Paramours Tomb

Paramours tomb

Lyra screamed, whirled around, ran straight to Nirnaeth and threw both her arms around his neck. He seized her and held her hard, drawing her down to the sandy floor of the tomb.
“Minocks,“ he told her. “Only Minocks.”
“I know!” she said breathlessly.
“They can’t hurt you.”
“I know.” Her voice was calmer, but she made no effort to unwind her arms from around his neck. He pressed his face into her thick, springy hair. It smelt rich and perfumed as new-mown grass.
She made a soft, murmuring sound of pleasure, buried her face against his throat, and moved softly against him.
“Lyra,” he tried gently to push her away, “I gave you my promise that this would not happen again.”
“I release you from that promise.” Her voice was so soft as to be barely audible. She lifted her face to his. Her breath was warm and sweet smelling. Her lips were tender and full, and quivered as though she were on the point of tears. “I want to be with you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life.”
He reached down and took her mouth with his own. It was moist and so hot that it seemed to scald his. He lost himself in it. She felt that she belonged nowhere but in his embrace. Still kissing her he explored the angles and curves of her spine, like a string of pearls running down between ridges of muscle.
He placed a hand on her hip, and felt the curve of her waist like the shape of a precious ceramic vase. He reached behind her and enclosed one buttock in each hand, astonished by their symmetry and pliant firmness.
She thrust her hips forward to meet his, and he pulled her even harder to him. He felt his loins swell and stiffen, and tried to arch his back to hide it from her. She made as small sound of remonstrance, forbidding him to avoid her. She moved against him, glorying in this proof of his arousal, of how much he wanted her.
She had memory of Vao thrusting his monstrous blue veined thing at her, but that horrid episode had no relevance to what was happening. Without effort the memory was expunged from her mind.
She felt Nirnaeth’s fingers running slowly down the cleft between her buttocks, and she concentrated on the sensation, marvelling that she could feel it echoed in the swelling tips of her breasts and in her secret depths.
“Touch me.” She spoke into his mouth. “Yes! Touch me. Hold me. Stroke me. Love me.”
The sensations blended so that they seemed to envelop her every fibre, every part of her mind and body. He broke the kiss at last, and she felt his lips nuzzling her bare shoulder. She knew instinctively what he needed, and opened the front of her tunic and took out one of her breasts. It felt heavy in her hand, the tip aching and swollen. She entwined the fingers of her other hand in the thick hair at the back of his head, and placed her nipple in his mouth. When he sucked it, like a hungry infant, she felt something spasm and contract deep in her belly, and realised with wonder that it was her own womb.
Gently she changed him from one breast to the other, and the sensation did not fade, but instead grew fiercer.
In a daze of pleasure she became aware of his fingers lifting the front of her dress and fumbling with her undergarments. She moved her legs apart to allow him to reach her more easily, and then, with her free hand, she helped him untie the knot at her hip. The fine silk fell away and the air of the tomb was cool on her naked bottom and belly.
She felt him stroke the crisp pelt of curls that covered her pudenda, then he found the swollen lips that bulged from her cleft and parted them gently with trembling fingers. She cried out as if in pain and, without conscious volition, pulled aside the cloth of his trousers and reached to find him. She was startled by its girth and encircled it with her thumb and forefinger. It leaped like a living thing in her grasp, and she wanted to look at it. Without releasing her grip, she pushed him back so that she could see down between them.
“You are so beautiful,” she breathed, “so smooth, so strong.”
Then she kissed him again, and holding her mouth to his she fell backwards dragging him down upon her belly, spreading her thighs to welcome him. It made her feel maternal and possessive. In her own ignorance, she was guiding him, feeling him sliding in her overflowing desire, probing at the entrance to her very self. She altered the angle of her hips and he flew deeply into her, his belly flat against hers, filling her until she felt he might cleave her apart, crying out triumphantly in the bittersweet pain of it.
He was riding her like a runaway horse, and she paced him, meeting the thrusting drive of his hips with her own, mounting with him higher and faster, until she knew she had reached the limit. Then, unbelievably, they went on far past that limit. Breaking free of the planet and its bonds, then at the ends of the galaxy, feeling it burst out of him, and flood her with liquid heat, swelling up within her so that she matched and met him, their separate beings welding together, so that they became a single entity. Their voices a single jubilant cry.
But not all was, as it seemed. Nirnaeth reached behind her for his clothes and found what he was looking for. Lyra was so encompassed in her feelings that she did not notice the glint of a blade at her throat. Crimson blood ran down her cleavage and his was the only cry left. He had taken her life force, energy and power in a single passionate act. He would soon be powerful enough to go after Vao, the deceiver, and slaughter the putrid half Chiss half Zabrak hybrid, a disgrace to his kind, and honour would be bestowed upon him forever.

Her hair floated around her
Like river mist, stirring with
Every move she made,
Every breath she took.

The glint in her eyes
Caught the snowflake reposing.
As the roses on the glade grow wild and majestic
She looked up at him from under lowered lashes.

Their lips touched
And their cheeks brushed,
She was lost in his kiss
Sinking in a sea of new sensations.

With hearts beating in unison
She held him in her arms,
His soft features and gentle touch
Bestowed a calm upon her soul.

As their song swayed, so did the room.
As they held hands, the lights started to flicker.
Waking up to the red of his eyes,
Is something she will get used to.

He was her ardour,
Her Sacré-Cœur.
He smelled like an angel
Encompassing her senses.

A love that would wither with her death...

Not bad. However, Mynocks is the correct spelling. Also, I think the sexual content may be taboo.

Nearly that entire post is word for word copied from Monsoon by Wilbur Smith. It's one of my favourite parts of the book, actually. The Courtneys are pretty good fun. Inspiration for your character, I take it?