Beneath the Surface (For Weonna)

[CyanDimitrik]

Domino didn't need much convincing. He didn't need any, really. He knew what he wanted, and he intended to take it. But bringing that confession out of her was two things simultaneously - forcing her to accept what they both already knew to be true, and it's such an aphrodisiac. Even as she's detailing how badly she wants him, Domino is diving back in. Head tilted, teeth move with purpose to find the soft skin of her throat in a pressing bite midway up the neck. His hand redoubles its grip in her hair to keep her head tilted back, fingers tangled in sweat-ladden follicles.

His other arm slides down her waist to her hips, then directly to her thighs, trying to push the legs to unlock from around him. They're assuredly in the way of what he - they both - want. And her reward for compliance is that hand rapidly switching to gather a bunch of the fabric of her trunks at her hip to begin pulling down and away from her lower half. His hips raise from hers, a grudging pause in the grind with the promise of more, better, craven contact in the immediate future.

[Weonna]

The sudden rush of air against her overheated skin sends a shiver down her spine, a stark contrast to the bruising grip of his hand on her hip. The sound of fabric tearing or sliding away is a grim promise of the exposure to come, leaving her exposed and trembling in anticipation.

"Still think you're a big man, do ya?"

she breathes, her voice husky with a mixture of defiance and need

"Bit slow on the uptake, aren't ya? Took you long enough to figure it out. Well? Don't keep me waitin'. I ain't no prize to be opened with silver spoons. Tear it off me."

[CyanDimitrik]

That mouth of hers. That smarmy, smart-mouth that got her into this in the first place. It's a frustrating element, enough so to ignite in him a near delirium of wanting to conquer her in every imaginable way, because she deserves it. And it's exactly what she wants. Whether it's what she wanted from the outset or not, he has no idea. But he knows her goading now. He knows it as well as he's getting to know her body. It still frustrates him. It still makes him want to show her up. Which means if this was her goal from the beginning, Rianne might be more dangerous than anyone else on the roster.

Her jeering earns a growl, the rumble reverberating from his mouth to her throat, each tooth pressing into her skin like electrodes. The hand grabbing the fabric now bunched in his palm pulls sharply once. Twice. The third is the final rip, tearing the material away to toss aside. He didn't want to rip her gear initially - it's gear. Gear's important! It can be difficult to replace, especially if it's personalized. But somehow, he isn't surprised that Rianne wouldn't care - or more likely, has extras on demand.

For his part, however, there'll be no ripping. He has the convenient positioning to not have to. Thumb hooks the hip of his trunks,and he quickly pushes them down and away, requiring only a quick squirm at the knees and flick at the heel to toss them aside, leaving him fully bared and freed - aside the boots and pads.

His head lifts at this point, canted to look down at her face. His passion-crazed amethyst eyes lock onto her blues, each heated breath beating against her lips. He wants to see her face for the next part - he wants to take in every detail as his hips push forward, driving his shaft suddenly into her, surrounding himself in her warmth.