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Once, Clare felt on her fingers the rosy hues of snow, melting upon her touch. When it left her hand numb, she brought her hand over to her lips. Her only respite from the cold was in gently nibbling upon her fingertips, feeling the warmth and condensation of her breath until she could feel, once more.
In the night, an unexpected snowfall. Raki trudges onward, his footsteps leaving deeper trails upon the pine-encrusted path. He tries to ignore the shivering of his legs as he knows that Avignon is only a half-hour further.
Clare spots a dense covering under the forest. The snow hasn't gathered there.
"Let's camp," she goes.
"I'm fine.."
"I don't want you to freeze, Raki."
The boy sees that she means it, so he resigns and in the spot where the wind does not blow, he unloads the sack of firewood and sets the arrangement up in flames. The fire's warmth envelops his body like a comfortable bath, and he realises how right she is.
Soon, the snow evolves into a drizzle and Raki leans into the fire, poking the wood to coax out every last vestiges of heat it has to offer. He settles into a rhythm that leaves him drowsy, and pulls the fur blanket over.
Raki hears a heavy thunk – it's her sword. Oh, she's leaning into it for a rest too.
He looks over and she's laid it over against the tree. She undresses out of her armour, slipping out of her skirt and setting her pauldrons aside. Without them ornamenting her body, Clare looks emasculated. The wet uniform clings onto her breasts while she tends to the dying fire – the frost upon her hair drips as it melts..
He pretends to sleep, watching her.
Clare pushes her body out, arching her back with her arms outstretched. What she does in private to relieve the day's tension. There is something about her lithe form which is graceful as a ballerina's poise in dance, and though Raki is loathe to admit it – he is growing excited, watching her. It's his second time; the first was when he came back to camp after peeing, and he saw a flash of her breasts underneath her torn uniform. Her rosy areola..
The fire wavers under the sudden gust, and Raki shivers, huddling himself inward in the blanket. He feels his nose drip (as if he'd caught the flu), his heart skipping beats, and yet, he holds back the urge to moan, not wanting to let go of looking upon her.
Clare senses something's wrong. Usually, she can hear Raki tossing in the blanket, but he's unusually still. Peeling back the blanket, she finds him balled up like a dormouse in a nest of tattered leaves. He's frightfully close to hypothermia. If she exerts herself, she'll be able to carry him to the town.. she'll be at a loss of energy for tomorrow. Just that she can't stand seeing him suffer.
In her arms, Raki is carried like a baby. The woods whirl by with a stallion's blaze. He looks up at her face – her eyes are set on the distant townlight. Her hair flutters, while the branches of those barren trees stand out against the starless void. It feels like an eternity when your awareness is fading out of present reality.
Avignon – it's white with festivities. A few dancers pass by the tree on the icy arena, but all Clare could care about is bringing him indoors. The locals gawk at her, with some opening their mouths over what she might have done to the boy. Numbness is the worn cloak she usually wears towards being an alien to people, but tonight, her heart overrides the distance from others, beating with a tune both new and yet primally familiar.. love, and fear.
The inn Clare finds – firewood burning; brewed ale spilled on the floor. She asks the innkeeper for a room, and when he tells her how much it will cost, her eyes widen in realisation that in her panic, she's left behind all her funds at that camp.
"What? You've nothing to give? Not even hospitality is free, girlie.. especially not from me this time of year."
"I just need to keep him warm. Please.. he's sick from the cold."
Her pleading does nothing to sway him, though desperation leeches out from her voice. Finally, Clare brings Raki over to the pub, where the noise is overbearing – the jeering of its drunken patrons being no comfort as she gazes upon the fireplace.. the uncertainty with which the flames unfurl.
At least, he'll be safe from the cold. Clare touches her wrist to Raki's forehead; he is running a strong fever. It's a pub; they should have tea too.
"On the house, dear."
Clare reaches for the cup, before the barkeep closes his hand over hers. She glances at him, almost ready to pounce.
"That boy – what 'appened to him?"
"We were on our way here, before a blizzard stopped our path.. I thought he'd be alright if I set up camp."
"He looks like he needs medicine."
Clare finds a possible foothold. "If you could offer me a room, you'd have all my gratitude. I left my purse behind, and.. I don't know where else to go."
One of the patrons begs for the barkeep's refill, while the barkeep locks eyes upon Clare, studying her. Then he shows her the stairs upward to the attic.
It is musty, with dust having settled over the barrels. The barkeep is nice in giving her a few candles and some blankets. Moreso, peace. Clare gives Raki more sips of tea..
"Aren't you tired?" Raki asks, sensing the motions of her hands growing mechanical.
She looks upon him with a detached fondness, as if the real her is absorbing the moment from a distant world while her body goes through the motions. His eyes take her back in, and in a breath, she drinks from the same cup she'd spoon-fed him.
In closing her eyes, she recalls those rose petals which drooped from the branches, with the forest path shrouded in shadow. This is what the tea tastes like.
"I'll be fine when you're asleep," she tells him, as a burst of regret surges from her chest. "I.. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you in the forest."
"Don't be," Raki goes. "I thought the cold wouldn't be so bad.."
The candles dim.
Clare still makes out Raki, an illuminated silhouette in the dark, and it's in the privacy of the night that she ends up crying. The stress pouring out of her – how it always did when she endured the brutal regime of the Organization's training, where the instructors were as relentless on her body as her childhood captor was.
"Clare?"
She stifles her tears. "Raki, I'm fine. Go to sleep, please.."
"Why are you so pretty?"
It's the last thing she'd expect Raki to say.
"What are you talking about?"
"Whenever you think I'm not watching, you always do a dance. Every night, by the campfire. I don't know why. Only that it's pretty.. and that I feel good, looking upon you."
Clare is startled. She's often been called scary, intimidating, and even witch-like.. but never pretty. A word she's used to describe a doll collection she's once had.
"Why do you dance, Clare?"
It takes a moment for her to remember why.
"It's my way of letting go of the day," she says. "My body aches, so I stretch and move – a friend taught me this."
"Clare.."
She hears the faint quiver of Raki's voice, yearning for her. When she touches him by the forehead this time, he brings her hand over, down to his soft cheeks, and over to his lips, where he kisses her fingers with a tenderness he's held within him, which had blossomed over those days he's grown to know her.
When he sucks upon her fingertips, an electricity jolts through her arm which sends tremours though her entire being. A moan escapes her – and it's an involuntary moan she doesn't realise she's made. Clare exhales out the tension which she'd held in her lungs, when she didn't realise she'd stopped breathing out of trepidation, encountering the intimacy which she'd deeply wanted, all along.
"Raki, stop.."
But the truth is, she's always wanted him. He's young, though, and she didn't want to take advantage like that.. to be no better than a yoma, just craving flesh.
He's still nibbling at her hand, like a kitty when she pulls herself away.
"Clare – please, don't leave me.." he goes.
Raki strains to make her out in the night, before he hears her breath, quickening with a swelling need. His hand gropes in the dark, feeling nothing but thin air, before he finds her hand over his.
"I'm here," she says, gently.
Clare puts his hand over her neck. He feels her swallow, before she guides him just how to press around her throat - two fingers over her windpipe, and his thumb on her thyroid. Not so much pressure as to choke her, but just enough that she's able to let the breath steadily hiss out her mouth.. her vision tingling with blue sparkles.
Then she lets her head swoon over his wrist, where she closes her eyes and simply indulges in the latent senations it brings forth in her. Maternal tenderness. A young girl's need for affection. The connection of one isolated heart with another who needs it.
Soon, besides feeling her hair brush upon his arm, Raki feels her tears over his stimulated hand. Is this just a fever dream? It's happening all so fast.. the layers of Clare, his saviour and guardian, unravelling to reveal a lover.
With the night's unending coldness poring through the attic, Raki brings her closer in an embrace. As he inhales her, it's like the rustic grounds he knows, where as his older brother toils on the fields, he could find the scent of the lively earth. Her hands crawl upon his back – a spider exploring, weaving an elaborate web over his skeletal structure.
Finally, Clare discovers his face. She recalls his look of piqued interest, at first meeting. How she rebuffed him, at first. He'd reject her, like the rest of the world did, so there seemed no point in caring about him back, despite the faint hope otherwise.
She regrets it deeply, now. The way she'll make it up to him is in a kiss, kept secret from everyone else. A kiss where her lips find traction with his mouth, and she starts to move her tongue in tandem with a silent language, only whispered through touch..
Raki, as if struck by her passion, delves into her mouth faster, and harder – new to the experience of love, but she's taken aback.
"Mmmph.." she says, withdrawing from the kiss. "Slowly.."
She brings her fingers around his jaw, and they go on kissing, easily forgetting how they were subjected to the blizzard earlier.
There is no choice who you end up loving in life. Undressing her, Raki feels her skin sheening with sweat. His fingers trace over her body – the same ectomorphic body who's stirred the throes of lust in him. There are old scars across her back; those rough spots which haven't fully healed, bumpy to the touch. Otherwise, her skin has a sumptuous softness, like fresh petals just waiting underneath frost.
"How much did it hurt?" Raki asks her.
She dwells upon the pain she's long harboured in private, which pushes away all the injuries she's endured in comparison.
"As much as I've allowed it.."
Clare has stripped off Raki's pants. He's hairless.. except for his genitals. It's almost funny seeing his erection, like a miniature leg that is trying to grow.
"It's so soft.." he whispers. She realises his hands are atop her breasts.
As Raki fondles her bosom, she holds him by the arms, her eyes closed as she allows the gentle sensations – the way he kneads around her nipples - to bring forth a soothing chill throughout her body, euphoria spreading down her spine and letting her own vulva be flush with heat.. and desire..
She pulls him in closer.
It's reaching the point where the tension she's held in her stomach, which she's long taken for granted, is gradually unwinding. Oh, it just feels so wonderful..
Then Clare jerks his hands over where it aches.
"Unnn-ohh!"
A vulnerable whimper which spills out of her, which feels like everyone in the world could hear, in spite of the festival noises which grows ever more faint to her. Clare puts her mouth over her hand as to stifle any further cries, amidst her tachypnea (the ragged gasping) which longs for further oxygen to burn.
Raki is amazed by how wet she is. How feverish she is, as if his hand – slipping deeper in, would just melt into her being. Every touch, each timbre of pressure upon her like a raw song, spun out of her soul. Only just.. how would it taste like? Her smell is so radiant, so infectious, hitting his nose sharply like burnt toast, it's unmistakably hers, overriding the damp, alcoholic musk lingering in the attic with her body heat.
Pulling his hand away, Raki finds her wetness - congealing over his fingers. Clare, still recovering from the rush she rode, watches him in an enthrall as he licks her. He is timid about it, like a young child hesitantly trying out a strange meal.
But only at first.
With his heart continually throbbing, as if he's compelled forth across a tightrope over a mountainous crevasse whose depths are as unfathomable as it is dark, Raki begins to savour the taste. Her vulva has so many reserves of flavour, all depending on the way he dances his tongue over the honey. Sweet, floral.. sometimes metallic, like sucking upon a copper penny.
When he swallows, it's like when he ingests his own snot during those times he'd feel sick or cry, but instead of the familiarity of himself, it gives him a little warmth doing so.. swallowing her, the fuzzy sensation infecting his whole body.
"How do.. I taste?" Clare asks, sincere in wanting to know just how she'd be received, and truly felt by another. The self which she'd nurtured all along in private.
"You're – so gorgeous.."
It's hard for her to make out his face; his eyes are hard to read, indistinguishable in the dark, but she hears it in his voice.
"Raki," she says. ".. won't you kiss me there? Kiss me, until I.."
It couldn't have been a more enticing request to make. Raki burrows his face where he's touched her. Her thighs, hugging his skull with as much restraint she could muster from crushing his face in altogether. It's just so good, like an aching itch in her core he is scratching.. just right.
It starts to chafe her to the bone for Clare to keep holding this position, so she leans upon her back, locking her knees to her chest with her arms. Raki holds her steady, kissing her and letting his tongue prod the folds of her vulva. She lets the sensations carry her mind over to strange, evocative places.
An especially sharp, protruding sense of rawness when he turns to her clitoris..
"Aa-mugm—!" Clare pushes Raki away.
"What's wrong?" Raki says, among throaty gasps for breath. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, it's.. hold on.."
Clare reaches for her own uniform, where she stuffs the sleeve into her mouth as a sort of gag. She nudges Raki to continue, and without a word, Raki knows what she really means, as he concentrates his mouth upon her sensitivity.
The sleeve muffles her voice, as her moans start to intensify and deepen into ranges of animalistic baritone, while the orgasm, like a pregnancy of held-up tension that's gestated in her the whole time, is starting to pour out finally. A bag which cannot hold everything in any further.. the seams erupting open, in a cascade of torrential release.. wave after wave of blissful pleasure, rhythmic in its contractions.
Her legs, like savage and uncontrollable animals, slip out of her arms, which push forth upon the ground while the white-hot immensity of her climax is flooding her nerves.
She's known some of the worst pain, inflicted upon her in life by so many others, scarring her being. But never this ecstasy which penetrates past all the barriers she's erected in herself, flooding through those cracks to burst open her heart, which she thought she'd pushed away into numbness.
(so this is what it's like to love)
Clare remembers to breathe again. Amidst the sensation of floating down, like a leaf dancing in air currents, she realises how stretched out her limbs are. Reaching for the sleeve she's clung onto by her mouth, she finds that the sleeve is torn all the way through.
She's bitten so hard, her teeth have ripped it..
It could matter less.
Soon, she realises that she isn't the only one who is panting.
"Cl-Clare.." Raki goes, feeling spent and laying down beside her.
"Ra.. ki.." Her voice is a dim, husky whisper, as she finds his hand and caresses it. "I would have never known – how long I've been waiting to really.. know you, like this." She moves his hand over to her chest, which rises and falls as she feels her breathing carry on a much more open, relaxed feeling.
Then she turns over to face Raki, as she feels drowsiness settle in her.
"Clare.. I'd do anything for you.."
As a young girl, Clare felt it was the most silliest thing just to tell someone 'I love you.' There's just something cheesy about saying out a feeling which is too great for even words to encompass. Either you'll know it already – like a thought which nervously creeps into your awareness, or a glance from a person who can convey so much in their eyes alone - or you don't.
".. I know.."
As she holds him dear to her heart, Raki hears her silence. Then soon, her snores. He closes his eyes also, steeping with her into a shared serenity.
Raki pushes into her slowly at first, but the moment he’s fully sheathed in Clare’s tight, silky heat, something primal takes over. A shaky breath leaves him as he starts to thrust — eager, young, and overwhelmed by how good she feels. His hips move with instinctive hunger, chasing the slick friction, delighting in the way her body welcomes him.
Clare’s hands slide up his back, fingers pressing gently along his spine. She pulls him down closer, her voice low and a little breathless against his lips.
“Slowly.. Raki, slow down.”
He stills, buried deep inside her, panting.
“I don’t want you to spoil yourself so fast,” she whispers, almost tenderly. “Just.. kiss me. Please.”
Her legs wrap around his waist, holding him there, not letting him pull back to thrust again. She guides his face to hers and kisses him deeply — slow, warm, and full of quiet longing. Not the frantic kind of kissing that matches hard thrusting, but something softer.
Something that makes him melt.
At first, Raki struggles. His body is screaming to move, to chase that building pressure. But Clare keeps him close, her inner walls gently fluttering around him, refusing to let the moment become just pelvis and friction.
Eventually, something shifts.
A warm, tingling wave starts spreading through him — not just in his penis, but everywhere. It moves up his spine, into his chest, down his thighs, even into his fingertips. The pleasure stops being concentrated and becomes whole-body. As if every inch of his skin is suddenly alive and humming with her. The longer he remains with her, deep inside her, kissing her, breathing with her.. the greater the sensation grows.
Clare feels it also. Her eyes flutter open for a moment, hazy with emotion.
“Yes.. just like that,” she whispers against his mouth. “Just stay with me.”
Their bodies begin to rock together in a slow, gentle rhythm. It is less like fucking, and more like breathing as one. A soft, rolling wave. Every tiny shift of his hips sends that warm, erotic tingling washing through both of them. No frantic pounding. No performance. Just deep, intimate connection.
Raki lets out a broken sound into her mouth as the feeling intensifies. It’s overwhelming in the best way, like his entire body is making love to her. Clare holds him tighter, her hot hands pressing over his back.. guiding him to stay present, to feel everything.
The pleasure builds differently this way. Slower. Deeper. More overwhelming. Like a tide that keeps rising, rocking them together in perfect sync, until neither of them can tell where one ends and the other begins.
Soon, the slow, rocking wave they had been riding together begins to crest.
Raki’s breath grows ragged against her mouth. He tries to hold back, but the deep, full-body tingling has become too much — a relentless, delicious heat flooding every part of him. Clare feels him swell even harder inside her, throbbing with urgent need.
“Clare… I’m—” he gasps.
She doesn’t let him pull out.
Instead, she tightens her legs around his waist and pulls him impossibly deeper, burying her face against the side of his neck. Her lips press hard into his skin, muffling the sounds rising from her throat.
When Raki finally lets go, he finishes inside her with long, powerful pulses.
Clare’s reaction is immediate and devastating. A deep, broken moan vibrates against his neck as the first spurts of his semen floods her. Her body arches violently beneath him. Her fingers dig into his back, clawing, her nails biting into his skin as wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure crashes through her. She can feel every single throb, every thick spurt of his release painting her insides, filling her so completely that it pushes her over the edge with him.
That primal beast inside her — the yoki she keeps chained down — stirs. Her silver eyes flash with a faint glow for a moment. A low, almost feral sound escapes her throat before she presses her mouth harder over his neck, biting down.. just enough to stifle her screams. She’s trying so hard to stay quiet, to contain the awakening monster that pleasure is dragging to the surface.
Her walls are clenching over his penis, just milking him over and over as she rides out her own taste of heaven. Raki groans deeply, hips jerking with every helpless spurt. He can feel her losing control — the way she claws at his back, the trembling of her thighs, the hot puffs of her breath against his neck as she tries (and fails) to bury away how hard she’s coming.
Even in the middle of her ecstasy, Clare is still protecting him — hiding the full force of her pleasure from the world outside their room, pushing the dangerous side of herself tightly away so it doesn’t frighten the boy.
But Raki feels it anyway. He feels the raw power trembling through her body. He feels her tightening and pulsing around him as he empties himself completely inside her. And instead of fear, it only makes him hold her tighter, pouring everything he has into the woman he loves.
When the last, weaker throbs finally fade, Clare is still shaking, lips pressed to his neck, breathing hard. Her fingers slowly loosen into trembling caresses along his scratched-up back.
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She just holds him by her side, being filled to the brim with his warmth, as if letting go would break the fragile peace she's found with him.
Raki stays buried deep inside her. Even after the last spasm, he still has those involuntary aftershocks - those small, helpless shudders running through him every few seconds as he remains enmeshed inside of Clare’s warmth, like he's returned home. A thin trickle of their fluids leaks out from where they’re still joined, slowly dripping down from her vulva onto the floor beneath them.
Clare lies underneath him, as if willingly cushioning him from the cool, dusty floorboard. Her chest rising and falling as she pants openly, her mouth slack. Her silver eyes are half-lidded in the darkness. She can smell everything: the humid, intimate scent of their mingled arousal, sweat, and sex thick in the air. It’s raw and heady, and she willingly breathes it in like it’s the first real air she’s tasted in years. Even though it's dark, she detects how his eyes are tearing up from the sheer happiness and something long buried in her heart finds gratitude for being the one who's granted him this.
“You--” she whispers, finding her voice hoarse and raw. “I know you’re shaken up. I-- I never meant to be your first, Raki. Only I don't ever want you.. to be alone, like me.” She lifts a shaky hand and brushes those strands of hair from his face.
Raki’s eyes fill with tears. His throat works visibly as he tries to hold them back, but a few slip free anyway. He stares at her, overwhelmed.
“.. Clare,” he manages, voice thick and trembling. “You really mean that?"
She gives the faintest nod, her own eyes soft. “I do.”
Only then does Raki slowly lower his head to rest against her chest, right over her heart. He can hear it beating — steady, real, alive. It’s soothing in a way he can’t describe.
“I’ll do anything for you…” he whispers.
Her fingers continue stroking his face, but her movements are growing slower, fainter. With the last of her strength, she tightens her arms around him instead of reaching for the blanket.
“.. I know..”
They had undressed each other slowly, piece by piece, until only their underwear remained. The air in the attic felt thick and cool against their bare skin, while the darkness only felt right. Clare found it much easier to let go from holding in her emotions for so long when it's dark.
She took Raki’s hand and guided it to her throat. Her eyes found his, vulnerable but certain.
“Like this,” she whispered, positioning his fingers — two over her windpipe, his thumb resting gently on the side.
"Okay."
Raki’s hand trembled slightly as he applied the pressure she wanted. Clare exhaled a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering as the controlled squeeze sent sparks through her body. She tilted her head back slightly, surrendering to the sensation, her pulse beating against his fingers.
..
Raki pulled himself closer, and leaned into her for a kiss. He was hungry, his mouth almost desperate in relishing her lips. But Clare soon broke it, breathing over his mouth.
“Slowly,” she went.
Raki obeyed, kissing her with aching gentleness — deep, lingering kisses that made time feel softer. While they kissed, his hands moved to her breasts. He cupped them tenderly, thumbs brushing over her stiff, erect nipples. Just the feeling made him groan into her mouth. His erection strained painfully within his underwear, throbbing with so much built-up tension he could barely think.
Clare was soaked. She could feel herself growing wetter with every slow kiss, every gentle squeeze of her breasts. A powerful wave of emotion rose in her chest — cathartic, overwhelming. Tears slipped quietly down her cheeks as she held his face, kissing him like he was something sacred.
Raki was still gently kneading her breasts, thumbs circling her stiff nipples, when Clare’s hands slid down his torso. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his underwear and slowly pulled it down, freeing his aching erection.
One hand stroked slowly from base to tip while the other gently cupped and massaged his balls, as if trying to soothe the desperate pressure building inside him. Her touch was tender but firm — not frantic, but deliberate. She could feel how hard he was throbbing in her palms, how much pent-up need was trapped there.
Raki let out a shaky, broken moan against her neck, his hands still on her breasts, squeezing a little tighter as pleasure shot through him.
Clare’s breathing grew heavier. She was incredibly wet now, her own arousal soaking through her underwear as she continued to stroke and grope him with slow, caring movements — trying to ease his tension while feeding her own emotional release.
..
Raki’s eyes were alight with hunger and wonder as he lowered his mouth to her breasts. He knows how they've looked as she danced and stretched by the fire, and now he took one of her soft breasts into his mouth, sucking gently on her stiff nipple. The sensation was far more gorgeous than he had ever imagined. Her skin was warm, slightly salty from sweat, and her nipple hardened further against his tongue. She held him like that, letting him nurse from her, her own eyes growing misty again as a quiet, overwhelming tenderness filled her. Even as her body responded with fresh waves of arousal, the moment felt strangely and especially serene. Like she was giving him something precious she never thought she'd offer anyone, let alone a child of her own. And soon, Clare let out a soft, trembling moan, her fingers threading through his hair as she held him close to her like this.
He leaned back to catch himself, then lowered his mouth to her breast again, this time with a deeper hunger. He latched on and began to suckle, slow and rhythmic. At first it was just the wonderful softness of her nipple against his tongue, but then — to his surprise — a small, warm trickle of milk began to flow. It tasted rich and creamy, like churned butter with the faintest trace of vanilla sweetness. The moment he tasted it, something deep and primal in him melted. He let out a soft, helpless gurgle against her breast, suckling more eagerly, eyes half-closed in pure bliss.
Clare’s breath hitched. For a moment she simply cradled him in her arms, one hand gently supporting the back of his head while the other stroked his hair. Her silver eyes looked down at him with a soft, almost maternal fondness — a feeling she had long buried surfacing so strongly it made her chest ache.
After a few moments, she gently pushed his shoulders, guiding him to lean back. Raki obeyed, sitting up on his knees between her legs, breathing hard.
Clare rose slightly to meet him. She pressed her mouth to his chest, kissing and licking a slow trail across his skin until she found one of his nipples. She concentrated there — sucking softly at first, then with more hunger, her tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.
Raki groaned deeply, a raw, helpless sound that vibrated in his chest. His penis twitched hard between them, leaking steadily as pleasure shot straight down his spine.
Clare continued, switching from one nipple to the other, her hands running over his sides and back, as if she wanted to taste and claim every inch of him.
Then her mouth traveled lower, kissing and licking down Raki’s chest and stomach until she reached his belly button. She ran her tongue around it slowly, almost cleaning the faint sheen of sweat from his skin with reverent care.
Then she kept going downward.. she tried to take him into her mouth. She wrapped her lips around the head of his penis, attempting to pull his foreskin down gently so she could work her tongue along his exposed glans. But it was awkward and painful for him — he clearly wasn’t used to this, and she didn't want to push him beyond his boundaries.
So instead, she did what she could. She kissed the little bit of exposed head softly, almost lovingly, and gently nibbled and sucked on his foreskin with her lips and teeth, exploring him with tender curiosity.
Raki wanted to reciprocate her also, and he pulled his face over in between her legs to bury himself between her thighs. The moment his mouth found her soaked vulva, the origin of that piercing scent filling the air, he moaned deeply against her — a raw, hungry sound. He tasted her fully: the slick, warm arousal, the heady, raw pheromones, the incredible intimate wetness that was purely her. He licked and sucked with clumsy but eager devotion, completely lost in her taste and scent. The raw, intimate pheromones make him feel drunk on her with the deep gratitude that she’s letting him taste something so private. A deep adoration, gratitude, and a sense of “I can’t believe this is real.” Out of all the people in this world, he found her, chosen and loved back in a way he never expected.
Clare whimpered, her hands slipping and trembling over Raki's thighs, the bodily vibrations traveling through her as she continued kissing and gently nibbling the tip of his penis, while Raki moaned loudly into her vulva. Both their bodies twitching, moving, humid and overcome by pleasure..