Whisper
"You know," she said, wrapping the long strips of fabric around her breasts, "we don't have to do this."

"Don't talk," he answered, leaning against the headboard, his eyes closed. "Just don't talk, please."

She sighed and tightened the harnass around her hips; fumbled in the nightstand for lubricant.

He didn't open his eyes as she tugged on his hip and rolled him to his hands and knees. He didn't open his eyes as she slid two fingers inside him, slick and warm, to prepare him. He didn't open his eyes when she pressed the head of the silicone cock inside, or when she slammed into him with all her strength.

"Chakotay," he whispered, over and over, as she wrapped a hand around him and jerked him off, fucked him off, made him fly.

"Chakotay," she murmured against his skin, too low for him to hear, and pulled his ass hard against her as she came.

---

The End

 


all material on these pages copyright laura j. valentine, except where otherwise noted.
email: jacquez+@dementia.org

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