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“Take me for a ride.”
“What? Why? Where?” Dances With Wolves looked confused at his wife.
“Somewhere, anywhere, I don’t care.” She shrugged.
“But why?”
Stands With A Fist lowered her eyes and stared at ground where she drew circles in the sand with her feet.
“What is it, darling?”
“They tease me.”
“Who? With what?”
“The other women. They keep telling me how cute you looked with me in your arms when you brought me back to the village that first time when I was afraid of you and unconscious. They make fun of me because I don’t remember anything of it.”
“So you want...”
“Refresh my memory.” She smiled coyly at him. “Please.”
He leaned down to kiss her. “Anytime.”
When the kiss gained passion, Dances With Wolves pulled away, aware that they most likely wouldn’t reach the horse anytime soon if they didn’t stop now.
“C’mon.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her to the herd.
As it was his habit, he whistled to Cisco, and as usual the horse disengaged from the group, trotting toward his master.
Unaware of the mirthful eyes of their fellow villagers, Dances With Wolves helped his wife to settle on the horse before mounting it himself and pulling her into his arms, just like he had done that first time. Only now, love, not worry, was the dominating emotion in his chest.
In amicable silence, they rode away from the tents and their people, without aim, simply rejoicing in the twosome solitude and the wideness of the land.
Stands With A Fist cuddled close against her husband’s torso, and after some time, began to shower the skin of his neck with chaste butterfly kisses. Slowly, she widened the range, dropping kisses onto his cheek, following the line of his jaw. He in turn fondled her neck with his finger tips through the tangled mess that was her hair. She hated all those knots which found their way into her hair every day, he thought she looked cuter the more fractious her strands were.
She teased him with the touches of her lips, nearing his mouth but avoiding his lips for the most part, if she touched them, it was so fleeting that he had to think he had imagined it. His attempts to capture her mouth failed, so he abandoned himself to his fate and contented himself with caressing her while enjoying her attention. Unexpectedly, she suddenly pressed her lips onto his, prying them apart with her tongue. Hungrily, she mapped his mouth, moaning softly deep in her throat. His hands buried in her unruly locks, no longer able to hold still, he met her tongue with his in a dance full of passion. Fuelled by the heat of the kiss, her hands roamed over his front: neck, shoulders, chest, down to the front of his trousers. As she massaged his erection gently, he groaned into the kiss. Suddenly, she broke the connection. The puzzled expression on his face was answered with a smile, as seductive as he had ever seen one; then she grabbed the edge of her dress and pulled it up. Still not quite sure of her intention, he raised an eyebrow in question. “Duck,” she ordered in a voice that prevented any question he might have had from being voiced.
Once he had complied, she swung one leg over him, thereby offering him a short glimpse under her skirt, and straddled him. Grinning, he sat up straight again, capturing her lips in another kiss.
The animal beneath them didn’t seem to care what was happening on its back, it merely kept on walking in the direction it pleased, for the humans who usually steered it didn’t pay any attention at all to anything but each other.
Dances With Wolves’ digits trailed over his wife’s now bared thighs. Further and further, they wandered upward to the juncture of her legs. In the meantime, she made short process of the fastening of his trousers.
Having undone the last button, Stands With A Fist shoved a hand inside his pants, along his erection, causing a deep moan to escape his throat. His hands grabbed her ass, pushing her toward him in answer. Her hips collided with his. She moved her hands to his shoulders to brace herself as she began to rub herself against him, the rocking motion of the horse serving subsidiary.
He had considered horses measures of transportation, hard workers, a helping hand and good friends, someone he could trust more than most humans, but certainly not a place to engage in this kind of activity. Even in his wildest dreams, he wouldn’t have envisioned having sex with the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, her being his wife no less, however here he was, painfully aroused, his hands caressing the naked skin of the thighs of his beloved wife, while riding aimlessly through the middle of nowhere.
Stands With A Fist wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, hoisting herself onto his thighs. His hands cupping her buttocks steadied her, assisted so she could position herself – considering their shaky location, not a very easy task. Her wetness collided a few times with his erection, before she finally sank down on him, connecting them in the most intimate physical way.
Once joined, the rocking motion of the horse walking proved to be a nice twist. In a slow rhythm, she moved on him, swaying her hips back and forth. He loved the unhurried pace that had marked their first night together, though the acted out urges to ravish each other had their appeal as well. Happiness flooding his chest, as it always did when he was with her, he captured her lips again, kissing her, nibbling on her lower lip. As he bit down harder on her lip, her inner muscles clenched around his erection, drawing a groan, that matched hers, from his throat. Their ferventness started to object to the lazy tempo of their loving, it force them to speed up.
His fingers left prints on her buttocks, while his back bore red trails left by fingernails – not that either of them cared. It wasn’t the first time, and it would most likely not be the last one either. Passion overruled pain. Short and frequent were the thrusts just like the breaths. They placed airy kisses on each other’s faces and necks, mixed with moaned sweet-nothings and more or less lightly sucking at earlobes and jaws.
Neither one cared who flew over the edge of bliss first and pulled the other with them. All what matter was the swaying universe that enfolded only the two of them; awareness didn’t reach beyond the own tingling body and the form of the other pressed against it. The sound of their own breathing was the first to break through their bubble of content satisfaction, followed by a splash and the sudden stop of the swaying. Jerking away from each other as far as possible, nearly falling of the horse, they took in their surroundings for the first time since she had started to kiss his neck.
Cisco had made his way to the stream, now standing in it, the water covering his hoofs. The two people on his back looked at each other and started to chuckle.
“Yes, I think a bath might be a good idea.” Stands With A Fist pulled a leg back and dismounted. Taking the few steps toward the shore, she discarded her dress.
“And I think, you are absolutely right.” Dances With Wolves jumped of the horse, a broad grin on his face, while his eyes travelled over the slim form of his wife.
“Oh no, you don’t. Or we’ll never make it back to the village.” Playfully, she hopped out of his reach and spattered water on him before he had time to take off his clothes. A supposed to be angry and warning glare was shot her way, but it didn’t quite hit home for he could never really be angry with her – especially not when she was all giggling, naked and wet.
“I’ll get you for that.” He growled, the smile on his face belying the tone.
“Don’t you always?” She shot back seductively, waiting for him in the water, hands on her hips.
God, that woman was a tease, but that was why he loved her.
= End =