The kiss is hard, teeth biting almost hard enough to draw blood, and afterwards he’ll run his tongue over that bruise and think of her.
And Jessica doesn’t stop to ask for permission, to ask Empire how he would like her, to inquire what would best bring him pleasure — and it turns out that presumption is precisely what he likes about this one, as she simply reaches between them and wraps her hand around him. His head tilts back against the chaise, another low moan in his throat.
Amongst other things, the imperial secrets and intimacies and secrets shared, this is also why the Gossamer Court erases their concubines’ memories: because here, in this room, he’s putty in their hands. No regular citizen can be allowed to remember this sensation: sitting over Empire, the very beating heart of Empire in the palm of their hand, playing his movements like an instrument. She gives a few practiced strokes and he hardens beneath her immediately, his fingers involuntarily digging into the skin of her hips.
Each visit to the Gossamer Court is rare enough, carefully-scheduled enough, that Cleon is still hungry for this touch. For the feel of someone else’s hand around his cock instead of his own. He is tired of himself. He spends enough time with himself, together yet alone, always. He bucks up into her hand, her experienced touch, and then he finally forces his eyes open again: leans forward to kiss Jessica again, one hand rising to sweep the strap of her dress off one shoulder to expose a bare breast which he covers with a hand, his mouth drifting, his tongue and teeth at her throat.
no subject
And Jessica doesn’t stop to ask for permission, to ask Empire how he would like her, to inquire what would best bring him pleasure — and it turns out that presumption is precisely what he likes about this one, as she simply reaches between them and wraps her hand around him. His head tilts back against the chaise, another low moan in his throat.
Amongst other things, the imperial secrets and intimacies and secrets shared, this is also why the Gossamer Court erases their concubines’ memories: because here, in this room, he’s putty in their hands. No regular citizen can be allowed to remember this sensation: sitting over Empire, the very beating heart of Empire in the palm of their hand, playing his movements like an instrument. She gives a few practiced strokes and he hardens beneath her immediately, his fingers involuntarily digging into the skin of her hips.
Each visit to the Gossamer Court is rare enough, carefully-scheduled enough, that Cleon is still hungry for this touch. For the feel of someone else’s hand around his cock instead of his own. He is tired of himself. He spends enough time with himself, together yet alone, always. He bucks up into her hand, her experienced touch, and then he finally forces his eyes open again: leans forward to kiss Jessica again, one hand rising to sweep the strap of her dress off one shoulder to expose a bare breast which he covers with a hand, his mouth drifting, his tongue and teeth at her throat.