Rose & Keane Ch. 2

Keane nipped Rose's lower lip, kissing her for a moment, then pulled back with a little smile.

"What?" Rose asked him, just a little suspicious of that cat-eating-canary look of his.

"Now that I know you're from the twenty-first century, I'm dying with curiosity to know how women in your day and age like to make love. Even if you are four and eight hundred and something-or-other years out of practice."

"Oh, out of practice, am I?" Rose returned tartly, rising literally as well as figuratively to the challenge, slipping off his lap to face him fully, hands going to her hips. "I'll show you 'out of practice'—you'd better not have a history of cardiac problems, Keane, honey, 'cause you've just been warned. I make love like I make war. No mercy, no survivors."

He grinned. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"You'll believe it when you experience it," she corrected him, and lifted her chin at the carved headboard. "Drop the sheet, lie on the bed, and put your arms over your head."

"Yes, milady," he mocked lightly, rising to his feet. Towering over her, with less than a foot of space between them, he slowly peeled the sheet back. Exposing himself, he held the sheet out for several seconds, displaying his body, then dropped it.

Rose pulled the belt free from her satin bathrobe. Swirling it in one hand, she flicked him on the hip with the soft end while he was still gawking at her naked body. "No dawdling!"

Keane arched a brow at her 'attack', but sighed and crawled onto the bed anyway. He spent a few seconds arranging pillows and bedding, then settled onto his back, stretching his arms up over his head, bending them just enough so that they fit between him and the head of the bed. Climbing up next to him, Rose straddled his chest. Ignoring his letcherous smile, she threaded the dressing gown belt through the spindles at the head of the bed and brought the ends to his wrists.

"What are you doing?"

"Tormenting you. Be a good boy and I'll make it worth your while."

"Worth my while?" he repeated as she gently tied his wrists together at the headboard. "Does this tormenting take the form of pleasure?"

"No, gee, I'm going to cover you in triticaeli grain and sic a bunch of tribbles on you," Rose retorted sardonically. At his puzzled look, she shook her head. "—Cultural reference. The only furry thing that purrs which you get in your bed today is me."

"...You can purr?"

Bracing her hands on either side of his head and wriggling her knees further down the bed so she didn't have to hunch her back, Rose dipped down, burying her face in the side of his neck, and did her best imitation of a happy cat, vibrating her soft palate as she breathed through mouth and nose combined. It was a very good imitation; even her parents' cats had been fooled by the sound, back when she was a teenager. Keane groaned, turning his head to kiss her. Rose allowed it for a moment, then pulled back with a smile. "Now that I have you at my mercy…"

"Yes, milady?" he asked, arching a brow. "I'm ready and waiting."

He certainly was. Rose ignored the erection pressing against her backside, though. Instead, she flicked her hair out of her way and lowered her head, brushing her lips over his. He lifted up, seeking firmer contact. She rewarded him by suckling his lower lip. Her lips nipped at his jaw, then pressed a trail of kisses down to his throat. At the base, where the muscles joined the shoulder, she sucked on him, working the skin to leave a nice, visible hickey, just like the one he had given her. Noticing the scar that crossed his collarbone, she moved over and licked that, softening her touch when his breath hissed out through his teeth. Rose laved the hollow between collarbone and neck, then sat up. That wasn't the only scar on his body; he had another, longer one kitty-corner to it, just below the ribs on his right side. "How did you get scars in an age where they can reattatch a severed limb seamlessly in half an hour?"

"My hovercar crashed in the wilderness. It took me three days to walk to the nearest estate, and they didn't give me any medical or transportational help, so I spent another seven days walking to the next place, where I could get treated," Keane said flatly. "By then, the damage was done. I kept the scars as a reminder of my foolishness."

The way how he said that made Rose think there was more to the story than just his dry recital. But since they only had an hour or so, and it would probably kill the mood to find out the real story, she simply nodded and said, "Ah. Well, I've got a few scars of my own, thanks to 'primitive' twenty-first century medical practices."

He eyed the scar on her belly, tracing the angle of her hipbone. "I noticed. Accident?"

"Appendicitis," she explained briefly. Getting off his chest, she squirmed down next to it and started playing with the nearest nipple, rubbing and flicking it with her fingertip. The hairs on his chest weren't thick, at least until they formed a line that arrowed down over his belly, straight to his groin. Rose like that; she couldn't stand men that looked like animals. If she wanted to feel that much hair against her naked flesh, she'd snuggle up to a fur coat. It was just the right amount, enough to tease and play with, especially the little rings of hairs growing around his nipples. He squirmed restlessly, eyes closing as he moaned softly.

Abandoning his nipples for more intriguing territory, Rose tickled her fingers through the dusting of hair, teasing his ribs, then the taut muscles of his stomach, making them clench even harder as she neared his groin. Experimentally, she paused, letting the tension heighten, then brushed the very tip of her finger along his own hip crease. He jerked and gasped, and she observed that his erection twitched as well, gaining a little bead of liquid at the tip.

"So you like that, do you? I think I know why you liked playing with the crease of my hip. It's your own erotic hotspot, too, isn't it?" she drawled playfully, stroking it again.

He quivered, muscles tensing as he strained at his makeshift bonds. "Oh, stars, yes…"

Encouraged, she bent over him, teasing him with the slide and play of her soft, golden hair over his hips and groin. Keane whimpered and squirmed. Taking pity on him, she moved down to play with the hairs dusting his thighs, which made him pant and twitch his legs apart. By the time she got to his feet, he had calmed down somewhat. Until she picked up his foot and sucked on one of his toes, that was.

"Oh god! Mercy!" he gasped as she licked between the little digits. She switched to his other foot, making him arch his head back and groan. Rose played her lips and tongue back and forth between his two feet. When she finally stopped, his hands were clenched around the spindle they were bound to, his chest heaving with each breath. Grinning, Rose lifted and spread his legs wide, leaving him thoroughly exposed. Keane lifted his head, saw the goal she was crawling slowly toward, and dropped it again with a soft thump. "I surrender!"

"I warned you; I take no prisoners," Rose drawled teasingly, then laughed as he groaned. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

Pleased by his emphatic response, she dipped her head and deliberately breathed on his manhood. It twitched as her warm breath ruffled the dark hairs guarding the base; when she inhaled, she found the scent intoxicating, and did it again. Once again he moaned and twitched as she tickled the seam of flesh on either side with a handful of her waist-length hair, then mock-wrapped his manhood in the soft strands.

"Don't…don't tease…" Keane panted.

Rose smiled. "As you wish."

Settling herself squarely between his splayed legs, she licked him from sack to tip. Swirling the sides of his shaft as he groaned, she flicked at the tip, and was rewarded with more pearly liquid. A curious taste found it not unpleasant, so she laved him with her tongue, then sucked him into her mouth. The thickness of him made her jaw ache, but his shout of pleasure made the effort worthwhile. To show how pleased she was with his reactions, she very carefully purred around his shaft.

Keane jerked under her, unable to control himself any more. The headboard creaked as his arms pulled on it, every last one of his muscles tensing as he orgasmed. Or at least she thought he did, except he didn't ejaculate. Riding his ragged thrusts, Rose kept kissing, suckling and licking at him, until he went rigidly still.

"…Rose?"

Withdrawing her mouth, she licked her lips and looked up the length of his body. He was staring at the ceiling, as rigid as board. "Yes?"

"Untie me, please."

"As you wish." Crawling over his leg, she moved up to the head of the bed and picked at the knot of her bathrobe sash. It was a good thing the fabric was satin and relatively easy to unpick, since he'd pulled the knot hard. Still, it took her over a minute to get him free. As soon as his arms were free, he brought them down over his chest, massaging the red marks made by his struggles. Rose hoped she hadn't hurt him with her little game. "Are you alright?"

One moment he stared at the ceiling, breathing raggedly, the next he whipped up onto his knees. Yanking her by her thighs, he brought her flush against him. The sudden movement jolted her off-balance, forcing her to drop to her hands for support onto one of the pillows. Hands on her thighs parted them a few inches, and a finger tested her wet core. Making her bite her lip in hunger for more, and making him sigh with what sounded like relief. Gripping her hips, he thrust into her without warning, hard, fast and repetetive. A squeak of surprise escaped Rose's throat, followed by a rhythmic groan as he pounded into her, taking her in a primitive claiming that was hard and rough, and oh, so welcome.

But not uncontrolled, however roughly he slammed into her backside. He proved that by shifting his grip further forward on her hips, and using the last two fingers on each hand to caress her sensitive crease. Rose bucked, the pleasure was so intense. Splaying her legs, she arched her back, encouraging him. She honestly didn't know which one of them peaked first, for the whole journey seemed intensely mutual. As it happened, just like before, she felt his teeth claiming her flesh, not hard enough to cause bleeding, just assertive enough for breeding. Once more, she felt liquid warmth caressing her body in soft spurts deep inside, in a peripheral awareness that increased, not diminished, her pleasure. She wanted to be fertile in that moment, to create life, to bring a piece of family back into her lost and exiled world.

When the convulsive pleasure died down, discipline kept her arms locked and their combined weight supported. With Keane collapsed over her back, panting heavily, and her strength sapped by satisfaction, she trembled with the effort. Relaxing and falling onto the bed would have sent both of them crashing painfully into the too-close headboard, though. So she knelt there, head bowed, breathing labored, warmed and comforted by the weight of the man still buried deep inside her trembling body. Enjoying the way he clung to her, arms wrapped tight around her waist. Nice to know that some things were still the same in the twenty-ninth century—no, scratch that. Some things were absolutely better.