the little moments where she sinks teeth into her bottom lip to swallow her moan. More? Yes, yes, yes. This was good, but some craved more, the tension he had provided the night before she did not realise she had enjoyed. "Please, yes, yes -"

Until she gets it, and her little pleading cries break to a strong buck of her hips. Straining into the cup of his palm and have him press in further as her eyes close again, a deeper, longer coo of satisfaction crawling out of her lungs.

He startles a touch when she embraces the notion so full-heartedly, and Sweeney isn't going to pause to second-guess. He withdraws enough to adjust his position and slick up a second finger before carefully nudging to press back into her. It's easier than he'd expected, which is nice. The whole goal is to minimize the pain and make things pleasant. That purposeful logic is quickly diverted when she grows eager.

What in the sweet fucking hell? The surprise is obvious in the widening of his eyes when she takes to writhing, but it's the best kind of unexpected. Sweeney just tries to keep up; putting his hand at the best angle for friction and depth. The way she moves, he can't resist thrusting, at least a little.

Gods, he wants to be inside her, buried until she's full and he has nothing left to give. Sweeney leans in to touch his forehead to hers; his body trying to translate what's happening into what he wishes it was, and she can feel his shortening breaths panting against her skin. Those sounds she makes burrow into him, and Sweeney can't stop the way he begins to rock against her, his cock desperate for any pressure it can come by, even if it's just the side of her thigh.

He's so lovely, so close, warm and strong, the heavy weight of his body as he presses against her side, and then over - it shuts out the word in this new sort of dance she takes his lead on. It isn't the rushing high of the night before, more of a long pull, like drifting out to sea as she cups the back of his neck in her free hand, her breath falling into the pattern of his.

Even the way he bucks is pleasant, a unison that echoes her own desire, new as it is. The languid, rushing, washing sort of back and forth with wonderful little highs as he begins to move his hand. That makes her intended affectionate brush more clutching, chasing it, blissful and wonderful, new, and good.

It breaks with surprised squeal, then gasp, her thighs closing shut around his hand as she arches to keep him in. Rocks, twitches and thrashes in the inevitable end, squirming haplessly against him like she didn't know where to put herself. Her fingers scraping over the muscle of his shoulder, eyes screwed shut with little spilt whines as she falls over the other side. Gone, gone, gone, all out to sea in a cresting wave.

It's not difficult to tell that she's increasingly pleasured by the act, but the sudden snap of her thighs still catches him off-guard. Sweeney instinctively flexes his fingers, not trying to escape but straining against the clench of her muscles. It only takes a moment for him to sort things and continue to do it purposefully. Obviously, there's less room to move, but that doesn't stop him from making the most of what he has, rocking and wriggling to urge her to ride out her climax as long and as intensely as possible.

Sweeney can feel his prick throbbing as it shouts in protest; it should be the one enjoying the fruits of the labor. The ache makes him grit his teeth as he winces in Want. Just a little longer. Just a little. And he'll find his relief, whatever shape it takes.

At last she goes still, rolling flat onto her back after all her thrashing about. Her legs opening again to free his hand, her breathing fast and shallow as if she'd run a mile. There she lay, her body tingling pleasantly all over as she opened her eyes again, a dazed, dreamy look on her features as she gives him a lopsided smile.

Her tongue seems not to be working, so she brings her hand up to card his red strands back from his brow, behind his ear. She was in such luck, it seemed, such pleasurable things from just his hand, from kissing her all over, and it leaves her all adrift and pliable as she lays there, just admiring him.

When she finally shows mercy and parts her knees, Sweeney's mindful as he withdraws his hand. He flexes his fingers, stretching them back to a fuller range of motion after the strain against her clenched muscles. It'd been a tight fit, but worth the effort. His eyes searches her face as she tucks back his hair.

"Not hurt?"

He sounds cautiously hopeful. Speaking of hopeful, his slick fingers drop subconsciously to his prick. The stroke is slow and not particularly purposeful, just an idle motion that smears her arousal with his, leaving his skin glistening.

Sweeney's doing his best not to race on, but now that there's not an act to distract himself with, his cock needs at least passing attention, especially if he's not going to get rough again. It would be counterproductive to undo all the work he'd just done.

With eyes up on his, she shakes her head no. Not hurt. Everything but hurt, as she so dreamily stares at him.

The rest of the answer comes with a tug down, looking for another kiss, and for him to be close, to press against her all over again. She suspects what he wants now is more, and if it felt this wonderful then oh, she did not mind.

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