[ She doesn't want to move away any more than he doesn't want her to. As it is the shedding of clothing takes longer than it has to because she's hard-pressed to want to move from his neck, her teeth already worrying another mark on his shoulder. Oddly enough, the desire to linger is as much her own as it is her sensing that he likes her there.
Finally though, she convinces herself to draw back, sitting back on her heels so she can pull off her cloak and gloves, and push off what remains of her top. So much fabric, too many layers, far too many when she feels so hot and she needs his skin against hers. Boots and pants take more effort, though at least the pants get easily pushed over her hips thanks to his help. A little squirming and growling in frustration later and she's finally free of everything. Which feels wonderful but still not as good as she knows she's going to feel very shortly.
Her attention zeroes in on him and she's beyond eager to help rid him of the last of his clothes. Normally she'd take a second or two to enjoy the moment, to run her eyes over him and soak in the sight, but that's all noise for later when they're not so desperate for each other.
Climbing back on top of him, she shivers at the sensation of skin against skin. He feels so hot and she wants to sink her hands into that fire, to wrap it around her and let it feed her own until there's only one fire burning bright with intensity. Her mouth is back at his neck, biting again as her hips rock against his. She's hard and aching and mere contact isn't enough. Nowhere close to enough.
One of her hands takes a firm grasp of his thigh and draws his leg over her hip as she shifts a little, looking for the right angle. Almost... there. Her moan is muffled against his neck as her hips instinctively drive forward to take what's hers. As she sinks into him her mouth bites down hard and as she tastes his blood her hands hold more tightly to him.
Hers. Hers to own, to satisfy, to protect.
Later, complications would set in, without a doubt. But her instincts are clear and unwavering. This omega is hers. He's hers, and may the Force have mercy on any who would dare to harm him or take him from her. ]
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Finally though, she convinces herself to draw back, sitting back on her heels so she can pull off her cloak and gloves, and push off what remains of her top. So much fabric, too many layers, far too many when she feels so hot and she needs his skin against hers. Boots and pants take more effort, though at least the pants get easily pushed over her hips thanks to his help. A little squirming and growling in frustration later and she's finally free of everything. Which feels wonderful but still not as good as she knows she's going to feel very shortly.
Her attention zeroes in on him and she's beyond eager to help rid him of the last of his clothes. Normally she'd take a second or two to enjoy the moment, to run her eyes over him and soak in the sight, but that's all noise for later when they're not so desperate for each other.
Climbing back on top of him, she shivers at the sensation of skin against skin. He feels so hot and she wants to sink her hands into that fire, to wrap it around her and let it feed her own until there's only one fire burning bright with intensity. Her mouth is back at his neck, biting again as her hips rock against his. She's hard and aching and mere contact isn't enough. Nowhere close to enough.
One of her hands takes a firm grasp of his thigh and draws his leg over her hip as she shifts a little, looking for the right angle. Almost... there. Her moan is muffled against his neck as her hips instinctively drive forward to take what's hers. As she sinks into him her mouth bites down hard and as she tastes his blood her hands hold more tightly to him.
Hers. Hers to own, to satisfy, to protect.
Later, complications would set in, without a doubt. But her instincts are clear and unwavering. This omega is hers. He's hers, and may the Force have mercy on any who would dare to harm him or take him from her. ]