'cause i'm the shoulder you'll cry on, the dose that you die on209.237.83.45Posted On January 09, 2018 at 7:41 AM by Lazarus Wolfe

She is trembling beneath the dark hunter as the animal within him lusted after her like nothing even Lazarus could say that he remembered feeling. Even with Isabelle, the only other woman named the man's life that had ever held any sort of true value to him despite how doomed the relationship was from the very start. She'd rocked his world in every sense of the word, and the sex they would have was some of the best sex Lazarus had ever had the fierce pleasure of experiencing. There was something different, something that Lazarus had - or just stubbornly refused - to see in her when he was sober that the alcohol seemed to allow for him to either notice or imagine was there. Whatever it was or wasn't, it only seemed to leave him increasingly hungry, like he simply couldnt get enough of the feel of her, of those nails that tore into the skin of his back and likely drew blood as she clenched tighter around him. Those screams of wild esctasy that fell from the white-haired woman he continued to subject to that gluttonous hunger only pushed him further, drove him deeper with the not-so-conscious intent to make her remember this night somewhere in the back of those drunken memories that might just provide him that wicked pleasure in knowing that while he was likely not her first and she most definitely was not his, she would walk away from him – figuratively speaking – unable to deny that he'd given her sensations like no one ever had and likely ever would.

Arrogance aside, he finally slows as she weakens beneath those fierce waves of pleasure, even if he felt that beast roaring within him to continue that onslaught of her body only to make her rise to that edge again if only for his own selfish intentions, out of his own wild lust that was so far from content with this pausing point in their drunken intimacy. The benefit of being a woman... Their breaths are ragged, chests rising and falling with the exertion, sweat glistened over ever part of Lazarus as he lingers over her until she seems to finally recover herself, propping herself on her elbows to give the dark hunter a satisfied grin, looking up at with him lustful blues before she's pushing against him. He's almost reluctant to comply until he realizes that she hardly had intentions of escaping him and he gives her a wolfish grin as he trips her cheek with his strong hand to secure her to him as they roll over those blankets beneath them so that she is over him, their parts still very much connected, that stark wite hair tumbling around her and for a terribly small moment he can feel somewhere in the deepest parts of that drunken haze the faintest glimmer of a thought at just how beautiful she was with her hair freefalling around her. It is gone as quickly as it dared to tickle the back of his mind however, hungry dark forest eyes locking with slitted brilliant blues as she purrs suggestively, teasingly at Lazarus while she dares to withdraw from him. His near guttural words challenge her and she lifts a brow at him when those strong hands grip her hhips. Tonight, she was his. Not in that possessive sense, but rather in a way that he had refused to allow anyone but one ghost of his past to fall beneath. With a wicked and wolfish grin, he forces her body down and drives himself back into her, the white-haired woman announcing a new wave of pleasure as she throws her head back and he can't help that male satisfaction at the things he could do with her body, a guttural groan of his own escaping as he filled her, those nails digging into the skin of his bare chest. It could have almost been surprising to Lazarus that she seemed to so thoroughly enjoy this, but such a thing is far too smothered beneath the whiskey and rum to break through.

She groans against the clear unexpected answer to her teasing words and he can hardly contain that masculine pride, that wicked and wolfish grin still etched into his features."Don't act like you don't like it", he growls lowly, hungrily at the witch as his hunger climbs even higher. She seems to answer him wordlessly then as those hips begin to move slowly at first. Those hands remain firmly gripped onto her hips as he rolls his hips in time with her own as she makes his esctasy rise in him, the beast growling through those deep and ravenous, those animalistic moans of thick pleasure as she drove him into her time and time again, the wetness of her, the tightness of her temple around his hardened member as that fire in his core began to spread ever hotter."Fuck, Vhal...", he growls deeply as she begins to move faster and his groans deepen further out of utter and wicked satisfaction and wild pleasure, his hands gripping her tighter as their pace quickens and he feels himself rising to that peak of wild pleasure. He waits though, the note in her own loud moans telling him that she was coming closer once again. She moved harder against him and his groans grow louder with hers as she grinds heavier into him. When she practically whimpers a plea, his name on those delicious lips, he can feel those contractions grasping at his manhood in waves as she drives her nails into his skin against as she nearly breaks and he follows her over that edge at last, his own muscled frame growing rigid as a final and fierce growl ripping through the man's throat. He feels that esctasy flood through him completely, his release filling the witch on top of him in powerful pulses.

Just like that, his desire is left wholly satisfied as the only thing that is to be heard now in the room heavy with their scents is the sound of their rasped breathing. She holds onto him, the beast within Lazarus all too pleased with how she shuddered with the aftereffects, seemingly almost powerless as she remains there against him, her hands slips behind his neck and prompting the movement of his own hands to fall in a caressing gesture from her hips to wrap fingers lightly around her thighs to steal on last hungry touch from her. Finally, she seems to collect herself enough as she removes herself from him, a soft moan leaving her as his member slides from within her to be embraced by the humid outside world. She moves to nestle against his side and rests her head on his arm, the man involuntarily curling it around her to brush the hair from her face as those brilliant blues flutter closed. She murmurs, and he can't help the all too prideful smirk thay finds his lips then."None needed", comes the low answer from tenor tones as dark forest eyes look down to her for a moment as the white-haired woman is swept away into that state of unconsciousness. It takes a few moments longer for the dark hunter to feel thay sudden rise of tiredness as he lays there with Vhalla pressed against him, something that he hardly ever allowed before. Normally, now would be the time where Lazarus would have slipped away from her, put on his clothes, and disappeared into the cold winter night. Perhaps if he'd had far too much to drink, which has been known to happen, he might have lingered in the bed with the woman he'd stolen the sheets of that night, but to hold a woman as he did the witch... It wasn't like him. He hardly concerns himself though, instead plummeting at last into that black oblivion.

He loses all sense for time, unsure of how low he was out, but it is the pale light of morning that has the man stirring into wakefulness. Dark forest eyes flicker only slightly open then, glancing briefly around him and then... Suddenly, his eyes snap open. What the fuck...? Where... Why am I... He turns his head on that plush pillow and he feels his frame grow tense when dark eyes find the white-haired woman with her back turned to him beneath the covers. Then, he feels her skin brushes against his, her bare skin. Even as he was still scrambling to full awareness, he didn't need to be entirely awake to know what that meant. Shit. He is about to move away from her, suddenly finding that familiar want for distance between himself and the witch that had vanished during his drunken state from the night before, but he is stopped before the man even has a chance. She's rolling over, still unaware of the man and suddenly her head is resting on his chest, bringing one hand to rest beside her face on have bare skin. In that moment, he hesitates. She looked so... peaceful and Lazarus is struck suddenly with the inability to move, to disturb her. All he can do is look down to her in that moment, the thought to pull her closer or wrap his arm around her shoulders hit Lazarus but he fiercely shoves them away. Why would I even think to do that!? Why am I watching her sleep, letting her lay there!?

Suddenly, she seems to come to, a soft moan leaving her lips and he prepares himself for her fury or whatever the hell came next. she tilts her head up him, those blue eyes suddenly widening as she realizes the very same thing Lazarus discovered moments earlier and he can feel her go rigid as well, that hand twisting into a fist as she stumbles over her words when she seems to replay everything that happened last night, which the dark hunter was also able to remember most of. He sees that blush find her pale skin and for some reason he finds typical male satisfaction in that clearly flustered state that overwhelms her, though it is quickly overcome by his own surprise at the fact that things had gone that far... Before he can say anything, she shoves against him hard and he is nearly pushed off the bed as she quickly wraps herself in those covers, rendering him entirely exposed before she darts into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. Keen senses allow for Lazarus though hear her latch the door closed then, and he simply lays there in his own shock, running a hand through messy caramel curled hair. Of all the things... He doesn't even allow himself to finish that train of thought. He wanted a cold shower and he wanted his own bed. He wanted away from this place, the one woman that he found himself unable to hate right now like he was so stubbornly adamant on doing. It was just the lingering alcohol, it had to be. Finally, he removes himself from that bed and slips on those boxers and relaxed fit jeans, looping the belt back through those loops before moving to the doorway where he was sure the rest of his clothes were. He pushes there at the door though, giving one long look over his shoulder to the closed bathroom door for a reason unknown to him, that infuriating prick of concern finding him. What the hell was wrong with him? Pushing away every thought that wasn't abut returning home, he finally moves down the hallway and slips on his shirt and jacket he picked up from the floor, placing that sterling chain around his neck and disappears down the stairs and out of the warehouse. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could try and convince himself last night hadn't really happened... even if he could still smell her hair around him.
image by Andrew robles


Post A Reply