Quiet, Quiet

Quiet, Quiet








“Quiet, quiet,” he whispers into her ear, his hand closing over her mouth.

She can scream silent against his hand, but does not. The sensations are too sharp, the tension too high. Her body is shaking against heat of his body, against the startling cold of the rocky wall against her back. Her senses flood with feeling – desire pools under her skin and pulses through her veins.

There is something depraved about being here, in the darkest corners of the forlorn dungeons where no one dares to tread. Here, where shadows rule and darkness reigns, this is where they can be true to the emotions they long to show.

But there is fear too – fear of discovery. No one is to know. Secrets, like still waters, run deep.

And therein lies much of the thrill.

His hips roll into hers and her breath is caught.

She is the outlet of his rages; his lips suckle and love every exposed bit of flesh. She is marked underneath her robes, marked beneath concealment charms. They are her badges; proof of feelings never said but often shown. He is as marked as she; scratches and bruises worn proudly and openly. He is expected to be tainted and a man of ample sexual desires. She is expected to be pure and proud. The lies they live could be consuming given the opportunity.

Her fingers dig into his shoulders, her balance is gone. She struggles to stand in his arms, but her knees grow weak. When he strokes the tender flesh behind them, she almost swoons.

His fingers rise along the smooth flesh of her thigh, slowly lifting her skirt. Despite the urgency between them, the stolen moment that threatens to be lost, he is deliberate, he savors. His patient fingers meet the flimsy barrier between her thighs, strokes her deftly through the damp cotton.

She wants to whimper, urge him to touch her with his mouth, but his hand holds fast. Her fingers are now in his hair, the blond silken strands twisted around each shaking digit, holding him to her.

He pushes the fabric aside, circles her clitoris but does not touch it directly yet – he moves his fingers into her velvety crevice and slowly explores, stretches her teasingly one finger at a time. His hand is covered now, slick with her juices, and his thumb finds her throbbing nub, and begins to stroke it wildly.

Her hips are buckling; her body is shaking with a need unfulfilled. He is hard against her belly, and he makes mock thrusts towards her in a similar rhythm as his fingers. She untangles one of her hands and reaches for his trousers. She fumbles with the zipper and his cock springs free, smooth and proud. She grabs it with her only free hand, her thumb finds the tip and swirls the moisture she finds over the head.

He doesn’t say a single word when he lifts one of her legs up over his hip, and pushes the panties to the side, pushing himself into her. She lifts her other leg, her weight now completely on him, his cock firmly sheathed in her cunt.

Her head is swimming, she wants to cry, beg him to move, but he stays still. The sensations are now raw and sparks vivid behind her eyes. He holds himself in her, bowing his forehead over hers. He kisses the hand over her mouth and his eyes open. She doesn’t realize they were closed until their cool silver depths open wide and search into her soul. They are as damp as her own, filled with desire, tenderness, and even apprehension. These eyes are filled with more than rapturous hunger, they hold secrets of love and of hope. The eyes speak volumes of truth that their tongues dare not.

He moves, almost experimentally. His hand is fiercely gripped onto her hip, almost painfully so, and he rolls his hips into hers. The stone wall digs into her back and she slams back. He pauses and repeats.

He is staring into her as he takes her, and her vision becomes blurry.

He takes her slowly but roughly – smooth, hard strokes that reach deep. With each roll of his hips she feels completion grow closer, and her mouth wants to open and scream her release. His hand is digging into her jaw.

The quiet of the dungeons is off set by the sound of slick skin on skin, the heaving of his body into hers. His forehead is covered with a thin sheen of sweat and he is almost grunting with each thrust. Even in the throes of passion, he knows the importance of silence.

Cries of release are like words; better left unsaid.

Her eyes grow wide as orgasm comes, hard. She screams into his palm, making no sound. The waves crash over her violently – right before his eyes.

He loves to watch her come.

He heaves once more before she feels the rush of his semen pool between them and run down her legs almost vulgarly. He does not pull away – her legs are still wrapped around his waist, his hand still covers her mouth.

In the distance they can hear the muffled chatter of other students. Their moment is over.

He is slow to part, removing his palm from over her lips. He reaches down to kiss them chastely, his eyes warm and sated and content.

He mouths the words, but fears what would happen should they be said out loud.

They adjust themselves. She goes up to the tower, his place lies lower still. They both look back.

One day they won’t need to be so quiet.


//Fin//