His name on her lips sends another warm, delicious shiver down his spine. Somehow, he hasn't ever heard quite that much power in his chosen name. He feels as though she speaks directly to the innermost parts of his being, as if she both addresses and even to some degree claims him with that name. On her lips, his name is almost a different language, a mark that is unique only to him. Actually, he has felt some power in his name before, but only in the fear it could invoke. He had worked for that, but this...she gave him this.
"Oooooh...."
It's all he can vocalize as she finally slips down over him. Being inside her is everything he had dared not imagine before he had seen her in action, and more. There is something primal in being so connected, more primal than a name even and yet connected. Otherwise why would people cry out names in the height of passion? Something about her brought out a poetic side to his thoughts that he didn't know he had, but that was all right. There was no image here to maintain other than the one that would keep her in his arms for as long as possible.
His hands slid down to her buttocks and he held them, helping her move along his length. The moans shift to a few low growls as he claims her, she claims him, and he works to control himself. Slow, long, and steady. It is not because she is a fragile thing - she is anything but - but because this is a moment deserving of absolute respect. This is Maeve's virginal night in more ways than one, and she has given it to him. That is awe inspiring, and it shows in his eyes as he looks up at her before beginning to kiss her chest.
She might note that despite his licks, kisses, and nips, despite the fact that he is somewhat more at peace with what he is around her, never once do the fangs come out. There is a line, and giving in to what is vampiric in him crosses that line.
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"Oooooh...."
It's all he can vocalize as she finally slips down over him. Being inside her is everything he had dared not imagine before he had seen her in action, and more. There is something primal in being so connected, more primal than a name even and yet connected. Otherwise why would people cry out names in the height of passion? Something about her brought out a poetic side to his thoughts that he didn't know he had, but that was all right. There was no image here to maintain other than the one that would keep her in his arms for as long as possible.
His hands slid down to her buttocks and he held them, helping her move along his length. The moans shift to a few low growls as he claims her, she claims him, and he works to control himself. Slow, long, and steady. It is not because she is a fragile thing - she is anything but - but because this is a moment deserving of absolute respect. This is Maeve's virginal night in more ways than one, and she has given it to him. That is awe inspiring, and it shows in his eyes as he looks up at her before beginning to kiss her chest.
She might note that despite his licks, kisses, and nips, despite the fact that he is somewhat more at peace with what he is around her, never once do the fangs come out. There is a line, and giving in to what is vampiric in him crosses that line.