78. Feline

It was a realization, and it echoed through her true mind, even as it echoed through the fantasy.

And it was just a fantasy. She was enjoying the tormented sound of his voice. The desperate force of his need for her. This was all of her making, and in the middle of her game, she couldn't fear where her mind wanted to take her.

One hand combed her hair back from her face, wrapping the locks around his fingers, then tightening them into a fist and pulling back. His other hand slid along her cheek, her jaw. He took control of her face and guided her mouth to him.

She resisted, but not really. She felt the silken hardness against her lips and closed her eyes.

His hand in her hair wound tighter, holding her in place. His other hand caressed gently over her cheek, then wrapped around himself. He rubbed the very tip back and forth across her closed lips, leaking wetness that cooled in the short absences of his heat.

His brow furrowed, and she shuddered. A distant part of her muttered that this was indecent, but her breasts still tightened all the same. Her nails still dug into her own arms, still twitched with want.

A little more pressure, she clenched her teeth, but he still slid over and between the looseness of her lips. It was a strange texture and pressure. And a strange smell, like salt, and the clean sweetness of his skin. She imagined he would taste exactly like he smelt. Her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth, seeming to grow thick and wet. Her body felt curiously the same.

He rubbed against her teeth and his breath hissed, his fingers flexed. "Aya, please," he begged, the need in his voice almost pain. "Please, please..."

She took a breath and slowly loosened her jaws. She hesitated a moment, and wondered if this was even possible. Then she opened her mouth and quickly flicked her tongue over him before she could reconsider what she was doing.

He jerked, his head tossing back with a strange mix of pain and relief as he groaned aloud.

He did tasted exactly like she remembered. Like salt and faint soap, and something fragrant that she could only describe as...'sex'. A pungent scent, that wasn't quite sweet, but it still seemed to pull strings in her body until she was throbbing, until she felt half-desperate herself.

She wanted to taste it...

She wanted to roll in it and moan...

She made a little sound in her throat, and this time leaned eagerly forward, brushing lips in teasing kisses over the tip. He panted, his legs and thighs shifting a little as he tried to press closer to her, tried to gain more friction. She teased him with a quick lick across his weeping slit, and wondered how long she could torment him before she forced him to take the situation more firmly in his hands. She liked seeing him at her mercy, especially with the illusion they had made with her bound hands, but the thought of him taking control, of her forcing him ruthlessly to that point...excited her.

She had a flash of it in her mind, and hummed because she couldn't not make some sort of noise.

And because it wasn't a conscious thought. He really seemed to like that, because his hand in her hair pulled her closer, and she felt him shift above her.

Opening her eyes she looked up the line of his body and a distant part of her considered the strangeness of this new angle. He raised on his knees, one hand in her hair and his hips pressed close to her face. But his back was an interesting curve, arced and his head fallen back in clear pleasure.

The indecency fell right out of her mind as she mentally imagined the graceful curve of his back. Of the picture they must present in silhouette, and how much he was clearly enjoying this.

She wished her hands were free so she could touch him, but she was glad that she didn't have to make that choice. She couldn't be certain what she would do then. She realized she had gone still to imprint this image, and felt him growing impatient. He made his impatience clear by shifting his hips in a small circle and bumping his length gently over her nose.

She closed her eyes and pushed up a little, just enough to close her lips over the end and slowly slide back. She traced her tongue over the shallow line that ran from the underside.

"Aya!" She made a gasping sound as he suddenly pushed deeper into her mouth. It didn't seem planned, as he just as quickly pulled back to let her breathe. He was panting, his thighs tightening and shaking as he fought not to push again.

She lifted eyes just only slightly wet to meet his, knowing his eyes would be open now.

They were, but the blue was so dark that they were almost violet. The pupil so dilated that it almost swallowed everything. She watched his eyelashes sweep lower, watched him try to put apology in that gaze, but there was so much desperate pleasure and need that it didn't quite work.

She loved that he tried. She wanted to reward him.

Holding his eyes, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth again, swirling her tongue around him. But she didn't stop there, she couldn't stop, not when he looked at her like that, all desperate and lost and so in love. Not when he gave her such perfect reactions.

Not when he made her feel like this...

So she drew back slowly, then slid forward again, taking him deeper. It was easier, now that he was so wet. Now that she was getting used to the feel of him in her mouth, and her jaws were beginning to relax as the surprise wore off. As her resolve grew.

She didn't know much, but she knew a little from whispered conversations with girlfriends, from over-hearing shocked giggles in gym class. No, she didn't really know, but it didn't seem to matter. Judging by the way he reacted, she was doing something right.

And...she wanted to. She couldn't understand the mechanics, he wasn't really touching her, nothing was being done to her. But her body didn't seem to agree. The feel and taste of him. The sound of his breaths, the little catches in his throat that were almost whimpers.

And the way he trembled for her. Just for her. It filled her body with heat and fire, made her hips shift, her thighs clench. Made her moan aloud when she heard him do the same.

She pushed down a little deeper and sucked in at the same time, and he bucked wildly. He lost his balance and fell back, but quickly caught himself on his hand, and she decided she liked this position, with him leaning back on his hands and his hips thrust forward. She sucked him down, and then up again. And then did it again. Not allowing him the moment to regain his composure and pull himself back up. He cried out-loud, rocking his hips up to meet her, and she closed her eyes with a moan, feeling her throat tightening and vibrating around the sudden intrusion of his hard length inside her. He arced his hips more, pushing deeper on the up-stroke and obviously deciding to use his new position to gain more control of how fast and far she took him.

Something almost feline uncurled inside her, and she decided to counter him by pushing things even farther. Employing her tongue and mouth, she licked him, sucked at him, murmured half words and moans as she thrust up and down his straining erection at a faster, harder pace.

He really did whimper, and she glanced her eyes up just a moment to catch the sight of him throw his head back on a sharper cry. Then she couldn't pay attention to that, she had a wild, struggling thing under her mouth, hitting the back of her throat and pushing against her breasts.

"Aya! Aya!" he gasped, "Oh stop, please, I'm going to-!" But he didn't stop, and she didn't let him. She sucked harder, tightening her mouth on him and thrusting down faster. Something violent in her rising at his words, and she wanted it! She wanted it all!

When it happened, she wasn't prepared. It happened almost without warning. She had a half-split-second to register that he pushed deep inside her mouth and suddenly stopped, before he convulsed and thick, hot liquid struck the back of her throat in spurts. It was too far back to really taste, but when he quickly pulled back so as not to gag her, he was still coming. Thin, wet lines on her tongue, drops fell on her lips and chin, and as she panted, as she tried to catch her breath again, her tongue slid out seemingly on its own, and licked the drops up.

He was panting, too. He weakly pushed up and alternately fell limply to rest back on his knees. His upper-body slumped forward, shakily curving over her. His thighs were still shaking, his hands, and glistening lines of saliva and his essence trickled down his softening length. With a hazy feeling in her stomach and mind, she leaned down and began to clean him. She didn't decide to.

It was clearly too much too soon, because he made a sound in his throat that wasn't quite pleasure, and curved his body tighter over her. All his muscles clenching. Then he weakly caught her face between shaking hands and tried to pull her off of him.

She sucked harder, not wanting to let go of this feeling yet. Because this feeling was keeping the guilt away.

He quickly let go of her head, because the next step was pulling her hair, and he clearly didn't want to hurt her. But he shifted his legs and let himself fall back on the mattress. She drew back at that curiously, lifting her head as her hair fell in tangled locks over her eyes.

He had sprawled himself out before her on the bed like a willing sacrifice. His legs and arms limp, hands open as his head had fallen in profile to expose the vulnerable length of his throat to her. His bare chest was rising and falling rapidly, just beginning to slow as he was allowed to finally draw deeper breath. His jeans had pulled down to his knees, and he was spilled to the side, resting against the hollow of his own hip and still leaking wetness.

She tilted her head, and regarded the scene with a deep sort of curiosity. She straightened, pushed up on her knees to get a better view. She decided it looked especially lovely, this queer picture he made. Spent passion and languidity, framed by tangled sheets.

She wanted her hands free, so they were. She crawled up the length of his body, dipping her head lower than her shoulders in a strangely slinking, cat-like move. It was part innate sensuality, and part reaction to the desire that still throbbed within her, seemingly weighing her muscles down, but pleasantly so. It drug the ends of her hair over him, his calves, his knees, the sweat-slick of his thighs where he twitched and moaned helplessly. Then she lifted her head just a little to watch his face through her bangs, and her breasts skimmed over his lower-stomach, her nipples already hard, but now twinging with sparks of pleasure.

"Aya," he whispered, closing his hands in fists at his sides as he shook. His body tightened all-over beneath her, but it was still too soon. She didn't mind. It filled her with that feline amusement, pushed that throb lower into her stomach where it began to slowly burn.

She pulled herself up, hovering just far enough above him that she knew he could feel the heat of her body, so that the sharper rise of his chest brushed the very tips of her breasts over him. She braced her hands in the sheet to either side of his head and stared down.

It was a trap. A sensual trap that she made with her arms and legs, and eyes. His slowly opened and she knew hers did a slow blink that had some translation in the language of the body, because his lips parted, and he licked them in a way that she knew was an answer.

She didn't consciously speak that language, this was still so new to her. But she relaxed into instinct and let it pull her forward, let her thighs cage his hips as she slowly closed her mouth over his and mouthed more yielding words. Their kisses were lazy and wet, but there was something infinitely beautiful about that, and she sank her weight against him with a warm sigh, sliding her hands into his hair and catching her fingers in soft tangles. How curious, to be so warm and languid, like her muscles were honey, and the warmth of his body was melting her into thick, sweet liquid.

She sighed in pleasure against his mouth.