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[wokethedragon]

She pulled back from the kiss, in desperate need of breath. Like this, there was no way for him to look upon her there, something she was exponentially grateful for. Her busom heaved againt his chest, eyes locked with his while wet earth pressed against her back

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[first_worde]

"Do you want something else?" he asked against her ear, licking at her neck. Rupert didn't get scruffy easily, but there was the slightest edge of stubble that scraped her neck.

If she did, that was fine, she just had to say so so he knew, because if this was how it was going to be that was fine with him. More than. He ground his hips against her, not with near enough force, almost teasingly.

[wokethedragon]

Of course she did. Her world was full of something elses that she wanted, but she didn't think Rupert would be able to do much to accomplish any of that. I want to go home. I want a house in Braavos with a red door an a lemon tree. I want a throne of swords. I want my kingdom and my dragons, all three of them.

"Right now, no, but that may change with time." It was the most non-commital answer she could give while in the midst of whimpering in protest.

[first_worde]

"Right now works," he said, and kissed her, deeply, slid his hands down and cupped the backs of her thighs and lifted her higher, driving his hips against her more and stroking his hand over the curves of her breasts and then lower, across her hip. He cupped his hand over her- and gods, she was warm through the fabric and the cool water, still- and moved his hand in a way that was, in his substantial experience, patented for this sort of situation, and had never not been effective.

[wokethedragon]

Warm and getting warmer by just the contact of his hand between her legs. Her own twitched and tightened momentarially around the bulge in his. If they were going to play games of bedtricks, well, Dany had learned from the best. Her fingertip ran over the edging of his smallclothes before she slid her hand in, curling it lightly around the solid heat of his manhood. She stroked him, but tauntingly slow, almost smirking into the kiss.