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Amon’s cold hand brushed across Harlowe’s bare chest, covering her delicate skin with his metal. His thumb caressed the side of her breast, while his ring finger tended to her nipple. His other hand held the back of her torso, a warm blanket across her body, keeping her stable on his lap. The very tip of his cock pressed against the bottom of her chest, leaving her tummy bare.
Harlowe flinched and inadvertently made an attempt to bring herself closer, to rub her pussy against any part of him; his sac, the base of his hilt, or maybe entice him to bring a finger down, but he just responded by pulling back.
“What’s that about?” Even with her face sweaty and her eyes folded, her voice kept its spunk.
“Patience. A trait of a mighty warrior.”
“Warrior? We’re not fighting.”
He gave her a soft smile and rubbed the curve of her back with his thumb, engrossing her in a room of pleasure and softness, a place that warmed her insides and lured her to loosen her muscles in his hold. In her brief time of vulnerability, Amon brought his hands to her sides and brought her close, bringing his shaft squarely towards her groin, exactly what Harlowe wanted. He asked, “Aren’t we?”
In an instant, he tightened his grip, just barely, and brought her entire body up and down his cock, coating a side of it in her fluids. Out of reflex, she tightened her legs together and entrapped him within her thighs, the plush, tender skin of hers massaging his stiff, firm cock. She grumbled and groaned into the silence of the room, sucking air in through her teeth and hitching exhales. She squeezed his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin and scraping them against the metal. Her legs trembled as she tilted her waist up to wrap her cunt’s lips against him, and as her clit grinded against the heat of his cock.
“See, darling?” He calmly spoke, a stark contrast to the whimpering woman against him, his voice barely audible compared to hers, “A warrior’s talents always prove useful.”
Harlowe didn’t reply, instead wrapping her fingers around the back of his neck to stop her hands from slipping, marking his skin with her nails. He granted her a pleasant grin, keeping firm eye-contact with her trembling face, and tactfully ignored her petite bust and the fluid that slowly leaked from himself.
As quickly as he started, he stopped, leaving the two pressed together but completely still. Harlowe caught her breath and squeezed her thighs together as both a punishment and reward, a throbbing heat forming across her waist. She scowled at him, then smirked.
“Alright, buttercup, I hear you,” she took a moment to breathe, then stated, “Resilience in the battlefield translates to resilience in the bedroom.” She chuckled at her own words, then caught eye of Amon’s precum. “Or maybe not...”
“We’re not immortal,” he began, lifting her once more until his tip pressed against her opening. She widened her eyes and beamed at the implication. “But some of us might require more physical training.”