Bessa

Shifting Ribs

Endless weeks that have turned into months of hunting, foraging in the destruction of the summer grounds have brought together the community of the pack. We all help the other in the constant search for food.

The Savage is back.

Slipping into the tent, sliding in against my back.

Holding me.

Exhausted.

His hand going to Odin, feeling his head. Kissing the back of my neck.

"Goodnight." A soft word.

Nothing back to him.

Falling asleep before me.

During the day, it's hard to skirt around him. The Savage is constantly on the edge of everything.

In a pausing moment of the day, when I'm taking a break, sitting in the water with Odin on my lap because the heat of the day is Nature's weapon against us.

Cooling down, the Savage comes.

Taking off everything, like the way I am without my Silks.

He will take Odin from me, and bring him out into the deep water. The both of them will go underneath the cool liquid. Both coming up looking at each other, bobbing up and under.

Up and under. Up and under.

Odin smiles at the games his father plays with him. Gently games.

This is the in-between.

The attraction to him is desperate.

Today seems different than the other days when the Savage takes Odin from me to play their swimming games. Everything seems colorless, boring except for him. Addictive to watch, there is an inability to pull my sight away from him. From the way, the water moves out of his way when he swims. Every flex and roll of his shoulders are seen, every fine detail of his upper body is observed with a keen eye of appreciation.

His face holds the scorch of the sun's rays when he turns towards me.

Our eyes maul into the others but not with intent for damage. He must see the intentions my vision holds because there is a vibration from deep in his chest that vibrates, bellows, bubbles around him.

Weakened.

Piece by piece his nakedness is exposed to me as he climbs from the depths of the water.

Everything is sidelined, no other thoughts but watching him, move.

His body is chiseled, hard, in direct contrast to the softness and curves of mine.

There is nothing offensive or vulgar with the way his cock rises. His balls are heavy, weighted.

Weakened.

He watches me as if I have something he wants. No needs. He needs me.

Not a want, a need.

With my desperation of attraction, he holds his own desperation of needs.

Putting Odin on my lap, he lays on his stomach in the water.

A kiss to my hip, to the in-between of my ribs.

Closing my eyes, head angles down. His teeth nip. Lips tease.

Tongue tastes skin.

It feels so good.

...his knuckles run up and down my bare thigh, from knee to hip, down from hip to knee.

There's an addictiveness to the sound that is rushing up his throat. The deepness of the Wild that won't be left out from this. He's present with the way greens are eaten away by the dilation of pupils. Greedy pupils that devour the color of him.