The possibilties of other lifetimes, and branches of time that pass by and nearly miss are still so foreign to Natasha. It would be like life to put them together over and over, given how strong their connection is. Maybe they are two souls destined to be together in a million other lives. If there have been fated couples since time began who have been cycling through bodies to be together, why can't there be two people who were destined to be together in timeline after timeline, falling through the twisted passages made especially for them to happen upon one another in the exact perfect moment so that when they finally do come together, it's pure magic.
Because it is, and Natasha's body already knows the frame that fits so ultimately against hers, and no matter how he takes her-- how deep, how powerfully, it will never be too much. He could do much of anything, dress her up as his little pain slut, and she would become that for him. Her trust in him is absolute, and he is now the alter at which she worships. His body is what she wants to pleasure as much as he does hers. It is a double edged sword of perfection made and tied between them.
There's another cry when she leans back and he fills her again. Every action is repeated as the pleasure builds. She can already tell that something new and different is building. It's deeper and resonates in a different place from where her orgasms normally do. There's no way to describe how it feels, other than she doesn't want it to stop. The added pleasure of his fingers have her panting and begging for more. She tosses her head back.
"Fuck, baby. This is... I don't even know. Don't stop. I'm going to come, but then once I do, don't stop, cause I won't be done..." How can she tell him that she's got two orgasms, two different types. The first hits her hard and she has to pull from his mouth, least she bites his tongue. Biting at her own lip, she presses through until she tastes blood, groaning deep and low-- the anal orgasm is low and deep and spreads like an electric bomb through her body. It's a quake that doesn't stop until she's panting. Then she's back to pumping against him and rolling her hips into his fingers-- building up what else he's started. "Fuck me Loki, oh lords, fuck me. Harder."
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Because it is, and Natasha's body already knows the frame that fits so ultimately against hers, and no matter how he takes her-- how deep, how powerfully, it will never be too much. He could do much of anything, dress her up as his little pain slut, and she would become that for him. Her trust in him is absolute, and he is now the alter at which she worships. His body is what she wants to pleasure as much as he does hers. It is a double edged sword of perfection made and tied between them.
There's another cry when she leans back and he fills her again. Every action is repeated as the pleasure builds. She can already tell that something new and different is building. It's deeper and resonates in a different place from where her orgasms normally do. There's no way to describe how it feels, other than she doesn't want it to stop. The added pleasure of his fingers have her panting and begging for more. She tosses her head back.
"Fuck, baby. This is... I don't even know. Don't stop. I'm going to come, but then once I do, don't stop, cause I won't be done..." How can she tell him that she's got two orgasms, two different types. The first hits her hard and she has to pull from his mouth, least she bites his tongue. Biting at her own lip, she presses through until she tastes blood, groaning deep and low-- the anal orgasm is low and deep and spreads like an electric bomb through her body. It's a quake that doesn't stop until she's panting. Then she's back to pumping against him and rolling her hips into his fingers-- building up what else he's started. "Fuck me Loki, oh lords, fuck me. Harder."