Man On The Moon

XIII

In the quiet of the night, Acheron and Kafka find a secluded room to escape to, away from the watchful eyes of Vettel. Within the privacy of the room, they discard their outer clothing, revealing themselves to each other slowly and sensually. As they stand there, bare before each other, Acheron moves to capture Kafka's lips in a deep, passionate kiss. The kiss is intense, filled with weeks of suppressed desire and longing. Acheron's hands roam over Kafka's body, seeking to memorize every contour, every soft curve. Kafka responds eagerly, her own hands exploring Acheron in return, her touch filled with a need that matches Acheron's own. Their kisses grow more heated, their breaths mingling in the quiet space, the heat between them growing almost stifling. Acheron pushes Kafka gently against the wall, their bodies now pressed together, not an inch of space between them. The kiss deepens, their tongues moving in a rhythmic dance, as the passion between them burns like a low, smouldering fire, threatening to explode into a conflagration any second.

Kafka pins Acheron back against the wall, her lips finding the sensitive skin of Acheron's neck, she whispers against it, her voice thick with desire.

Kafka: "I've been wanting to do this for so long, Achi..."

Her words vibrate against Acheron's skin, sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine. Kafka's mouth continues its exploration, leaving a trail of soft, hot kisses down Acheron's neck, each one stoking the fire of their mutual need. Acheron moans softly at the feel of Kafka's lips on her neck, the sound escaping her lips involuntarily. Her fingers grip Kafka's shoulders, digging into her skin as her head falls back against the wall, exposing more of her neck to Kafka's ministrations.

Acheron: "Kafka... stop... teasing..."

The words are half-hearted, her voice raspy with barely restrained want and need. Kafka, enjoying the effect she's having on Acheron, laughs softly against her skin, her hands roaming over Acheron's body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Kafka: "But you look so damn gorgeous when you're all flustered like this, Achi..."

She continues to toy with Acheron, her lips, teeth, and tongue making their way down until they reach the hollow at the base of Acheron's neck, where they linger to suck and nip at the sensitive skin there. Acheron's grasp tightens on Kafka's shoulders, her body arching into her touch. Her breathing quickens, becoming more erratic, each exhaled word a gasp of pleasure.

Acheron: "Kafka... if you don't stop... I'm going to.."

She doesn't finish the sentence, another moan escaping her as Kafka's mouth moves to a particularly sensitive spot on her collarbone. Kafka, hearing Acheron's unfinished sentence, grins against her skin, fully aware of the effect she's having.

Kafka: "You're going to do what, Achi? Beg?"

She continues her ministrations, her lips and tongue moving down across Acheron's chest, her hands roaming, seeking out the places that make Acheron's breath catch in her throat.

Acheron, on the brink of losing control, nods, her body responding to Kafka more than her words.

Acheron: "Yes... please... Kafka... please..."

She's barely recognizable like this, her usually composed exterior shattered, replaced by a woman desperate for release. Kafka, seeing Acheron at her most vulnerable, is filled with a primal satisfaction.

Kafka: "That's what I wanted to hear."

She moves back up, her lips capturing Acheron's in a hard, possessive kiss, her body pressing her fully against the wall. One of her hands travels down, finding the spot between Acheron's legs, her fingers beginning a slow, torturous rhythm. Acheron gasps into the kiss, her body quivering at Kafka's touch. Her legs part instinctively, allowing Kafka better access, her hips moving involuntarily against her hand in search of more friction.

Acheron: "Kafka... please... I need-"

Her words are lost in a moan as Kafka's fingers find just the right spot, her body arching against the wall, taut with need. Kafka, feeling Acheron's body arch towards her, increases the rhythm of her fingers, her other hand coming up to cup Acheron's breast, squeezing gently.

Kafka: "I know what you need, Achi... and I'm going to give it to you. Just have a little patience."

Her words are a low, sultry whisper against Acheron's ear, sending another shiver through her body. Acheron, unable to form coherent words, just nods, her entire focus centred on Kafka's touch. Her body is a livewire, every nerve ending singing, and it's all she can do to stand on her own two feet. She reaches out, pulling Kafka closer, her hands roaming over her back, seeking some purchase, some way to ground herself, even as she drowns in the sensations that Kafka is wringing out of her. Kafka continues her assault on Acheron's senses, her fingers moving at a steady, rhythmic pace, drawing Acheron closer and closer to the edge. She moves her mouth back to Acheron's neck, covering the already marked skin with fresh kisses and bites.

Kafka: "You're so close, Achi... I can feel it. Just let go... let me take care of you."