Crossing the line

Mischievous fairy

This is going to get steamy. Brace for impact.

His wildest fantasies had not prepared him for it. Frances kept his fingers trapped in between hers, kneeling in front of him with catlike grace. Then her eyes met his, full of mischief. Tristan gulped, then stifled a cry when her lips engulfed him without preamble. Sweet, hot mouth taking him like a piece of candy, then pulling away with a smile.

— "Frances", he rasped. "You don't have to"

She was offering such an intimate gesture, one that had rarely been bestowed upon him in his fifteen years of sexual life. As significant as it was tiresome; he was afraid of her motives. Afraid she would do this to prove she wasn't so inexperienced.

— "Do you want me to stop ?", she asked, titling her face up to watch him in the eyes.

And, gaze firmly planted into his, she took him once more, head bobbing twice before releasing his throbbing member. Playing with his heart, the little minx ! Tristan's head landed upon the tile with a thud. Surrender.

— "Gods no !", he rasped.

His hands found her hair, the hot water spray washing it down as she worked his body. He had been so aroused in the first place that it didn't take long. Legs buckling, Tristan couldn't keep his moans inside. He could tell she enjoyed it immensely, the sight of him undone, the sounds constricting his throat and echoing in the tiled room. The way his fingers tightened around her head when the implosion threatened to overtake him. He didn't want to drown her and clenched his fist to keep from coming, but she refused to relent.

Frances looped an arm around his waist when he eventually gave up, crumbling against the wall as his hips bucked. He cried out this time, her name mingled in between incoherent words, knees giving way as pleasure overcame his body mercilessly. Still, she didn't let go, accompanying him until he was thoroughly and entirely finished. When Frances released his body, Tristan could do nothing more but sag against the wall, panting like a marathonian.

The young woman stood, then draped her body over his to drop a kiss upon his parted lips, looking smug.

— "Spent, beloved ?"

Tristan smirked; so he had underestimated her. Right. Lesson learned.

— "You just enjoy undoing me", he murmured in her ear.

— "That I did."

He exited the shower ten minutes afterwards, refreshed and clean, hair slicked back until it decided to escape again and fall over his forehead. Then, as Frances stayed behind to brush her long hair, he strode to the room and assessed the space. This couldn't do. So he pushed the bed in a corner, the desk and nightstand in another, and pulled the curtains wide open. The shining sun of mid afternoon flooded the room and he was satisfied.

When Frances emerged from the bathroom, she froze. He choose this moment to put the music on – Postcards from Paraguay - and extended his hand.

— "Will my lady care to dance ?"

She dropped her dirty clothes in a corner before accepting his hand.

— "Keeping your promises already ?"

— "I'll show you how to dance this piece properly this time"

A smile bloomed on her face, getting his point; yesterday, at the concert, there wasn't enough space to perform such a latino rhythm. But now that he had cleared the furniture away... Tristan's hand snaked around her waist, pulling her close. And then he was gone, already attuned to the music. Those rhythms allowed free souls almost anything as long as the partner was willing, and skilled enough. Sliding his left leg between hers, Tristan felt his body warm up instantly. There would be no such fioritures today, only a good deal and intimacy for his hips already rolled to the music. Hers followed, her eyes closed to understand how she was supposed to sway.