scots_wolf | RP post: Saffron

Anybody else would speed up now; Urquhart forces himself to slow down. She's getting there anyway, now; and the slower it gets, the sweeter it will be for her in the end.

She drapes her body over his, wills herself to slow, even as she breathes hard against his ear.

She can feel the familiar coil building inside her, ready to spring loose at any moment, unexpected and unrelenting, and her fingertips dig into his back as she muffles her moans against his broad shoulder, biting down.

Urquhart is leaning on his elbows, over her but keeping his weight off her, his hands gently holding her shoulders as he thrusts and thrusts, deeply, slowly, strongly.

And watching her face. Just seeing her pleasure is sensual beyond words.

Her eyes are closed, her lips parted in a maxim of pleasure, her small frame trembling and shuddering underneath his larger one as she nears her edge.

She draws him in to cover her, to anchor her down, and in a short number of thrusts, she comes, her body quivering, clenching from her core to the tips of her fingers and toes, the sensations drawn out as he continues to thrust into her, prolonging her crest.

He keeps going, beyond what seems comfortable, because that's at the core of what he learned from Tanya.

Women can keep coming. They don't shut down like men do.

He feels his own climax approach, and tries to draw it out a little bit longer, so she'll feel that amazing full-body meltdown a little bit longer, too.

She can already feel a second climax building the moment the first one falters, the product of what he's learned. Her hand bunches up the rug beneath them in her fist, hips bucking helplessly.

She's uncontrollable, an unstoppable force, practically seeing sunbursts behind her eyelids as her body tenses again and then, in an instant, releases, a scream rising up to spill out of her lips as she arches back to send the sound to the ceiling.

That shout, and her movements with it, bring him over the edge within moments.

He feels himself spill inside her, gives a deep, protracted groan, and keeps going as long as he can, managing two more thrusts before he is spent.

He just hangs there, over her, unsteady on his elbows, panting, still not pulling out.

Then, he collapses onto his side, turns onto his back, and pulls her with him.

She winds up sprawled over him, her cheek resting on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart as it slowly steadies back to a normal rhythm.

"That was - "

For a minute, she can't come up with the word, and then nuzzles his chest, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes.

"I'm glad you're putting what you've learned to good use," Saffron murmurs.

For somebody as big and strong and dangerous as Urquhart, he is remarkably comfortable to curl up with.

He sprawls, enjoying the feel of that amazing woman, exhausted in his arms because of the pleasure he gave her.

"I'm glad you approve," he murmurs back.

She rests her chin against his chest, her head moving up and down slowly as his chest rises and falls with his breathing.

She stretches then, luxuriously, like a cat just before it settles in to relax, curling her toes against his leg.

"Mmm, why wouldn't I? You've never not met my approval, xin gan."

"Good," Urquhart says.

He tries to give his best, offer variety. While women in his time were often grateful for just a plain orgasm, Saffron probably knows the finest pleasures of many worlds, and Urquhart likes to live up to them.

She sighs contentedly, pressing a series of open-mouthed kisses to the breadth of his chest.

"Good," she echoes, crawling up his body until her face is hovering over his and she can lower herself to give him a searing kiss.

Urquhart takes her into his arms, stroking her bare back, her lovely hips. He lifts his head a little, in kissing her back with equal fervour.

She'll break the kiss eventually, to rest on top of him, using him as her cushion, her fingers idly stroking his chest, running through the soft curls of hair there.

Soon, she sits up, reaching for the glass of sangria she's abandoned, and takes a long sip, the chilled juices cooling her lips and throat.

Urquhart chuckles, still lying back, relaxed and easy.

He reaches out to touch her skin, run a finger down her arm. She has such lovely, delicate wrists.

She grins, lowering the glass from her lips and leans back against him.

"What else have you been up to, apart from your bedding education?"

"Not a lot," Urquhart says. "Learning things and getting to know about people."

She smiles, her body finding a comfortable place to curl up along his side.

"Tell me something you've learned recently that you didn't know before."

"I learned about the real shape of the Earth," Urquhart says. "We knew it was round, at my time. At least those of us who had read Ptolemy. But not about the Americas, and the Antipodes, and how large it really was. I got a globe, and looked at that. I learned about the monster that some future people thought was living in our lake back home, and about the deep sea and the real monster in it."

Beat.

"When I met Ramon Salazar as a young man, he had heard of the place I'm from, because of the monster. But I hadn't heard of the monster. It was a later invention to pull the legs of the gullible and English."

She listens, attentively, occasionally taking another sip of sangra, but mostly she just drapes herself along the right side of his body, fingertips starting a slow, repetitive rhythm over his chest and stomach, softly petting the light pelt that covers his skin.

"You met the younger version, too?" Saffron chuckles. "That was all kinds of amusing."

"I met him," Urquhart says, "and had to beat him up; then I met him again in female shape and took him to bed. Where he didn't exactly garner glory. He's got lots to learn if he ever wants to be any good at it."

"So he's the one who was a little less-than-satisfactory," Saffron murmurs, hiding her grin against his shoulder.

"Come to think of it, his younger self did leave something to be desired, but I have had both past and present, and I can guarantee you: he has gotten better with age."

"Oh, good to know," Urquhart says, reaching out for his own glass of sangria. "I thought I might have to teach him the hard way. But if you say he learns anyway, I needn't bother."

"Wisdom comes with age," she murmurs, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head.

"Especially in the art of sex."

Urquhart sits as well, and drinks deeply. "It does," he agrees. "Sometimes. Sometimes, foolishness and delusions come with age."

He thinks of Blithildis Overstolz, and shudders briefly.

"Ready for more?"

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