The amnesiac Jesse had been a little wilder, too. A little wilder, a little more selfish -- but then again, neither of them had been carrying the kind of emotional attachment they do now. Now that it's their first real time together, savoring it feels so much more important.
Even if the pace, combined with the strength and fluidity of her movement, is driving him slightly insane. His range of motion is limited, but he does as much as he can, hips rising to meet hers as she takes him in. "Fuck," he gasps, fingers digging into her thigh, kneading the taut muscle. But then: "What happened when you woke up?"
She blushes but at the same time she's also leaning down a little, shifting her hips to take him deeper and at a different angle. Her arms rest on his shoulders because she wants as much contact as she can have, but it also is an undoubtedly dominating position.
"If Elizabeth was gone already, I'd stay in bed and touch myself as I thought about the dream. And-" a small gasp as his hips meet hers, "If she wasn't gone I'd go shower and do the same thing."
He groans, momentarily overcome by the mental image that blesses him with, combined with every little thing she's doing that seems designed to render him speechless. "Christ, that's so hot," he manages breathlessly, staring at the long arch of her body above him. "You're so fucking hot."
He can't help but try to speed things up a little bit, though she massively has the upper hand here; if she wants it to stay slower, there's not much he can do about it. He knows this. It's not a bad thing.
Annie knows it, too, and it's soothing a part of her that's lain dormant since her pack was wiped out. She goes along with Jesse for a minute, faster, so sharp in each staccato thrust that she ends up groaning senselessly.
And then she slows them right back down with a delighted grin and a kiss to his jaw. "I'm not ready for you to be done," she murmurs, tightening a few strategic muscles as she slides slowly up, then down.
He lets his head drop back and closes his eyes with a sound that's sort of a laugh and sort of a growl and sort of a moan all at the same time, because he had absolutely seen that coming, and a part of him absolutely loves that she did it, and a part of him was really enjoying that.
He runs his hands up her sides and knots one in her hair again, a little tighter this time, pulling her into a kiss so intent it's practically a reprimand. With the other he takes advantage of the new position bringing her closer to him, exploring the parts of her body he'd neglected before in his eagerness to taste her.
When his hand strays near the scar on her side she shivers and rewards him with a particularly eager roll of her hips. The scar bothers her, not for any cosmetic reason, but because she will never forget where it came from. Having someone--someone she likes very much, someone she trusts, someone she chose--touch it is surprisingly good.
Granted, she doesn't want too much attention on it, so she whispers, "I want you to pull my hair a little when you like what I'm doing to you."
He gives her hair a light tug immediately -- mostly in play, but it's not like he doesn't like everything that's going on right now. He eases up again with a smirk a moment later, but the next time she rolls her hips like that and knocks the breath right out of him, his hand tightens quickly again.
He's learning where the scars are, finding them by feel as well as by sight, but it's mostly so he knows how to hold her comfortably, where and how to touch, what she does or doesn't like. He lingers more on the soft, untouched places -- running his hand up over the flat of her stomach, mapping the curve of her breast with his palm.
She had shivered and encouraged him to touch her scars, but the care he shows in exploring her unmarred skin is so unfamiliar to her it catches her breath in her throat.
The men in her pack had loved her, but there is so little that is gentle about a wolf. And after so long being hammered by the life of a wolf, Jesse's warmth is like clear water after a drought.
She wants to keep him pulling her hair, wants to feel him go rigid with pleasure, but for a moment what she does is study him as she rides him, his scars and his beard and the look in his eyes. It's never been quite like this before with anyone, even those she loved; but she doesn't dare say it.
What she does say is, "Jesse," in a whisper that's thick with emotion. What she swallows and adds is, "Want me to make you come?"
Because she has so many ways she can do it, so many ways that she tentatively hopes some of them will even be new to him.
His eyes are roving over her, soaking in the movement of her body -- but when he's had his fill of that and lets his head fall back, he realizes she's been watching him, and the look in her eyes when they meet his makes his mouth go dry. It's intense, even for someone as intense as Jesse himself is, even for someone who loves as hard as he does.
"Annie," he breathes, the one hand tightening on her hair, the other sliding up to cup her face and pull her down into a quick but fervent, messy kiss.
And then, thank Christ, she asks him that. "God, yes," he groans, eyes falling briefly shut. "Jesus, Annie, please--"
Some day, she decides, she's going to ride him hard and make it last an hour. Two hours. Until they're both helpless and desperate and so absorbed in need they forget their own names and their pasts.
But that's not today. Today she sits up, taking full control of the pace, and she does her absolute best to show him what wolf stamina and lust and love can do; what her supernaturally heightened muscles can do with her already athletic body. What this body can do to his in every rise and sink, every roll of her hips.
She claps a hand over her mouth, hearing her own whimpers muffled but unmistakable.
That's something they should save for later: when they know each other's bodies better, maybe when Jesse has... acclimatized a little bit more. He's still coming off a year-plus dry spell for, like, regular human sex, and this is way more than that. He'd never last an hour today; he's almost amazed he's lasted this long at all, as powerful and consuming as this is.
"Fuck," he chokes, and then he finds himself out of further words as she takes over, and all he can do is try to move with her and try to hang on. With her hair out of reach he grabs onto her thighs, kneading as he rapidly approaches the edge-- and then digging his fingers in tight, tight, as he falls over it with a jerk and a loud, unhindered cry.
The last sex Annie had wasn't good sex. It wasn't awful, but it was one last attempt to bring some light into Palo's eyes, and it had failed.
Werewolves have ravenous libidos, but until Jesse, she hadn't longed for someone in a very, very long time. When her head starts to clear, she has her face tucked against his neck, and she breathes a laugh of relief.
"Oh, now I remember: I do love sex." A pause, an amendment: "Really good sex."
He's still panting and blinking the stars from his eyes, but the words filter through on only a very slight delay, and when they register he lets out a short, breathless laugh.
"Really good," he agrees, rolling them onto their sides so she can't hide her face; so he can look at her, can press lazy, languid kisses to her mouth again and again, like he's still making up for all the times he could have and didn't.
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Even if the pace, combined with the strength and fluidity of her movement, is driving him slightly insane. His range of motion is limited, but he does as much as he can, hips rising to meet hers as she takes him in. "Fuck," he gasps, fingers digging into her thigh, kneading the taut muscle. But then: "What happened when you woke up?"
no subject
"If Elizabeth was gone already, I'd stay in bed and touch myself as I thought about the dream. And-" a small gasp as his hips meet hers, "If she wasn't gone I'd go shower and do the same thing."
no subject
He can't help but try to speed things up a little bit, though she massively has the upper hand here; if she wants it to stay slower, there's not much he can do about it. He knows this. It's not a bad thing.
no subject
And then she slows them right back down with a delighted grin and a kiss to his jaw. "I'm not ready for you to be done," she murmurs, tightening a few strategic muscles as she slides slowly up, then down.
no subject
He runs his hands up her sides and knots one in her hair again, a little tighter this time, pulling her into a kiss so intent it's practically a reprimand. With the other he takes advantage of the new position bringing her closer to him, exploring the parts of her body he'd neglected before in his eagerness to taste her.
no subject
Granted, she doesn't want too much attention on it, so she whispers, "I want you to pull my hair a little when you like what I'm doing to you."
no subject
He's learning where the scars are, finding them by feel as well as by sight, but it's mostly so he knows how to hold her comfortably, where and how to touch, what she does or doesn't like. He lingers more on the soft, untouched places -- running his hand up over the flat of her stomach, mapping the curve of her breast with his palm.
no subject
The men in her pack had loved her, but there is so little that is gentle about a wolf. And after so long being hammered by the life of a wolf, Jesse's warmth is like clear water after a drought.
She wants to keep him pulling her hair, wants to feel him go rigid with pleasure, but for a moment what she does is study him as she rides him, his scars and his beard and the look in his eyes. It's never been quite like this before with anyone, even those she loved; but she doesn't dare say it.
What she does say is, "Jesse," in a whisper that's thick with emotion. What she swallows and adds is, "Want me to make you come?"
Because she has so many ways she can do it, so many ways that she tentatively hopes some of them will even be new to him.
no subject
"Annie," he breathes, the one hand tightening on her hair, the other sliding up to cup her face and pull her down into a quick but fervent, messy kiss.
And then, thank Christ, she asks him that. "God, yes," he groans, eyes falling briefly shut. "Jesus, Annie, please--"
no subject
But that's not today. Today she sits up, taking full control of the pace, and she does her absolute best to show him what wolf stamina and lust and love can do; what her supernaturally heightened muscles can do with her already athletic body. What this body can do to his in every rise and sink, every roll of her hips.
She claps a hand over her mouth, hearing her own whimpers muffled but unmistakable.
no subject
"Fuck," he chokes, and then he finds himself out of further words as she takes over, and all he can do is try to move with her and try to hang on. With her hair out of reach he grabs onto her thighs, kneading as he rapidly approaches the edge-- and then digging his fingers in tight, tight, as he falls over it with a jerk and a loud, unhindered cry.
no subject
Werewolves have ravenous libidos, but until Jesse, she hadn't longed for someone in a very, very long time. When her head starts to clear, she has her face tucked against his neck, and she breathes a laugh of relief.
"Oh, now I remember: I do love sex." A pause, an amendment: "Really good sex."
no subject
"Really good," he agrees, rolling them onto their sides so she can't hide her face; so he can look at her, can press lazy, languid kisses to her mouth again and again, like he's still making up for all the times he could have and didn't.