allbedestroyed | Private tour for asorceress

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Private tour for asorceress

There's no better sign that a date went well than organising another before it's even finished. Generally that's the theory, anyway. Given that this could just be Yennefer's way of getting onto the island to see dinosaurs with a private tour, maybe she's just able to put up with the head warden. He doubts it though. He's seen what Yennefer can do. If she wanted to wander around the island she wouldn't need him to do it. Besides, he really had enjoyed their time together, and it seemed like Yennefer had as well.

This seems like a natural progression. Not only did she get to see him in his natural environment (work), but there's the thrill of infiltration along with this, too. Luckily the park isn't fully set up yet, and Muldoon knows the island like the back of his hand. He's spent plenty of time looking at their security blind spots, because he has to cover them manually, so she has no better guide around the island than him. Between his knowledge and her spells, they should manage to have a thoroughly successful trip.

Just like last time, Muldoon is waiting by a jeep. He'd given her instructions on where to meet him. It was a nice, secluded spot not too far from the docks. It helps with his backup story in case Yennefer's presence is noticed. This time he's wearing his uniform, full khaki and not dissimilar from what he wore on their last date. The most notable differences are the pistol on his hip and the ID badge on his pocket. At least nobody could mistake him for someone else.

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Every guidance is taken eagerly, like finding new routes through an unknown forest. His lips kiss the long line of her neck, teeth grazing skin in a tease of a bite that never quite happens. With her direction, his hand cups her breast and, with a gentle squeeze, ensures his own desire is unquestionable with the hardness between his legs.

To know more of her is to discover he wants more of her. The barriers of thin fabric between them become increasingly unbearable, especially when exploring hands can already feel how wonderful she is beneath his fingers. There is no clearer sign that Muldoon has taken her cue to embrace his own desires than when he pauses to sit up just long enough to take her shirt and rip it open. He descends upon the newly revealed flesh, to taste with lips and tongue and teeth, never quite biting though the inclination is certainly there.

Whatever repercussions she decides to bestow upon him later, he will accept. This is no time or place for hesitation. Not now when he can finally see and properly feel her body. It has been so long for him, and she is so beautiful in body and soul. Even the fervour with which he attends to her doesn't feel nearly enough, his yearning far outweighing his desire even as her taste and touch and smell and sound fills his senses.

She arches into his touch with a needy sound, tilting her neck further to give his lips better access. With each barely there scrape of teeth against her sensitive skin she wonders if he is purposefully attempting to drive her mad with that teasing - either way, it's delightful and sends tiny shivers across her skin. She hitches her leg higher over his hip, letting out a soft moan as she presses herself against where he's hard - it's not as if she doubted his desire, but feeling his want in such a way is incredibly arousing.

She's definitely not expecting him to do away with her shirt in such a manner, and the moment he does she responds with a low pitched chuckle and a sultry smirk at his boldness. It wasn't her favorite shirt, and besides; it was in the way. Her gaze is heated as she looks up at him, her hand curling around the back of his neck and urging him down to her newly bared skin.

The attention of his lips, tongue and almost scrape of teeth against her breasts has her writhing beneath him, aching with each sensation he's drawing out. "More," she practically demands, wanting him to nip at her skin. Yennefer is definitely the vocal sort, letting him know how much she's enjoying his fervor with throaty moans and gasps; her nails digging into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.

Which brings to her attention the fact that she's rather fed up with the shirt he's wearing as well. "Off," she murmurs, making it clear she means his shirt and not him as her hands deftly undo the buttons and slide it from his shoulders. She wastes no time in caressing along his chest, arms, and back; an eager hum of appreciation given at the feel of his body beneath her hands.

Once the buttons are undone, Muldoon barely pauses to pull it off and toss it aside. Scars are scattered across his chest and shoulders, in and around the soft hair which draws a line down his navel. Not that the warden gives her any particular time to look at them, given how much attention he's giving her.

That she's vocal is no bad thing. Though he clearly responds when she moans or demands, his own contributions keep to breathy pants and low growls as she digs her nails into his skin. With her encouragement he does nip and returns to her neck to sink his teeth in a little deeper in an experimental bite that comes with a roll of his hips and another growl.

Long legs have never been suited to the confines of a couch, however, and he's finding it awkward. Some frustration is fun, this is not. Though he has to stop enjoying her quite so thoroughly, there is another kind of pleasure in wrapping his arms around her and pulling her up with him as he stands. Keeping her close so that he can still kiss her as he holds her and brings her to his bedroom. It is almost militantly neat, so aside from having to navigate a closed door to get to it, there is nothing in the way as he brings her to his bed and lays her down.

She delights in the sounds he makes; and when his teeth sink into her neck and he rolls his hips, she's all the more vocal; finding it impossible not to be. Her hands grip at his shoulders as she lifts her hips to press against his, a languid sort of roll coupled with a low moan.

The couch isn't quite big enough for the both of them and the variety of ways she wants them to explore each other; and she'd been on the verge of suggesting they relocate; but fortunately they're sharing the same thought. When he lifts her she wraps her legs around him without missing a beat, meeting his kiss eagerly. She's glad he gets the door open as quickly as he does, otherwise she'd have used her magic and the force of which would have likely ripped the thing off it's hinges with how strong her passion is at the moment.

As he lays her down on the bed, she props herself up on her elbows; letting her gaze wander across his body now that she has the opportunity to do so. He's mentioned the scars before, but she's only glimpsed the one on his leg he'd shown earlier. Seeing the scattering of them across his chest and shoulders draws her gaze as well as her touch - she reaches out to trace a few of the deeper ones as if to memorize them; then lifts herself up enough to press her lips to his skin, tasting and kissing along his collarbone; then nipping just beneath his jawline. "I've wanted to get you alone like this since our first date," she hums against his skin. "Ever since our first kiss."

Most of the marks on his skin are from bites and scratches, save for one from a gunshot. He's not embarrassed by them, and he's used to lovers and strangers alike giving them attention. Though his own focus is firmly on her lips as they travel across his skin.

"I've wanted to get you alone like this ever since the kikimora," he rumbles right back, humming against her affections.

Then, with the smoother support of the bed, he interrupts her to thread his fingers in her hair and kiss her deeply. Having sated that rush of desire, he brings his attention lower, letting his kisses and nipping trail down her body until he reaches her shorts. Here he undoes them just enough to go a little below the waistband... and then moves on to help remove her boots. If he smirks at her for having teased her like that, well, she'll just have to deal with it.

"If I'd known that back then we could have ended our trip a lot differently," she remarks with grin that's pressed against his skin. She'd had no idea of his interest back then, and frankly the time between then and now of getting to know one another; and Yennefer building trust, respect, and genuine affection for him only made this moment now all the more meaningful and intense.

But she doesn't have time to reflect on that thought long before his lips are on hers again and all thoughts are swept from her mind. With a kiss like that, all she can do is give in, gladly taken over by the passion expressed; one hand clutching his arm while the other slides around the back of his neck.

The path his mouth takes down her body draws an encouraging sound from her; one that turns from a hum of pleasure when he dips beneath the waist of her shorts; to a sound of protest when he shifts away to remove her boots. "Robert." Somehow she manages to make it sound like both warning as well as pleading.

Yes, the boots must come off, but he knows exactly what he's doing with a move like that. She helps him by toeing off her boots once unlaced; impatient to have his hands and his lips back on her skin.

Since he's managed to pull himself away from her, he takes this opportunity to deal with the awkward things. His own boots are dealt with while she finishes taking off her own. Long hunting socks are quickly taken off before he turns his attention to his belt. It's bad form to wear a pistol while getting increasingly intimate, even if it is neatly holstered away. Unable to help himself erring on the side of caution, he puts it on top of the dresser, out of trouble.

That is the only necessary separation left, as far as he's concerned. Free from anything else that might try to seize his attention, he descends on her again, eager to feel and taste her. It's as though that long moment might have been weeks, or months. His reward, surely, is getting the last remaining piece of her clothing off. Something which might be easier if his lips would leave her neck and collarbone for even just a few seconds.

It's probably best to make sure the gun is out of the way, though she'd honestly forgotten all about it; completely lost to the moment. It's fortunate that at least one of them remembers things like that, as Yennefer's only focus is on getting her hands back on him. She reaches out for him the moment he's near enough and sighs blissfully once his lips descend upon her neck again.

Threading her fingertips through his hair, and maybe tugging just a little as well; she arches her neck with a moan when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. It feels so amazing that she's torn between not wanting him to stop, while at the same time aching for him to feel and taste her entire body.

She's always found clothing to be something of a annoyance; even the finest of fabrics still never felt as good as being naked. But, of course, practicality demanded she not traipse about entirely nude in most situations. But she hardly needed to concern herself with that now, so she lifts her hips just enough to rid herself of the last bit of lace, sliding them down and off.

The last of his own clothing soon follows hers, the heat of his erection no longer muffled by fabric, and only further encouraged by the touch of her skin. A hand trails down her body to between her legs. Calloused fingers rub her own heat, tempered only by the caution of exploring new lands. As desperately as he wants Yennefer, he's making sure every part of her invites him in.

All of this only proves to be more excruciating. Teeth pull at her lower lip even as his hips roll, seeking out that contact, that motion that both of them want.

She's slick where his fingers brush against her, the gentle movements making her hips squirm beneath him, seeking out more of his touch, more of him in general.

With the sounds she makes and the way her thighs begin to tremble, she guides him as to how she likes to be touched - slow, soft caresses against that sensitive bundle of nerves. She can't help but want to touch him as well; her hand trails down his abdomen to wrap around his length, stroking him lightly as she moans into their kiss.

Eventually though, she can't bear a moment more of him not being inside her, so with one last biting kiss, she places a hand on his shoulder to urge him over onto his back, hoping he won't mind the shift in position. With her hands braced on his chest, she sinks down onto him slowly, drawing it out until their bodies fully connect; her eyes slipping shut with a sharp gasp of pleasure. When she starts to move her hips, it's a languid, rolling pace; a direct contrast to the sharp dig of her nails into his skin.

The moment she touches him it becomes impossible not to pant against her skin. Teeth sink into her shoulder as he palms her breast. All of which makes it just as well she gives in when she does, because otherwise he would have.

Though he doesn't resist the change of position, it does disorient him for a split second. Confusion which doesn't last when such wonderful pleasure follows. It takes all of his willpower not to roll his hips while they join, but it's worth it. The moment she starts to move she draws a moan out of him. His hands fall to her hips, encouraging the motion.

The sight of her on top of him is exceptionally hot. Too much, really. He knows he'd easily and happily break like this, but that would be too little for something he's waited so long for. In one smooth motion, he rolls them back, hooking one of her legs over his elbow as he goes deep and hard.

With his hands on her hips, she quickens her pace just a bit; the heat of passion overtaking any ideas she had about attempting to go slow and tease them both with a bit of delayed gratification. Yennefer tends to oscillate between two extremes when it comes to sex - teasing and slow, or fervent and relentless. The latter of which makes keeping her quiet basically an impossible feat.

And while she'd have gladly ridden him like that until they both couldn't take it anymore, when he switches their positions she makes a low sound of approval at his initiative. A sound that becomes a louder, more wanton sounding moan when he drives into her that deep; her back arching. Her nails sink into his skin and drag down his shoulder blades, she utters his name in a tone that's both urging and praising for the pleasure she feels.

She wraps her free leg around him, pulling their bodies closer and lifting her head enough to capture his lips in a kiss that conveys just how desperately she wants him. And, impatient as ever, her hips writhe against his; needing more - movement, friction, everything.

There is nothing about what she does at any point which asks he slows down. A rarity in partners, he's found. Given who she is, and how vocal she is, Muldoon has no worries that if she wants something to change, she'll let him know. Until then he is all for relentless, frenzied sex.

The way she rakes her nails across his skin and moves against him, it's as if this isn't enough. As though she still hungers for more. He cannot abide that. He refuses to leave her unsatisfied.

With a few more firm thrusts, he interrupts the rhythm to slide back, pulling her with him to the edge of the bed until he can lift her up. There's a small table in the corner which he has to pull away from the wall, but it's light and so is she, so one hand supports her while the other tugs the furniture aside. Now with more room he can lay her down, putting her at a much better height for him.

Though she might not be able to kiss him this way, she will definitely get movement, and friction. Her legs thrown over his shoulders, her hips pulled to the edge of the table, he can go deep and hard and fast. A burning hot cock relentlessly hammering into her in pure animalistic passion.

Relentless and frenzied are much more her speed, particularly in this instance; where she's been wondering what he'd be like in an intimate setting ever since their first date. The anticipation building ever since that first kiss. Wondering what it would take to tip him over into territory where he's thinking only of passion; disregarding the restraint he maintains so strictly in every other situation.

It's a heady thrill seeing him like this, and being the recipient of such unchecked ardor. Wrapping her legs around him once more when he lifts her, she takes that brief opportunity when he's carrying her to the table to sink her teeth into his neck in a heated kiss. Enough to leave a mark, but the collar of his shirt might cover it. She rather likes the idea of leaving her mark on him anyway, so she's not terribly concerned in the moment.

With her legs thrown over his shoulders, she can barely breathe for a moment for the sharp pleasure it brings; both her neck and back arching upward with a cry of passion. When he starts to drive into her with such relentless force, she grips the edges of the table; eyes squeezed shut and face contorted in pleasure. "Fuck,", she cries out again; followed by moans increasing in volume - needy and insistent as she feels an ache begin to build deep within her core. It won't take much more to push her over the edge. "Don't stop," she manages to get out; her voice a desperate command.

Stopping is the farthest thought from his mind, anyway. Especially after that bite. If she's to leave him with something to remember her by, he'd better make damn sure she'll remember him too.

While she moans, he growls and pants, the aching of muscles drowned out by every other wonderful sensation flooding his body. The shuddering clatter of the table, the slapping of flesh against flesh, combined with their own voices makes for a song which only increases the passion and pleasure which it speaks to.

There is a struggle in all of this, however. The sounds along with the sight of her, arched in rapture, and the feel of her, are all far too wonderful. It's difficult not to careen off the edge himself, though he's determined not to. Not until she's ready. Though as he thrusts into her has his fingers digging into her thighs and his jaw tightening with the effort.

She's had her share of lovers over the centuries, and she's impressed by his stamina and vigor - driving into her hard and fast enough that all thoughts vanish from her mind; there's only sensation. The digging of his fingers into her thighs, hard enough to leave bruises she'll keep rather than magically heal; the scent of his skin, the panting of his breath and sounds of his own enjoyment. She aches to let go fully, but doesn't yet want to stop feeling him like this.

He's hard and hot inside her and with each thrust she clenches around his cock even tighter, feeling a wave of pleasure building rapidly. Her fingers grip at the parts of him she can reach; nails digging into his skin as she continues to moan and gasp her pleasure and encouragement; urging him on. It's a wonder they haven't broken the table.

As the heat within her builds, so does her magic as she feels her entire body tensing; getting closer to that edge. Her body is slick with sweat, head thrown back when that wave of pleasure finally breaks and she comes with a loud cry of ecstasy - her body shuddering with the impact of it. As a result of such a powerful spike of overwhelming pleasure, her orgasm causes a release of her magic - a ripple of telekinetic force that rattles the walls and knocks over anything atop the surfaces of the room. She couldn't have held that back even if she'd wanted to, and she didn't want to.

The tightness around him makes everything blindingly pleasurable. There is a notion which passes through his thoughts, to say her name, to speak to her and warn her that he's close. All words which stay unuttered except by every trembling of his voice, and the fierceness of his thrusting.

It's difficult to tell who comes first. He was already at the tipping point when she clenches around him, sending him over the edge with every part of her body and voice. Together they shudder as he gives a few last, deep thrusts before holding her hips firmly as he pours into her. He's left sweating and panting, moving one hand to lean on the table as he lets the ebbing waves of ecstasy crash over him.

The surge of blissful euphoria made him mostly oblivious to the initial awareness of that magical pulse. It's only as his head clears of the lustful haze that he retroactively realises the sensation he'd felt, the sounds he'd heard and, as he glances around at rattled drawers and lamps on their sides, the slight disarray he can see.

Magic isn't something he fully understands and, now no longer driven by animalistic urges, he's inclined to err on the side of caution. So once he's caught his breath, he looks down at her laid out across the small table. "Are you alright?"

She clutches his arm when he leans it against the table, her breath still coming in uneven pants and gasps as she feels her entire body practically humming with the aftermath of such pleasure. Feeling him spill himself within her as he let go at nearly the same instant as her was nothing short of exquisite and she's still riding on the high of that, and the release of her magic as well. If he's able to sense it, the air in the room is faintly electric as a result, nothing that would damage anything; but not unlike how the environment feels just before a storm, or a surge of rain.

The bliss she feels makes her eyes half lidded, her gaze contented though the spark of her passion still remains as well. The low, husky chuckle in response to his question is followed by a glance around the room to assess the damage. "I hope I didn't break anything valuable," she remarks, then rests her back against the table with a long sigh; stretching her body a bit as she feels her muscles relaxed and loose.

She reaches a hand up to cup the side of his face with a smile. "I'm alright, yes. That... happens sometimes," she gestures toward the room. "Particularly when I am driven to such heights of pleasure." Her smile turns a bit wicked as she gazes up at him, very much intending that as a compliment.

It is certainly taken as one. How could it not be when she smiles at him like that. It's enough to make him grin in turn, cheek pressing against her palm. His brow bounces as he replies with a definitive, "Good."

Taking a moment to gather himself, he pulls out with a small grunt and shiver at the sensation. Not that he particularly wanted to, but he can't keep her on a table forever. Those precious few moments were enough for his muscles to recover so that he can scoop her up rather than ask her (hopefully) now weak thighs to do any work. He brings her back to the bed, laying her down before laying down beside her.

The pre-storm sensation lingering in the air suits their intense time together. It feels particularly appropriate to Muldoon, who had been going through a somewhat extended dry spell before this. What a way to break it. What a woman to break it with. Even with his mind failing to organise itself in the wake of such bliss, it's hard not to simply look at her. So he does, taking in the sight of her, tired and satisfied.

Part of him wants to say that he enjoyed himself, but that seems redundant. Especially with the way he looks over her now. Instead, after a little consideration, he decides to do what he does best: Show, not tell. So he kisses her. Slowly, this time, and deeply, to be clear about just how much he enjoyed that.

There's a small intake of breath when he pulls away, almost a sound of protest as well for the disconnect of their bodies for that brief moment. But then he's pulling her into his arms, which is fortunate because her legs feel too unsteady for the brief journey and her thighs still tremble slightly.

She sighs once more as she's placed upon the bed, the softness a welcome sensation beneath her body. Initially she lays there with eyes closed, peaceful and blissed out; but she can sense him looking at her, and so she turns to lay on her side, one palm resting against his chest as a warm smile curves her lips to find her senses were accurate.

She can guess by the way he looks at her what he's thinking, and as if in answer to that nonverbal expression her smile only widens. When he leans in to kiss her, she makes a pleased sound, her hand lifting to rest just beneath his jaw; enjoying the scrape of his stubble beneath her palm. Her kiss conveys how much she's enjoyed herself as well; as she takes her time tasting his mouth, brushing her lips lightly against his before she pulls back enough to look at him fondly. "Who would have thought so much passion was beneath that stern exterior," she teases, clearly pleased by this knowledge. "Though, if I'm being honest I did suspect as much, after our first kiss. Perhaps even before that."

Her attention is then drawn to the prominent mark she's left on his neck, smirking as she brushes her fingers across it. "I hope you didn't mind my getting a bit rough with you." Considering the state of his back and shoulders, raked by her nails; she hoped not.

His brow lifts as his eyes shift to half-follow her brushing touch. That's going to be interesting later. Maybe he can hide it by doing up an extra button on his shirt...

"Not at all," he replies, returning his attention to her beautiful face. "I'm built for rough."

Which is his very muted way of saying he prefers it. Not that she particularly needs telling. Everything she did was practically reading his mind on how to spur him on. Although he'd known he would enjoy himself, he hadn't expected their intimacy to be just that good. The reality of sex is that it can often be clunky, especially the first time with someone. There was no fear of that with Yennefer.

He spends another long moment looking at her, simply enjoying the way her hair falls across her skin, half sticking to her but still in long, soft waves. There's a part of him which, despite his thoroughly contented tiredness, which could just continue kissing her, enjoying her presence with him in this space. But he's no longer as unrestrained as he was a few moments ago. Politeness takes precedence.

"Would you like a drink?"

"As am I," she responds with a grin, gesturing toward the marks he'd left on her legs where he'd gripped her tightly. She feels a pleasurable ache within as well, from how roughly he'd driven himself inside her.

That he's built for rough, that he enjoys it is another significant mark of compatibility between the two of them. Not everyone was suited for the kind of sharp edged passion she embodied and expresses; not to mention her magic - something that is an integral part of her, and at times has it's own chaotic expression, as evidenced by the still slightly electric feel to the air around them.

She's content to lay here with him in the afterglow of their shared pleasure, her fingertips trailing along the line of his jaw as she studies his features appreciatively; her eyes drifting toward his lips just before he asks her if she'd like a drink.

"In a moment," she responds, leaning in to press her lips against his in another slow, languid kiss. "First I wanted to do that," she grins as she pulls back. "A drink would be lovely. Water," she clarifies; considering their vigorous activities, she's rather parched but hadn't really noticed until he'd mentioned it.

Seeing the marks he'd left on her legs surprises him. In the heat of the moment he hadn't even noticed how hard he was gripping her. He opens his mouth to apologise, but given she's already expressed her appreciation of roughness, he closes his mouth again and limits himself to an apologetic look instead.

That kiss just draws him right back in again, leaning into her touch with a pleased little hum. It seems cruel then for her to pull away after giving such a lovely kiss. Perhaps she just enjoys the slightly dazed look it puts on his face. Or him struggling to get his composure again.

Needless to say it takes him a moment, and a big sigh, to get up. He pulls on his shorts, just in case someone comes knocking, and heads to the kitchen with an, "I'll be right back."

He leaves Yennefer in his now somewhat messy room for a few short minutes. It really is a bit of a state now. The wardrobe and drawers are all ajar showing his ridiculously ~~dull~~ practical choice in clothes. There are no photos here, only lamps and books that have been knocked over. As well as the out-of-place table, of course.

When he returns it's with water for her and orange juice for himself. It's only then that the mess hits him. He puts his own glass down and hands Yennefer hers before he starts putting everything roughly back in order again.

"You do make quite the impact," he mumbles.

She does rather enjoy the slightly dazed look on his face whenever their kiss ends, and the struggle of composure that follows. Which is both endearing and a little amusing considering how little restraint he'd shown just moments ago. It would seem that both the thrill of hunting and the thrill of passionate, frenzied sex are the two areas of life where he does away with composure altogether. Which bodes rather well for future hunting trips they'd take together.

There's an indulgent chuckle given at his sigh, and once he's in the kitchen she takes a moment to look around the room. Her thoughts are less on how sparse things are, or how his clothing seems in complete opposition to her own typically lavish attire; but rather on the absolute mess she's made of his bedroom.

She thanks him when he hands her the glass and takes a long drink before setting it down on the nightstand. "At least the walls didn't fracture," she remarks, lifting her hand and assisting him in the process of putting his room back together - telekinetically righting a few lamps and closing the drawers that had come open. "But if they had, I'd find a way to make it up to you," she finishes, her tone teasing as well as flirtatious. If ever her magic were to release in an even stronger manner, she thinks they'd probably be better off being outdoors. At least then there's no risk of doing irreparable damage to his belongings.

Once his room is set right, she stretches back down onto the bed, feeling no desire to put clothes back on for the moment. She reaches a hand toward him, beckoning him to join her. "I'm not quite done with you yet," she comments with a grin, wondering if he's the type to enjoy cuddling; she'll soon find out.

A lamp rights itself just as he reaches out to do so himself and it startles him a little. Magic as a concept is one thing, but seeing it included in such mundanities as tidying is still more than a little bizarre. The comment about being repaid, in that flirty voice of hers, does earn her an arched eyebrow as he pauses to give her a look which quietly says, 'Oh really?'.

With her help it doesn't take long to fix everything up again, and he finds himself slightly surprised to see her beckoning for him. Part of him had wondered if he wasn't just a pleasant distraction for her. Not due to who she is, but because it's become habit. A way to lower expectations after a string of poor dating experiences. Being two adults who know what they want is perfectly acceptable, but generally those encounters rarely involve much in the way of after care.

Muldoon won't say no to her, however. He doesn't want to. He enjoys her company and will keep it for as long as he's allowed to. Although Yennefer will find that while he's not opposed to cuddling, he's not very good at it. Robert Muldoon has not had much practice at snuggling.

So he comes back into bed slightly more clothed than he left, and lays down next to her. At least he knows enough to lift an arm to allow her close so that he can then wrap it around her.

Private tour for asorceress

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